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indigosunsetao3 · 1 month

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Keeping Lines Blurry

Chapter 18- Steadfast

Masterlist of Chapters

Warnings: 18+ - No minors Please read the tags on AO3 for any of your triggers

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick X Original FMC 12.3k words - AO3 Link

“If they aren’t with us, you assume they are hostiles,” Price said as he tossed Nik an extra magazine realizing all of his vest pockets were stuffed. “That includes anyone who shows up here,” he peered at Nik who just nodded once. Nik was supposed to be gone by now, headed back home to prepare for the shitshow that would happen once everything came to light. But he offered to stay, to keep watch on the house and women inside.

“Any idea how many we are expecting?” Gaz asked as he strapped his dagger on the right shoulder strap of his vest.

“No,” Price answered as he checked his clip before shoving it back in the rifle. “Informant said he was surrounded by five men when he entered the warehouse, but there were multiple cars.”

“Sounds like someone is afraid,” Soap answered smugly as he snatched up an extra throwing knife and tucked it carefully into his boot. “Why risk coming back here anyway?”

“He doesn’t know what we may or may not have,” Ghost answered simply. He was finished prepping, sitting on the couch watching the rest of them finish up. “Probably aims to get ahead of any backlash. Show up alive, beaten up a bit,” he shrugged, “let his paid MI6 agents take the glory for saving him. Then start laying out his story about Olivia’s family, probably has a lie cooked up about us as well to be safe.”

“He’s relying on the old rule, whoever strikes first wins,” Alex chimed in as he stuffed a laptop in his bag. This was a covert mission, off the books because there were too many rats in the intelligence agency. They would have to hack the cameras and security themselves to get in without being spotted. “He’s hoping to get to the press first before Olivia can discredit him. Get his side of the story out first so Olivia is left scrambling. He’s the bigger face, bigger name, thinks it’ll help him.”

“He’s not going to get that far,” Gaz said as he pulled the velcro on his gloves tight and flexed and stretched his fingers to make sure they felt right. He liked to wear them tight, the pressure a strange comfort and also assurance they wouldn’t slip. “What’s the play?” Gaz asked, knowing they all knew what his actual question was. Were they taking Henry alive or not.

“Take out the guards and get to Henry before he can figure out what is going on and try to run,” Price answered as he looked pointedly at Gaz. “See if we can get him to talk. The more information we can get out of him, directly from him, the better.” He swiped the car keys off the table, “but should he give us any problems we’ll deal with it.” The unsaid implication hung in the air and the rest of the team looked at one another for moment before Ghost rose from his spot and followed Price out the back door.

Gaz didn’t have time to run up to Olivia and tell her they were leaving, properly anyway. Even if he did, he had no idea what he would say to her. He was on his way to go capture her husband? To potentially kill him? Gaz knew there was no love lost between Olivia and Henry but he was sure there would still be an odd feeling to sit and wait for news on if your lover killed your husband. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment as he shifted his rifle in his hands, his thumb idly sliding over the safety as he thought. A clap on his shoulder pulled Gaz from his thoughts to find Soap standing there.

“Better to leave her be,” Soap said, guessing correctly at what Gaz was pondering over as he stood there. “Being in the dark on this one may be a bit of a mercy,” he reasoned. “No need for her to worry more, let her sleep some of this shit off. Nik will fill her in when she gets up.” He glanced over at Nik who gave a curt nod, having heard the whole conversation from where he was positioned at the front window.

“Let’s go get the bastard then,” Gaz answered with a halfcocked grin, glancing at the ceiling one more time before walking toward the door behind Soap.

The warehouse was one of the ones Ghost had found in all of his digging. It was non-descript building far outside of the London city limits. They were in a small manufacturing town that, in its heyday, boasted multiple factories exporting a multitude of different goods and a booming population. These days the smokestacks sat dormant, loading docks empty and shattered windows allowed birds to flit in and out.

They had parked a ways away, pulling into the back of a closed grocery store, and walked the rest of the way through the woods. There was no sound, no other people around, as they all moved quietly through the underbrush. When they made it to the chain link fence that surrounded the whole property Ghost made quick work of it with bolt cutters. As they crept along the border looking for a good place for Alex to setup they didn’t spot any movement. Price risked a small hand drone fly over to make sure no one was outside, Ghost piloting. All quiet, not a soul outside, which was a plus but also a bit unsettling that there wasn’t even security waiting.

The sun was starting to set as Alex tapped into the security, having found an old guard shack that still had power running to it. He ripped wires from the wall jack and after some finagling, he was into the camera feeds. He was rotating between all the different cameras, different angles of the outside areas, before he finally came upon the cameras inside the main building. They found the security team. There was a solid dozen out on the main floor milling about, armed to the teeth. As Alex clicked through, they found more in an upstairs area but still no Henry. Gaz rolled his neck a bit, an anxious tick, as Alex got back to the beginning of all the camera feeds.

“He couldn’t have left,” Soap mused as he stood behind Alex with his arms crossed over his chest. “Our informant would have seen,” he glanced at Price for confirmation and the Captain nodded.

“He’s here,” Ghost answered. “Too much security, too many cars. He wouldn’t leave without a detail on him.” He continued as Alex clicked through cameras to see if they had just missed him. There were so many cameras on the grounds they could have accidentally missed a feed.

“We need to figure out which room isn’t on the cameras,” Gaz piped up, the idea coming to him in an instant. Henry was a creature of habit. “Henry kept control of the cameras in his home office and bedroom. He was fine on spying everyone else but no one could watch him. Where are the blueprints for this warehouse?” He smirked as Alex clicked away from the cameras to pull up the files upon files they had on Henry. “He probably just doesn’t have a camera in his office here,” he reasoned and Price nodded.

“Find the missing room, we find him,” Alex answered as Soap pulled up a chair and made a crude sketch of the blueprints in the last clean pages of his sketchbook. Together they worked through the cameras, Soap marking them on his hand drawn map; Ghost looming over their shoulders to make sure they didn’t miss anything.

“How’s Olivia holding up?” Price asked Gaz quietly as they stood watch over the door to the guard shack while the others worked. His hand was gripping his rifle casually, his finger resting on the trigger guard as he peered around the empty parking lot. “Her mother was a mess. Nik said he was afraid she was going to hyperventilate and pass out on the way to the safehouse. Practically had to carry her upstairs.”

“She’s,” Gaz paused as he leaned his shoulder on the door jam opposite Price. “Well, she seems surprisingly alright,” he said as he racked his brain over everything. “She’s been in a living hell for years so she’s learned how to cope with chaos.” Gaz sighed as he rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “Olivia is stronger than anyone gives her credit for, then I ever did.”

Price stood quietly for a few seconds, as if debating his next words carefully. Gaz gave him the space to figure it out. The two of them had argued more in the past few weeks than they had the past few years combined. Gaz always fell in step with his Captain, barely ever disagreed enough to even voice it. But bringing Olivia back in the picture seemed to have upset the status quo, gave something Gaz to argue about.

“I’m not going pretend with you that I am exactly happy about you and Olivia again,” Price finally mused. He chuckled a bit at Gaz’s face, “you aren’t as sneaky as you’d like to think. We all know you too well,” he peered over at the other three men as they mapped things out for a second before turning his attention back to Gaz. “She destroyed you. It was brutal and putting you back together is not something I ever want to do again. The utter devastation almost got you killed a few times. You were so wrapped up in the anger, the pain, it ripped your senses right out of you.” He sighed and paused again trying to find the proper words. “Just, don’t get so deep again until you know for sure. She’s got a long fucking road to come back from. It’s going to be rough for anyone involved.”

“Understood Captain,” Gaz said with a small smile as he shifted his feet a bit. “I’m not going to let her do it alone,” he tacked on as Price watched him. “But I’m also not going to let it come between the team either. I can’t go through it again myself; I don’t think you can come back from that twice.” Those days had been dark enough that some of them were just fuzzy memories, as if his own brain tried to block them out for his own preservation. “Though, I’d like to hope she doesn’t manage to find another Henry,” he chuckled a bit and Price returned the gesture.

“She finds another one of them I’m hanging up the hat,” Soap answered as he leaned back in his chair, holding his notebook up. “We’ve got it,” he shook the notebook a bit and Price and Gaz walked over to take a look. The five of them crowded around the laptop as they mapped out their plan, Soap scribbling and erasing on his drawing as they worked through it.

The sun was almost completely down by the time they finalized everything and Alex had managed to clone and overwrite the cameras. Gaz had watched the man’s fingers flying over the keyboard with unmasked aw. Alex merely acted like he was writing up a report and kept up with the conversation happening around him as he clicked away. The man barely batted an eye as he ran code and slipped between security walls like a phantom, laying down false images and turning off virtual trip wires. When he announced he was done he snapped the laptop shut and stuffed it back into his pack, but not before unplugging the hard drive and pocketing it. If he lost his pack the laptop would be useless without the drive.

“Let’s go then,” Price said as the lights inside the warehouse across the way started to come on inside. “We’ve all got our marks,” he looked around at the team and all of them nodded. “Let’s make it quick and clean then. Fucker has dragged this out long enough.” He grinned and lead the way out the door, crossing the parking lot in a low jog as they all fanned out.

Gaz climbed up the straight shot ladder on the side of the building as fast as he could, careful to avoid the rotted-out rungs as he went. He saw Ghost disappear around the left side of the building as he hoisted himself over the lip of the flat roof, Alex going around the other side. Once he was situated up top he peered over the edge as Soap slipped between the line of vehicles planting C4, his hands moving quickly to run the wire and set the trips. Price was setup at the loading docks prepared for people to come out that way.

“In position,” Gaz said quietly into his comms as he stared down the large vent on the roof. The grate had long since rusted out and he had to pull out the remnants of an old birds next to get a clear shot. He could hear the muffled voices of people inside the building coming up through the funnel and he smirked. He pulled out a smoke bomb and hooked a finger in the pin as he waited for confirmation from the rest of the team.

“Cars and the front door are all set,” Soap said, his voice a bit jostled as he ran. He was to wait across the way and blow the front door while the rest of the distractions happened. Then he would wait for people to come out, pick them off, and blow the cars if they attempted an escape before coming in to aid.

“Ready to cut the lights,” came Ghost. There was a chance they had a backup generator but it would take a bit to get that online, Alex had confirmed there was nothing wired for an automatic trip. So that would be a few minute of chaos in the dark for them.

“Flashbangs are a go,” Alex answered.

“Hit it,” Price’s voice came across.

Gaz tossed his smoke bomb down the vent before stepping back and headed to the roof top access door to get inside. He pulled his scarf up over his face, not overly concerned about the smoke being too thick from where he was going to be. There were catwalks at the top of the warehouse that he could move along and pick off people with his heat vision. The paths were like spiderwebs, spread out all along the top of the building and Gaz did his best to memorize them. He was also silently praying that they would still hold up after all these years and he didn’t come crashing down from a loose bolt or two.

It took about ten seconds before anyone realized what was happening inside. The moment raised voices came from the exploded smoke bomb the lights cut and Gaz prepared himself for the flashbangs that were next. Alex had slipped in a side door and tossed them at pockets of people which sent them scrambling as they exploded. He was running the inside perimeter of the building throwing as he went which forced people to gather more toward the center of the building to try and get away. In the pandemonium they had raised their guns up and were firing at what they thought the origin of the attack was. None of their shots hit their mark though, Alex long gone from where they were aiming.

“Hold Soap,” Gaz said into his microphone as he rested his rifle on the catwalk railing. He didn’t want to give away his position just yet. While it was a good vantage point, he would be too easy to pick off if the men below rallied against him. “They’re going for the doors,” he added as he spotted Alex dart up to the second level and get into firing position. “Now!” He called as a group of men pushed at the doors and realized that it was blocked from the outside.

The explosion rocked the building and Gaz felt the catwalk swing ominously at the blowback, his hand holding tight to steady himself. The flare of the fire lit up the inside, sending things into sharp relief for a moment as a few bodies flew back. Gaz shut his eyes at the burst of light in his heat vision before he opened them and readjusted his rifle from where it had slipped. He fired his first shot, taking out a man that was headed for a side door before twisting and taking out his friend that was looking around for the origin.

The din inside increased ten-fold as the men they were firing upon started yelling orders to one another and began returning rapid fire as a group. Gaz dropped another one before having to scramble down the walkway, the return fire whizzing by as it clipped the metal, sending sparks. He took a sharp left turn and dropped down to his knees, aiming directly through the slats in the floor of the path to take another man out as he attempted to radio out for help. Bullets were flying all over the place, glass shattering and Gaz was back up on his feet in an instant running in the direction of the loading dock doors. Price was a good shot but he wouldn’t be able to take them all out if they tried that exit. Gaz picked off two more men before a shot embedded itself in the ceiling right by his head.

“Ghost!” Alex yelled through his comms and Gaz whipped around to see if he could see what had happened. It was nothing but flashes of muzzle fire and he jumped back as the railing he was supporting himself on gave way and the pipe fell into the darkness below.

“What happened?” Soap’s voice cut across, he was still outside a ways away from the fighting, waiting for the best time to set off the next round of explosions.

“”m fine,” came Ghost’s voice, though it sounded a bit strained. “Keep your focus on the objective,” he added before cutting out.

“The fuck you are,” Alex snapped, his words a pant as he returned fire and bolted through the second story below Gaz. “I saw the hit,” he added before jumping down the last few steps down. “And I saw you go down,” he tacked on before Ghost could argue again that he was fine.

Gaz followed Alex from the walkway, careful to keep him covered as he weaved around everything on the floor. There were a few men that had regrouped and Gaz groaned as he spotted them heaving what looked like a heavy gun. Courtesy of Henry’s illegal arms manufacturing. Gaz fired upon them but they ducked away and he had to move around another way to get a better angle, avoiding the return fire.

“Lucky shot,” Ghost answered. Gaz finally saw him as he knelt down and steadied his breathing to aim at the men that were hiding. Ghost was pressed up against an old machine holding his leg as he continued to return fire, working in tandem with Gaz without them even discussing it. Ghost drawing them to return fire at him then Gaz taking them out from above with a headshot when they poked their heads up. “Pretty sure it was a through and through,” he added after a second.

“I’ve got him,” Alex cut back as Gaz saw him slide in next to Ghost and wrench him around the back of the machine to keep him covered. “He’ll live,” he tacked on after a second, “outside of the thigh, going leave a nasty scar.”

“Just another for the collection,” Ghost answered with a dark laugh. There was a reason he kept his face and the rest of his skin completely covered.

“I’m coming in, we need to wrap this up.” Price interjected, “I’m going to push them out the front, Soap.”

“Rog,” Soap answered, his voice a bit strained. He hated not being in the thick of it and Gaz knew he was agitated that Ghost had taken a hit. “Still no sign of Henry?”

“Hasn’t left his hidey hole” Gaz answered as he continued his trek through the maze of catwalks, laying down fire then darting away before anyone could get a lock on him. “Steel door hasn’t opened,” he added as he glanced back at the room that Henry had picked as his safe spot. It was the only area in the warehouse that didn’t have a camera and was probably the most well enforced. It was an old freezer back from when this warehouse was in food production.

“Keep an eye on it, make sure he doesn’t make a run for it,” Price answered as one of the loading dock rolling doors flew up. The sound was a loud clatter and it instantly drew fire from the enemy. Then the next one went up, and a third. They had no idea which one someone was coming in, or how many had come in, and the flashbangs that Price tossed in disoriented everyone even more.

Gaz continued to drop the men from his vantage point, careful to make it a one and done shot so they couldn’t pinpoint him. Alex and Ghost laid down cover fire as well from their tucked away spot and Price drove the rest toward the front door. Gaz could hear what was left of the security team yelling about a retreat, to get to the cars and evacuate the boss. He took down another with a headshot as he went to the freezer door to pull it open, the blood splattering on the metal. He wasn’t letting Henry get out and he certainly wasn’t going to let him get blown up; that was too easy of a death.

“All yours Soap,” Gaz called over his comms as he watched the last few dart out the door to the cars. He heard the vehicle doors slam shut and hesitated in his walk waiting for the explosion. It didn’t take long. There were four in quick succession and the fireball was impressive as it rose up past the high ruined windows and blew out some of the weaker panes that were left. They head created enough chaos that the lights never came back on and Gaz quickly assessed the warehouse from what he could see to make sure no one else was lingering.

“Clear from my spot,” Gaz announced as he stomped down another section of catwalk to glance over the edge. It was quiet enough inside now that the sound of the metal rattling could be heard echoing around.

“Nothing on the heartbeat sensor,” Alex answered as he carefully walked the lower level, monitor on one hand, gun in the other. He had left Ghost sitting after wrapping his leg tight with a bandage, cutting his pant leg off near the hip to be able to get the bandage on.

“Regroup and we clear the final room,” Price said as he positioned himself outside the freezer door, gun poised on the door.

Gaz didn’t need to be told twice. He jogged toward the ladder that would take him off the catwalk, and then jogged to the stairs from the second floor to the first. Just as he shouldered open the stairwell door, gun raised to be safe since there still wasn’t a full all clear, he saw Soap lean up against the wall nearest to the freezer door handle. Alex returned to Ghost’s side and helped him stand, nodding that they would remain out in the warehouse to keep cover.

“We don’t know what is on the other side of this,” Price said as he stared down his sights. “Just blueprints. Doesn’t mean it hasn’t been altered and we don’t know how many people are inside.”

“Good thing we have someone that can clean house,” Gaz said with a smirk as he looked at Soap who returned the grin.

“On three,” Price said as he stepped closer, and Soap’s hand latched onto the handle. Gaz was ready, gun aimed right where the gap in the door would appear when Soap opened it. Price started the countdown, his voice low but clear as he inched closer. Gaz let out a calming breath and his eyes darted to Soap for a second, catching the subtle head nod he gave him, before his gaze returned to the target. When Price reached one, Soap yanked the door open in one swift movement, quickly dropping back from the gap to avoid any potential defensive fire from within.

With guns raised, the three men stepped into the pitch-black room, ready for whatever awaited them.

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Olivia didn’t know how long she had slept for. When she awoke, she stretched out with a pleasant groan, rolling over to find the room was almost completely dark and Kyle was nowhere to be found. There was no clock in the room and her phone had long been lost and probably destroyed so she had nothing to refer to. Sliding her legs out of bed she fished around for the bedside lamp switch before gathering her clothes off the floor and getting dressed. The house seemed strangely quiet as she pulled her hair up and when she opened the bedroom door to see the whole upstairs was still dark, she raised her eyebrows a bit.

She walked down to the room her mother was in and quietly opened the door to check on her. Her mother was still curled under the blankets and Olivia watched her for a moment, noticing the slow rise and fall of her breathing before she slipped back out again. Her mother needed the rest and there was plenty of time to talk later, much later. Olivia wasn’t sure when she would be ready for another talking session with her. She still had so many things to process and her mother was already in shock enough, having known none of what had been happening for years. Olivia at least had a semblance of the disaster their family’s lives had been.

“Kyle?” Olivia called out as she walked down the stairs. The living room light was on and she could hear the quiet mumblings of the evening news on the television. When she cleared the bottom step, she didn’t see anyone and the sudden feeling of unease settled over her as she looked around. “Hello?” She questioned a bit unsure as she poked her head in the dining room before she heard movement coming from the kitchen.

“Oh,” Nik paused in his cooking as Olivia appeared in the doorway, his hand freezing in its movement to grab his pistol off the counter. “Startled me,” he said with a chuckle before going back to the frying pan. “Hungry?” He asked lifting the pan up and tilting it to show the mix of rice and meat in there.

“Ah,” Olivia said as she stared at the man. She knew who he was, he had brought her mother here and she had seen him when they arrived hours ago. But knowing his name, what he looked like and that he could be trusted that was the extent of her knowledge. “I mean, yes,” she said after a second, her stomach growling at the scent of the food. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. “But where is everyone?”

Nik was shifting around the kitchen cabinets for plates and he pulled down two mismatched ones to the counter, gently pushing his pistol out of the way with his elbow. He peered at her over his shoulder before finding forks and two glasses for water, which had to be from the tap because there was nothing bottled. He didn’t answer her right away as he plated the food, dropping the pan in the sink and carrying the plates over to the small kitchen table. As Olivia stared at him, he gestured for her to sit before grabbing the glasses of water and taking a seat himself.

Olivia stared at Nik expectantly and the longer he took to answer the more nervous she became. She debated on refusing to sit until he told her something but relented and took a seat, watching him as he sat across from her. It suddenly felt like there was a great secret, or painful thing, he was about to tell her and her heartrate jumped in her chest. Surely they would have woken her if something major had happened. If Kyle was hurt or another attack happened, they wouldn’t have just left her to slumber.

“They’ve gone to collect Henry,” Nik said as he dug into the food and took a bite. He saw the look of surprise on her face and he took another bite before setting down his fork. “It was fast, they couldn’t wait to move on the intel. I offered to stay behind to keep an eye on you and your mother,” he explained and he pointed at her fork to indicate she needed to eat. He waited for her to raise the utensil and take a few bites before continuing. “They left a few hours ago,” he paused and looked at his watch, “almost four hours. Henry was spotted back in England on the outskirts of London.”

“Four hours?” Olivia asked shocked as she looked around the kitchen for a clock. She really had slept a long while; her sense of time was completely thrown. “Have you heard anything? Did they get him? Should they be gone this long?” She asked, fork hovering in the air as she waited for an answer. The food really was delicious but she couldn’t stomach another bite yet, not with the nervous butterflies in her stomach at all the unknown.

“I haven’t heard anything yet,” Nik answered, “turned on the news to be safe. They had to do it strictly off the books, no outside communication. MI6 is compromised, couldn’t risk them tipping off Henry. Anything major happens it’ll be on,” he continued to eat before taking a sip of his water. He watched Olivia over his glass as she started to pick at the food again. “Four hours isn’t that long, not with having to travel, get a lay of the land and get a plan. No need to worry…not yet.”

Olivia nodded a bit mechanically as she ate the food in front of her, not really tasting it but needing to eat something. Her mind was swimming with questions, with unease, fear. What if her last time she saw Kyle was when he tucked her into sleep and curled her against him? She felt nausea rise and she gently pushed the plate away after eating about half of it. She wished he had come up to say goodbye, but she also knew she would have been agonizing over this for that much longer. She downed the glass of water in a few gulps and wished she had something stronger, eyes glancing around the kitchen.

“Here,” Nik said, knowing what she wanted without having to say. He produced a flask from the inside of his vest before rising and cleaning up the dishes.

Olivia took it and took a swig, wincing at the straight Vodka inside. It burned and she made a face before taking another sip and setting the flask down on the table. It felt odd to be sitting in a kitchen somewhere in London, not sure where, so close to home yet so far away. With a man that was a protector but she knew nothing about, waiting to hear news about if her husband was taken into custody thanks to the evidence her father had dug up on him. Evidence that Olivia had stolen right under the Russian’s noses then watched her lover murder one in front of her eyes to keep her safe. Her life felt like one big giant fog of a thing as of late and today all of it came to a head. She took one more swig of Vodka to see if the sting could clear some of the blur away, it didn’t, she sighed and rose from the table.

“Thank you for the meal it was-“ she started but Nik held his hand up to silence her. She saw him cock his head and she froze, turning slowly on her heel afraid she was going to see an enemy creeping up on them. Her eyes darted around the kitchen for a weapon, or a way out, but she saw Nik hadn’t raised his gun. She blinked as Nik whipped the dishtowel off his shoulder, shoved his pistol in his thigh holster and walked toward the living room.

“What’s going on?” Olivia asked as she followed him. He was standing directly in front off the television, hands on his hips, as he watched the broadcast. Olivia turned to face the screen and she could see helicopter footage of a warehouse. The remains of something smoldering in the drive area sending up large plumes of black acrid smoke into the air. Nik turned the volume up a bit more and they could hear the newscaster better. They stated they weren’t sure what caused the explosion, just that it was reported by residents. They were speculating that it was an old generator that finally exploded, old chemicals or even kids messing about in the abandoned area.

“Not kids,” Nik said simply as he dug out his phone. “Soap,” he said as he looked over at Olivia for a second before whoever he called picked up on the other end and he started talking to them. Olivia wasn’t listening to Nik as she stared at the screen, waiting for any sign of something happening but the helicopter shot didn’t show anything else. There was no movement outside the warehouse and the feed cut back to the newsroom. The newscaster said that they were sending a ground crew to meet with the police and would have updates later.

“Laswell is going to keep the police at bay for a little longer,” Nik said after he hung up the phone. “We just continue the waiting game,” he said as he looked at Olivia who was glancing between him and the television. “Everyone thinks the fighting is the worst part of a war, but it’s the waiting,” he gestured to the coffee table where he had a half-finished game of solitaire up. “Know how to play Durak?” When Olivia gave him a small headshake he grinned, “I’ll show you, then you can beat Garrick. Little shit learned from me and kicks all of our asses now.”

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Gaz had his night vision on and when he stepped into the room he spotted two men hidden behind a desk. Between him, Price and Soap they were dropped in a matter of moments, Gaz had no idea whose shots took them out. They weren’t the only ones though. Bullets came from the right and Gaz dropped down to a knee and took aim at a couch, littering the upholstery with bullets until a figure fell on the floor behind it with a thump. Soap dropped another man that had taken up a hiding spot behind some metal cabinets, the bullets echoing as they made contact before that assailant fell.

“Visual?” Price asked as he swept behind Gaz and Soap, checking behind a safe large enough for a grown man to hide next to. There was no one there.

“Nothing yet,” Soap answered as he walked around the desk and kicked the bodies over to look at their faces. None of them were Henry. He looked up as Gaz zeroed in on a portable closet, his hand raising to yank the door open. When Gaz looked back, Soap and Price both nodded, their guns trained on the door, and Gaz pulled it open.

It was a quick blur as he got the door open. There was a pistol aimed right at his face but Gaz reacted fast enough to avoid the shot. The muzzle of Gaz’s gun connected hard with the hand that was holding the pistol. Henry’s hand. The gun clattered away on the cement floor and Gaz reached in his left hand to bodily yank the man out of his hiding place by the back of his neck. Sliding his rifle over his back in one swift motion, Gaz threw Henry to the floor and was on his back, knee digging between his shoulder blades. Henry scrambled and cursed as Gaz pressed down and got on his comms to let the rest of the team know that they had him.

“Lights coming,” Alex answered before the power was flipped back on a moment later and Gaz blinked a few times in the sudden brightness. “We’ve got company, we can hear a helicopter circling, just a matter of time before we deal with the local police,” Alex added. Gaz couldn’t hear the helicopter himself but that was probably because they were inside the well-insulated freezer.

“Surprise Henry,” Gaz snarled, as he kept the man pinned under his knee. He looked rough, even from the back. His normally well pressed shirt was wrinkled and stained in places. The greying hair a greasy disheveled mess and Gaz couldn’t help but be smug at the patchy facial hair on his jaw that was stark white.

“What? Gone silent now? You could never keep your mouth shut before,” Gaz snapped as the man squirmed and Gaz pressed his knee down harder. How many times had Gaz thought about this? Thought about tearing this man apart piece by piece. Drawing out his pain as he made him pay for everything he had done. Done to him, Olivia, Olivia’s family and all the innocent people he had killed in his scheming.

“Nowhere to go now,” he taunted as he grabbed the side of Henry’s face and shoved it hard into the concreate, wondering how much pressure he could put on before it cracked his cheek or eye socket. “How’s it feel?” Gaz asked as he pushed more and Henry spluttered for air, or maybe that was in pain. “How’s it feel to be fucking trapped?” Gaz hissed, his fingers moving to curl in the man’s hair and rear his head back before smashing it into the floor hard. Bone crunched and blood splattered on the grey floor as Henry’s nose exploded. “To be helpless under someone stronger, bigger?” He was going to destroy him, make him feel an ounce of what Olivia felt when he pinned her under him. Gaz was seeing red as his breathing picked up and he pulled his head back again to smash it back down when a voice cut in.

“Sergeant,” came Price’s voice; even and calm. It wasn’t admonishing, nor telling him to stop. It was just a small reminder of who Gaz was; what he was. Giving him a chance to see through the seething anger for just a moment.

Gaz hesitated before recalling what Price said, that they wanted to try and get Henry to talk. Shifting off his back Gaz yanked him up and dog-walked him to the desk chair. He paused long enough to kick the bodies away before throwing Henry down in the office chair The man reared back, almost upending the seat before settling back in a normal position. His nose was steadily dripping blood and it was running down his chin to drip on his expensive shirt. The glare Henry gave Gaz was a delicious one and Gaz laughed as he waited for Henry to try and talk himself out of this one.

“Surprised to see me?” Gaz asked, cocking his head to the side a bit. “You had to know I was going to find you one way or another, right? You put a mark on my life, on Olivia’s, that shit wasn’t going to just slide.” Gaz’s hand shot out to take the gun he saw Soap pick up from the ground. The same pistol Henry had aimed at Gaz’s head when he wrenched him from the closet. “None of your shit worked. You may have killed Olivia’s father, your best friend,” he scoffed as he leaned closer and got into Henry’s face. “But unfortunately for you he got the last laugh in all this.” Gaz slid the gun between their bodies, bringing the muzzle of the pistol up to dig into Henry’s jaw right where it met his neck. “For a man of many words, you sure are fucking quiet Henry,” Gaz said as he pressed the pistol harder into the skin, making Henry’s head tilt back.

“You won’t do it,” Henry said as his eyes attempted to flick down to look at the gun, but it was too close for him to actually see it. “You need me alive,” he prompted as Gaz pushed him further back in the chair, the material groaning under the pressure. “Me dead will do nothing. And your Captain won’t let you just murder me,” he looked at Price who was standing there watching quietly.

“Don’t underestimate what I will and won’t do,” Gaz said as his eyes flicked over to the side where Price was. His Captain looked at him for a moment before giving a small nod. Gloves were off. “And my Captain doesn’t truly care if you’re alive or not,” he gave a small humorless laugh as his finger passed over the trigger. “I could end you right now, with your own gun,” he twisted the pistol and slid it so it was pressing into the soft spot under Henry’s jaw, right under his tongue. Gaz smirked as his eyes flicked down to the pistol before back to Henry eyes which were a tad bit wider. “Murderous, lying, abuser commits suicide, seems like a fitting headline.”

“What do you want?” Henry finally said after a moment. His self-preservation stronger than the need to win at the moment. “Money?” His eyes shot over to Soap who actually laughed as he stared at Henry in disbelief. “Weapons? Contacts?” He reached a hand out to his desk draw and hesitated as Gaz dug the pistol in harder, silently warning him to not try anything. “I can give you whatever you want. Work with me and you you’ll never want for anything ever again. No more shit jobs, working for the government.” His hand yanked a draw open and Gaz saw tons of overstuffed hanging files.

“We can’t be bought that easily,” Gaz answered as Price walked around to pull some files out and flipped through them. “All this work to get you, almost dying too many times to count…you will have to try harder than that,” he continued as Price handed some paper to Soap for him to look at.

“I’ll leave you be. Tell me how much it would cost to pay you off and disappear into the fucking sunset,” Henry said as he swallowed hard. “You can see how much money I have,” he explained to Price even though he couldn’t see him at the angle Gaz held him at. “My resources. You could be set for life, never hear from me again. I’ll even let you take my bitch wife with you,” he said and he smirked at how Gaz’s eyes flared at the insult. “Not worth my time anymore, think of it as a free perk.” He actually groaned in pain as Gaz’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat pushing down on the prominent Adam’s apple.

“Try harder,” Gaz said before letting his throat go so he could actually talk. “And leave Olivia out of it. You don’t get to talk about her, look at her or even fucking touch her ever again,” he tacked on, the venom dripping in his voice.

“I’ll give you my connections,” Henry tried as he pointed to the safe across the way. “Co collaborators. I work with many powerful people, here and in other countries. If you spin it that I was manipulated I’ll give you everything. Let me walk and I’ll disappear, I promise,” he locked eyes with Gaz who barely looked up at Price.

“What’s the combo?” Gaz asked, playing into like he was going to go for it. “Lie and it’ll be the last thing you ever do,” he tacked on as Soap walked over to the safe ready to take the numbers. He saw Henry debating, wondering if he could trust Gaz at his word but he didn’t really have a choice now. He rattled off six numbers and Soap spun the dial this way and that before the lock popped and he pulled it open. He had his gun raised cautiously because the safe was large enough to hold someone inside if they really wanted. It was empty of a human but was packed full of cash, guns, paperwork, multiple laptops and cellphones. It was a literal jackpot of information.

“All there,” Henry prompted after a second of silence as the three men stared at the prize before them. “We can say that I was trying to keep everyone alive by working with them but they out maneuvered me,” Henry stated, as if he already had this story up his sleeve as one of his many backup plans. “Let you all come out as the heroes. I’ll disappear from the public eye to recover from the trauma,” he watched as Soap yanked a laptop out and flipped it open to power it up. “We all win here,” he added into the silence.

“Seems promising,” Gaz relented, his face moving to a contemplative gaze as he looked over his shoulder for a second. He felt Henry relax a bit under his hold. “But I don’t think so,” he smirked as Price flipped the switch off on his recorder on his vest, one that had been on since they walked into the room. “We got what we wanted out of you. You’re useless to me now.” Gaz slid his finger over the trigger and stared right into Henry’s eyes, inches from his face, and pulled it.

Henry cried out at the click and clinched his eyes shut preparing for the shot that would end him. But it didn’t come. Soap had emptied the clip quietly before handing Gaz the gun. They wanted to scare Henry, get him to talk, but not kill him. That was too easy of a way out; too simple. Gaz wanted to draw out his pain, let him get dragged through the coals and suffer as the world turned on him. But Gaz couldn’t resist pulling the trigger. Just once. Just to see the sheer panic and fear on the man’s face. It had been worth it and Gaz was pretty sure the asshole wet himself as he opened his eyes, realizing it was in fact not dead.

“Police are here,” Alex said from the door as he peered into the scene in the room. “They know we’re in here and have been told to stand down…but they’ll get antsy if we take too long.”

“Handcuffs,” Gaz said as Soap handed him the plastic zip ties before he yanked Henry up out of the chair. He had definitely wet himself and Gaz pulled a face as he turned him around and yanked his arms hard behind his back and zipped his wrists together. It was tight enough he knew his fingers would go numb in a matter of seconds. “Walk,” Gaz instructed as Henry resisted, still muttering and trying to talk his way out of this.

Gaz walked Henry out of the building, followed by Price and Soap. The camera lights were bright as Gaz walked over to the police sergeant and passed off the prisoner. Ghost had opted to stay inside for a bit, not wanting to broadcast his injury for everyone to see. Alex had gone to seek out medical help from one of the ambulances, using the side door so it was away from the news vans.

Henry’s face was a livid red as he screamed at Gaz, at the cameras that couldn’t decided who to focus on, that he was innocent. That this was a mistake, that Gaz and the rest of the team would be stripped of their titles and awards for the atrocities they did that they were trying to pin on him. The lies flew from his mouth as easy as breathing and Gaz actually smirked as an officer put him in the backseat of their cruiser. The news reporters seemed uneasy as they tried to figure out what to do but Price walked over to give a very brief comment, before walking away. Press and briefings were Laswell’s specialty and she already had a statement written out to send the moment Henry had been taken into custody.

“Better man than me,” Soap said as they watched the police cruiser with Henry inside, still screaming, pull away. “I would have shot him, maybe stabbed him a bit,” he smirked knocking his shoulder into Gaz’s.

“I thought about it,” Gaz answered as his eyes flicked over to Ghost who was limping to the ambulance waving off the frantic medics that were pleading with him to get on the stretcher. Alex lugging his gear behind him. “But I figured less paperwork for Price,” he laughed, “he’ll get what’s coming to him. Playing the long game was the better option this time…I think.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nine Months Later

Gaz rolled out of bed as quietly as possible, untangling himself from Olivia’s legs and arms as he slipped to the kitchen to start the coffee. Today was a big day and he knew Olivia had been up most of the night tossing and turning with the weight of what was to come. She woken him up at two in the morning from her own nightmare and had practically pulled him on top her, kissing him frantically as if he would disappear. Gaz gently eased her down from her panic with soft touches and kisses, his hands sliding over her flushed sweaty skin until she was moaning from pleasure and not fear as he slid into her. She had begged him not to stop until she couldn’t talk anymore and when they finished, she fell into an actual restful sleep.

Leaning his hip on the counter Gaz stared out the small kitchen window at the sleepy streets of London. The flat they had rented wasn’t the best one out there, but it was decent enough for them, in a not too bad part of the city. Olivia had the money her father had left for her and her mother and she was careful how she spent it. She set her mother up in a townhouse not too far from them, had put a lawyer on retainer and bought a cheap beat-up car to get around then hid the what was left. Gaz supplemented the rest of their needs with his own pay, knowing the lawyer was going to eat up most of the money between supporting Olivia and her mother during all of this. Who knew how long it would take for the government to work through the debts and her parents’ estate, and if there would even be any money left by the time they were done.

When the coffee machine stopped gurgling Gaz poured himself a cup of black coffee before padding to the living room. He glanced at the clock on the bare wall before kicking his feet up on the coffee table, leaning down to rub at his knee. He had two new scars on it from the surgery he had a couple of months back to repair the damage, the skin still raised and dark from the incisions. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been before he finally relented to the surgery, but it still ached. Especially in the morning or if it was going to rain, which in London it was more common to rain than not.

Gaz turned on the television, lowered the volume a few degrees and flipped to the news channel. They were already talking about the trail, even if it wasn’t going to resume until ten that morning. It was all the news talked about these days, treating it like a football match with play by plays, analysis, predications and even conspiracies. Soap had called Gaz after he testified for three days and made him look at a gossip rag about him. Soap then proceeded to laugh himself silly as Gaz read about how he supposedly was sending subliminal messages as he shifted in the witness chair.

“My fucking knee hurt,” Gaz argued back to Soap who was still laughing, “I had to adjust because I was sitting there for hours. What sort of messages what I supposedly sending?” He scrolled as he read through some of them. “For fuck’s sake,” he groaned as he found the pictures where images had been circled as if pointing out the proof. “They really will latch onto anything for a stupid story.” “Quit tellin’ the lizard people our secrets,” Soap said, cracking himself up again before hanging up.

That was two weeks ago. Gaz had to testify because he had been attacked and was also the person to actually execute the arrest of Henry. They had grilled him, had tried to get him to trip up, say he was a jealous ex-lover trying to make Henry to be the bad guy. Had tried to discredit everything he said but it hadn’t worked. Gaz had stuck to the truth through all of it and unfortunately for Henry the truth didn’t unravel.

Now everyone was fixated on the star witness, the person who was closest to Henry and had all the inside information; Olivia. Gaz knew this was going to be hard for her. He had sat in on the mock questioning by the government lawyers and her own lawyer and had seen what it did toher. She had come home in tears a few times, had panic attacks and Gaz had found her on more than one occasion sitting in the dark of the bedroom just staring at the wall thinking. Sometimes he debated if keeping Henry alive was the best idea after all. It put Olivia through all of this, drawing out her torture unable to fully close the book on that chapter of her life until this was done. The divorce from Henry had been sped through the courts in a matter of a few short weeks after his arrest, but he was still tied to her because of the trial.

Olivia had said she understood why Gaz kept him alive, had agreed it was the smarter and better way. Make him live through everything he did, and in his attempts to weasel his way out of punishment he gave over more and more information on his counterparts. It led to many arrests, a total upheaval of MI6 and a few other government officials, something they wouldn’t have gotten as fast without him. But Gaz knew she was suffering despite the brave face she put on for the media as she attended the trial. She only went on the days Gaz testified or when she was needed, she didn’t want to be around the circus or even see Henry if she didn’t need to.

Gaz sipped on his coffee as he watched the news when he heard the bedroom door click open and he twisted to see Olivia standing there. Her hair was a mess of a halo around her head and she rubbed one eye as she looked at him in nothing but his t-shirt. She still looked exhausted and Gaz dropped his feet from the table and stood up, setting his coffee down on the table and walked over.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Gaz asked quietly as he enveloped her in his arms, feeling her rest her ear against his chest. “You had at least another thirty minutes of sleep before I got you up,” he explained as he rubbed her back gently.

“No, I just…woke up,” Olivia said with a soft sigh as she listened to Kyle’s heartbeat for a moment. “And when I realized you were already up, I just decided to get out of bed,” she tilted her head up and smiled at him a bit, though Gaz could see the nerves behind her eyes. “Bit nauseated this morning,” she explained. The nerves were not helping her already uneasy stomach and she felt Kyle pull away from her to head to the kitchen. Toast was the only thing that settled her these days, only thing she could really stomach, along with some herbal tea.

“Go shower,” he said leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “I’ll make you something to eat,” he pulled out of her embrace completely before giving her a small pat on the bottom to make her go. He smirked as she swatted at him before she disappeared back into their bedroom to the only bathroom in the flat to shower. He heard the squealing pipes as she started the water before they finally quieted down after the water ran for a few seconds.

By the time Olivia emerged with a towel wrapped around her body, and another tying up her hair, Gaz had her toast with butter and a little jam and mint tea ready. She smiled gratefully and sat down on the couch, eyes flicking to the television which had conveniently been changed to a sitcom rerun. Olivia avoided the news as much as she could, barely even using social media on her phone because the trial was literally everywhere. She didn’t even like going out in public because people recognized her from all the old photos and constant news reels. Especially in the lead up to her start of testifying against Henry. Her mother came by and a few old friends stopped by but for the most part Olivia spent her days alone while Gaz continued to work.

Gaz was doing desk work for the time being, staying on assignment in London as her own personal body guard because of the threats from crazies and Henry’s associates. It was under the guise of recovering from his surgery but his real assignment was keeping Olivia safe, and probably sane because if she had been left completely alone, she would have lost it. When Gaz told her he was going back to work she had a meltdown before he could explain it was at a local office running intelligence, he wasn’t leaving her for weeks on end.

“Sorry for keeping you up last night,” Olivia muttered around her toast as Gaz sat back down next to her and sipped on his coffee. Sleep had been alluding her for a while but it was getting worse as of late.

“I’m fine,” Gaz answered, “I can go a few days without much sleep, this is nothing,” he smiled as Olivia held out her toast to him to take a bite before taking it back to finish it off. He chewed for a moment before looking pointedly at her, “you still feel up to going? I’m sure if you feel ill,” he started but Olivia shook her head.

“I’m not going to prolong it,” she said, “the waiting is the worst part as Nik once told me.” She sighed a bit glancing at the clock. “I’d rather just get it over with. I know they are going to have me up there for days,” she set her empty cup and plate down on the coffee table, knocking the remnants of their card game from the night before askew, then curled her legs up under her on the couch. “It’s not too long, I mean,” she paused, “it’s only a few hours all together. I can do it.”

“Just a few hours,” Gaz agreed with a small nod as he looked at her. It was a few hours at a time, but he knew she’d be worn down for much longer than he had. “I’ll be there the whole time, front row,” he smiled a bit before grabbing her to pull her closer. “You won’t be alone,” his hand slipped gently under her towel, his fingers splaying over the still damp skin of her stomach, over the barely there swell in her lower abdomen.

It had been a pure accident. The stress of their life had caused Olivia to lose track of her medication and Gaz wasn’t always the best at fishing for condoms in the heat of the moment. The birth control was supposed to be preventing the risk of pregnancy anyway. But one thing led to another and Olivia missed a period. They chalked it up to stress and moved on with their lives. Then the next one didn’t come and the morning sickness started. It had been a short moment of panic followed by overjoy and frantic doctor appointments to make sure everything was alright. Not worried about pregnancy Olivia hadn’t been careful with what she ate or drank and Gaz had continued to smoke around her.

All was well thankfully, and now she was four months along. Gaz had been taking care of Olivia, doing everything and anything she needed. The morning sickness had abided for the most part but he knew the nerves had brought it all back up again. The doctors warned Olivia to not let the stress get to her because it would affect the baby and she was doing everything in her power to remain calm. Such as staying away from news, drinking tea, light exercising and actually getting back into her old favorite hobby of reading.

“Remember, he can’t touch you anymore,” Gaz said gently as he tilted her head up to look at him with his other hand. “Never again. There is nothing he can do to you, you’re safe and I’ll make sure it stays that way,” he smiled as she leaned up to kiss him, her head nodding lightly as she grabbed at his thigh. “You should probably go get ready,” he said quietly after a few minutes of holding her.

“So should you,” Olivia answered as she pulled the towel off her head and dropped it behind the couch. “Come on,” she said as she rose from the couch, not bothering to grab at the towel that unraveled from the tucked knot at her chest and let it fall to the floor. “If we hurry you can help get out some of this nervous energy,” she taunted as Kyle looked up at her from the couch, his eyebrows raised high as his eyes raked over her body.

“Last night not enough?” He asked, though it was just a tease because he was already standing and clicking off the television. He followed her into the bedroom, his hands sliding over her hips from behind as she paused at the bed. Olivia reached up behind her to snake her hand behind Kyle’s neck to pull him down to kiss at her shoulder.

“Never enough,” Olivia answered with a satisfied sigh as he kissed at that soft spot where her shoulder met her neck. She grabbed one his hands and guided it to her center and groaned as his fingers found exactly what she wanted, arching her back against him.

“Should have said something earlier,” Gaz growled against her neck feeling just how ready she was for him. “Could have taken my time,” he said as he gently rubbed at her clit, smirking as she ground her hips back against him, using the movement to give herself more pressure. “Really drawn this out,” he nipped at her ear before she pulled away from him and bent forward, propping her hands on the edge of the bed, before turning to look back at him.

“You can draw it out later,” she breathed out as she watched him peel off his boxers and the undershirt he was wearing. These days she was already ready for him, the desire to climb him as soon as he walked in the door from work was almost its own form of torture. She knew it was probably the hormones coursing through her body but she also knew it was the love for him, and the love she knew he had for her. “Please,” she whined as Kyle bent over and kissed the middle of her spine, working his way up between her shoulders.

“Patience love,” he answered as he brushed the still wet hair off her back before sliding his hands around her front to grab her breasts. They were already pleasantly swollen and he grinned when she groaned as he rolled her nipples between his fingers, biting down on her shoulder blade. There was an older hickey there that had begun to fade and Kyle sucked at the abused spot gently.

It had taken Olivia a long while to be comfortable like this, her trauma from what Henry did to her made this position nearly impossible for her in the beginning. Kyle had taken his time, letting her guide him as she worked to take back her own body. He had kissed every inch of skin on her back, let his hands gently rub over the skin as she laid on her stomach in bed and pulled her hips up back toward him. She had panicked a few times and he quickly switched tactics then but then one day she asked him to take her like this. Had arched up to him and practically begged him and Kyle had, his hands holding her hips as she set the pace. When he managed to get her to come twice on her hands and knees, praising and lovingly holding her through it, she had let go of that final hold Henry had over her body.

“Kyle,” Olivia breathed out as Kyle finally pushed into her, his hand gently pushing her shoulder blades down so her face was pressed into the mattress. Her hands gripped hard at the edge of the bed as he set a quick pace and she whined, closing her eyes to enjoy the rapid slapping sounds their bodies made. He kept one hand on her hip as the other found her clit again and she began to pant, doing her best to not be too loud for the poor neighbors. The flat was old and the walls were thin but he kept hitting that spot that made her cry out with each thrust.

“Oli,” Kyle groaned as he felt her clamping around him. “Fuck love,” he grabbed at her shoulder to keep her pressed back against him, his movements had pushed her too far away from his liking. She keened at the pressure and he bent over her back to roughly kiss at the side of her face as he rolled his hips. He grinded into her as she rolled back into him and he felt her release as she gasped into the sheets, one of her hands stretching far out in front of her on the bed as she slumped further into sheets. “There you go,” he grinned as her body became lucid coming down from the high he had just given her. “One more for me, give me one more before we go,” he goaded and Olivia nodded before she pressed up on her hands fully, extending her arms.

At this angle he could rock her against him, her hands able to give her leverage to push back. He wasn’t going to last in this position, her body was still fluttering around him and he could feel her cum on the tops of his thighs as he pushed even deeper. She was moaning with abandon now as he thrust hard, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in to the hilt. She helped him move her body, rolling her hips and arching her back up a bit to let him get that little bit further in until he couldn’t go anymore. He was afraid he was going to leave bruises on her hips as he bullied her body but he couldn’t help it, and the way Olivia was begging him to keep going he knew she could care less.

“Fuck, fucking hell,” Kyle groaned out as he felt his release coming, “fuck yes…just keep moving,” he instructed, begged, as she rocked her body back against him on her own volition. “Just like that,” he looked down watching as she fucked herself on him. He heard her cry out with another release and her movements became frantic and that was the final thing he needed as she slid over him. He came hard, his hands sliding down to her thighs to hold her fast against him to fill her with his spend as deeply as he could so it would remain there.

When she stilled and caught her breath Gaz gently pulled out, pressing kisses down her back before standing up and tugging her to the bathroom to get ready. They readied in relative silence, smiling at one another in the mirror as Kyle shaved and she curled her hair up into a French knot. When she picked out a simple black dress Gaz zipped up the back for her and smoothed his hand around her front. He rested his hand over her belly as he looked at her in the mirror while she put on a soft dusting of pink lipstick. Then when she finished, she straightened his tie, dark purple, to go with the lilac button down he had selected just for her.

“Let’s go put that final nail in his coffin,” Gaz said as he picked up her hand and kissed the back of it before they got out of the car the courthouse. Olivia let out a steadying breath before hooking her arm in Kyle’s elbow as he led her up the steps, her head held high ignoring the cameras and questions as she walked. Her lawyer had advised her to not to speak to any media, not until it was over, and Olivia had no problem with that. The cameras inside the courthouse were much quieter, the reporters not allowed to talk as the trial commenced.

When Henry was led in, Olivia stiffened in her seat. Kyle placed a comforting hand on her thigh, his thumb rubbing over the skin above her knee that had begun to shake. Henry stared at her when he walked in, his eyes narrowing in that threatening way he always did when he was going to make her pay for some indiscretion. Olivia swallowed but, unlike before, she didn’t look away. She held his gaze defiantly, using Kyle’s silent strength and support next to her to not back down. She knew Kyle was also staring right at Henry and for the first time ever, Henry was the one to look away from Olivia first.

“You’ve got this. I’m so proud of you,” Kyle said quietly into Olivia’s ear as the government lawyers came to get her and led her to the stand. She did her best not to shake as she took her seat and when the questions began, she held her ground. She didn’t waver from her story, didn’t let the tears that burned behind her eyes fall and in moments of nearly breaking she glanced at Kyle. He was positioned right in her view, angled so she could easily see his supportive smile, and she found herself swelling with pride and love for him all over again

Kyle had always been there. Always. Even when she pushed him away, wounded him, tried to break him so he wouldn’t come back to her for his own safety, he remained resolute. When she didn’t deserve his help, he still gave it. When she thought she would completely fall off the edge, he was there holding her hand and pulling her back. Whatever she needed from him, he gave freely and without question. Her hand slid unconsciously over her stomach as she watched Kyle, who grinned wider at her movement. A child was not something they had even remotely discussed, but the moment it came into their lives, Kyle dove headfirst into preparing, with zero hesitation. That was him though—no fear, no holding back. Her steadfast soldier.

Henry was sentenced at the highest extent of the law after being found guilty on all charges. The trial had taken months but Olivia’s weeks long testimony washed away any questions of his guilt. He was locked away in a high security prison, his family money liquidated to pay all his debts and the civil suits that were mounted against him. More and more people were arrested and tried as evidence kept mounting but Olivia and Kyle weren’t needed for those trials. They had done their duty and put the ringleader away, putting an end to his attempt to run the world.

It took years, but Olivia and Kyle were finally free from Henry and could start the life they had wanted before he interfered. It was a hard-fought victory that had almost killed them both, but in the end, Henry had finally lost at his own game. He was left to rot in a cell for all the atrocities he committed, while the world moved on without him, slowly wiping him from their memories.

And as Kyle held Olivia on the couch in their run-down apartment two months after Henry's sentence, laughing as he spoon-fed her yet another scoop of his ice cream because she whined that it tasted better, he knew this was exactly where they were supposed to be.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod #my fic #gaz fanfic #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz x oc #keeping lines blurry

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the-whispers-of-death · 2 months

Text

"Dance with me."

Grim Reaper turned to the person speaking, a man he knew so well.

Heartthrob.

Captain Fariz "Heartthrob" Shah was an old acquaintance of Grim Reaper's, the closest thing he had to a friend. Standing at 6'6" tall, he was shorter Grim Reaper, but he was so much warmer. His brown eyes sparkled and his warm brown skin dimpled when he smiled, brightening any room he walked in. Since they were on deployment, his usual beard was shaved clean, giving the thirty-five year old a sense of youth as his rounded jaw was shown off.

He looked... handsome. If Grim Reaper gave it much thought about Heartthrob's appearance.

"What did you say?" Grim Reaper asked, clearly thinking he had misheard. His voice was deep and monotone as always, an air of coldness surrounding him.

No one ever asked to dance, mostly because they were scared of him. And those who weren't scared of him told him he was just a mindless soldier, a weapon. They weren't wrong, Grim Reaper was nothing more than a weapon.

Okay well, he was also Bharat Mishra's son, a man whom he looked so much alike that he took his father's name as his own. He became his father, and the Marine Corps loved it.

Heartthrob's smile hadn't dimmed and he moved closer to Grim Reaper, holding out a calloused hand. "Dance with me, this is my favorite song. I want to dance with you to it," he repeated, as if that made any sense to Grim Reaper.

But Grim Reaper just thought it was one of the odd things about Heartthrob. Because surely the man must be odd to take one look at a mindless soldier like Grim Reaper and decide to befriend him.

Grim Reaper slipped his hand in Heartthrob's, feeling the warmth of the other man's encase his gloved hand. "I don't know how to dance," he murmured as he let Heartthrob lead him onto the bar's dance floor.

"No need for you to, not really." Heartthrob led him to the middle of the dance floor and let go of Grim Reaper's hand, placing his own around Grim Reaper's waist. "Just wrap your arms around my neck and sway. It'll be fun, I promise."

Grim Reaper bit back his initial instinct to say that he never had fun, but he instead just said nothing. He wrapped his burly arms around Heartthrob's neck, something that would make the others wary.

He had snapped so many enemy soldiers' necks so many times over the years and his efficiency for doing so made the others scram whenever he was in arms distance from them.

But not Heartthrob. Heartthrob stayed so close to Grim Reaper, gave him affectionate pats on the shoulders and chest, touched his waist like he was doing now. He wasn't afraid of being hurt, being burned by the intense paranoid that clouded Grim Reaper's ability to make friends.

He always thought people were going to hurt him. That someone was going to poison his food. Drug his drink.

But Heartthrob always took the first bite of Grim Reaper's food and waited minutes before telling him that it was safe to eat. Always taking the first sip so Grim Reaper knew he could drink it safely.

So kind, so... nurturing.

Grim Reaper always wondered what was in it for Heartthrob. Was it so he could boast about taking down Grim Reaper's walls? Was it so he could hurt Grim Reaper when his walls were fully down?

It made him want to pull back from the man.

Grim Reaper went to do just that, but he looked into Heartthrob's eyes and his paranoia melted away. Instead of pulling away, he found himself leaning in. Since they were so close, he could smell Heartthrob's cologne that he had worn to supposedly woo people.

His callsign was Heartthrob, not because he could charm people, but because he couldn't. He was notoriously bad at getting dates, so other Marines started teasing him and calling him a heartthrob. True to his easygoing nature, he never got angry at the teasing, he actually welcomed it. He joined in on making fun of himself on more than one occasion.

"What are you thinking about?" Heartthrob asked as they swayed together. His hands had moved up slightly, on the small of Grim Reaper's back.

He was cradling him. Like Grim Reaper was something—someone—so precious to him.

Grim Reaper replied immediately, "I'm thinking about you."

And he immediately bit his tongue to stop himself from saying more.

He was always too blunt, too honest. He didn't know how to lie, unless it was to save someone's life. Whenever he had to lie to get someone out of a bad situation, it was like a switch flipped in his brain and he could lie. Other times, he was just too honest, saying such vulnerable things.

Which was why he had to be quiet more often. People often didn't like what he said anyways.

Heartthrob seemed amused though, a laugh bubbling up from his chest and escaping from his lips. His brown eyes seemed to sparkle more as a smile Grim Reaper wasn't sure ever left his face came back. "What about me are you thinking about?"

Instead of replying, Grim Reaper just gave him a blank look, which seemed to amuse Heartthrob even more. So much so that he took advantage of Grim Reaper's sheepishness and grabbed one of his gloved hands, twirling Grim Reaper.

It was like the breath left Grim Reaper, a sense of fleeting freedom washed over as he twirled. What was this feeling blooming in his chest, the twitching in his lips?

"You're glowing," Heartthrob murmured, his voice soft like he was in awe as he brought Grim Reaper back into his hold, pulling the other man against his chest. "You like the twirl, hm? I'll keep that in mind."

Grim Reaper's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't what you're talking about."

And he really didn't. He didn't know what emotion he was feeling, why he was even feeling anything.

Shouldn't he be emotionless? His father trained him to be an emotionless soldier, to be molded into whatever the Marine Corps wanted him to be. So what was this foreign emotion that he was feeling?

Heartthrob chuckled. "You looked like you were about to smile," he explained softly, unbothered at having to explain emotions to Grim Reaper. "Your eyes were bright, you looked happy. It's like the world gets so much brighter and you feel like nothing can dim the warmth you feel. Does that sound similar to what you felt?"

"I... I don't know," Grim Reaper admitted, wincing at his own words. He waited with abated breath, waiting for the inevitable scoff and disbelief that he didn't understand what happiness was or what emotion he was feeling.

"That's okay," Heartthrob instead responded with, one of his hands lifting upwards and gently guiding Grim Reaper's head towards his shoulder. "We'll take it one day at a time, help you learn your emotions, together."

Grim Reaper melted in Heartthrob's arms. "You promise?" he asked.

Heartthrob smiled down at Grim Reaper. "I promise, and perhaps we can also see about you giving yourself your own name." His hand was still on the back of Grim Reaper's hair, his fingers gently carding through the black strands.

"I like the name Vikram."

"Vikram, what a beautiful name. I promise, Vikram, I'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

#task force 141 oc #call of duty oc #cod oc #task force 141 oc: stone #call of duty oc: stone #cod oc: stone #grim reaper!stone #stone variants #The Multiverse of Stone #call of duty oc: heartthrob #cod oc: heartthrob #Heartthrob x Grim Reaper!Stone #Grim Reaper!Stone x Heartthrob #oc x oc #male oc x male oc #this was longer than intended #nobody asked for them but the first line popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote this #:)

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thisbluespirit · 7 months

Note

I know you've already had Silver but 14, Silver/your choice. (I feel like he deserves a silly lil kiss!)

Silver/random confused human + 14 (casually), it is, then! <3

***

“What exactly happened here last night?” barked Steel. “You saw something, yes? What was it? Something in the filing cabinet, you said – well, open it up and let me look at it!”

The caretaker folded his arms and scowled almost as hard as Steel. “More than my job’s worth, that’d be. Whoever you are, you can bog off where you came from and leave me alone. I told your lady friend about last night and I’ve got nothing more to say. You can’t be from the council – you’d have ID.”

“Excuse me,” said Silver. He passed by both of them, pausing to first smile at the recalcitrant human. Then he brushed past him in the doorway. He rested a hand on the man’s arm, and smiled. “It really is very important.”

The man glanced back at Steel and then at Silver, blinking in sudden confusion. “Er, well, that is. I shouldn’t really – I dunno.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Silver anyway, and kissed him casually on the mouth before turning away to examine the filing cabinet. The human blinked and flushed bright red, turning to Steel again in mute appeal. Steel shrugged.

You’re so heavy-handed, Steel. Silver ran his fingers down the front and then the sides of the metal filing cabinet. Some things need a light touch. The filing cabinet sprang open. “There,” he said. He threw a glance at the human. “No harm in letting my colleague here check it over now, is there?”

“I, er,” said the caretaker again. “Um. I suppose not.”

“Yes, quite.” Silver smiled. Steel’s continued glare did nothing to diminish it. “There you go – all yours, Steel. I trust you’ll find what we’re looking for.”

Request a ship + kiss here!

#fanfic #ficlet #fanfic kiss meme #silver #steel #silver x oc #kisses #seymournipples #asks #you did say a silly little kiss so that's what it was XD #(I do like when elements flirt in the line of duty)

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thedeadthree · 1 year

Text

🐍: AEGON II TARGARYEN and UNA ULLER -> x: HAND IN UNLOVABLE HAND / 🔮: DAEMON TARGARYEN and IOVANNA DAYNE -> x: LOVE IS THE DEATH OF DUTY

🌊: AURANE WATERS and VALAENYA TARGARYEN -> x: AURAENYA / 🥀: SAURON and ALMÁRËA ALFIRIN -> x: BLOODLINES WILL BURN

the darlings @leviiackrman, @dihardys, and @arklay tagged me to make the loves and their beloveds or clowns with these cutest holiday meikers! [ m/f | m/m | f/f ] ty ty! <3

TAGGING: @feystepped, @griffin-wood, @kingsroad, @jendoe, @denerims, @chuckhansen, @queennymeria, @risingsh0t, @jackiesarch, @florbelles, @aartyom, @belorage, @yennas, @adelaidedrubman, @confidentandgood, @malefiicarum, @anoras, @marivenah, @shellibisshe, @roofgeese, @aceghosts, @multiverse-of-themind, @stormveils, @unholymilf, @celticwoman, @rocketsummer, @shadowglens and you!

#only if you want to! 🥀🍄#oc: una nathaira uller #x: hand in unlovable hand #oc: iovanna dayne #x: love is the death of duty #oc: valaenya targaryen #x: auraenya #oc: almárëa alfirin #x: bloodlines will burn #TIS THE SEASON WHICH MEANS ITS THIS DEAR PICREW 🤍🤍#modern aus of the fantasy beloveds my dearest <3 #also i am watching a*ndor rn so if u see a clown from that i am nothing if not predictable xjxjxjjx #when im telling u all that when one of these days ill have something done for alma that is like the final scene with rh*aenyra in h*td GAHH #a scene where h*lbrand and her are at the forge and she has her memories back? and she is reminded of what their enemies’ve stolen from them #they are not aware their daughter is still alive (not until literally the end of l*tr sozjxj)#so as far as their aware she is…… no longer with them u know? so like dear rhae rhae she turns from the fires of the forge and the look she #has is VENGEEFUL and it’s so good ✨😌 its not him they should be afraid of its her babey! bloodlines will burn etc etc <3 #(inspired by that line where a*dar was like a lover or a child which to him her memories were erased so it was both for a bit ✨😖)#kind of love aeg and una a normal amount their ship name and that they’re both wearing matching outfits <3 ✨😌#they’re not denying the romantic relationship allegations slzjjxjx not one bit <3 #WHEEZE d*aemon 🤝 aur*ane <- being smug buffons with their beloveds #enya matches the energy and then takes it up a notch bc she’s an aries rising and would rather go to the wall then lose ksjzjxj #enya and iovanna either having none of it or being more smug than them as a challenge!#like great great grandmother like great great granddaughter! like scion like descendant! those are my ladies!#and iovanna being the one who’s having none of it aozjxjj his charms though charming she’s sees through him.. they’re in love etc etc #leg.ocs #leg.tagged #t: picrews #ty ty for the tag! a fav to do this time of year it was lovely to have the opportunity to again 🥀✨🥺

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fioiswriting · 7 months

Text

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew.

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded. He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt. It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation. A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges. And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled. Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders. Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it. He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell. Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost. King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you. Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor. You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back. It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead. It must have been your imagination. You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest. Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets. And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal. You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him. You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be. You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you. You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin. Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall. Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench. You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him. A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly. Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind. A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy. Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion. You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit. He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him. He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence. You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious.

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.

He doesn't let go of you.

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him. It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him. You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other. Your hands are buried in his long silver hair. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry. You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.

You need him.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears. You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him. It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting. For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth. You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie. You know you should lie. To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years. You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not."

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye. It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words. You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath.

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe. It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity. Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him. You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know." Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence. He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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natsukishinomiyaswife · 9 days

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⋆ 𝓙𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵 𝓥𝓲𝓹𝓮𝓻: 𝓐 𝓙𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓣𝓼𝓾𝓶 ⋆

I wrote this for an OC of mine, but changed it to be a x Reader so that I could post it! Enjoy! ♡

⋆ It's scary how similar they are, you couldn't help but think, feeling a pair of eyes on you.

You're sitting in the lounge of Scarabia, playing with Kalim's tsum. Jamil's tsum sits a few feet away, watching you intensely. Kalim had an emergency club meeting to attend, the Pop Music Club's concert having been rescheduled to be sooner. The members were left scrambling to practice with the short deadline. Since Jamil had his duties to attend to, you offered to watch their tsums for them, Kalim thanking you and saying goodbye to his tsum before rushing off.

⋆ Jamil was more reluctant, hesitating for a moment before allowing it with a sigh. Him and his tsum locked eyes, staring at each other. They stayed that way for a minute, having a silent conversation before he left down the hall. Since they left, all Jamil's tsum did was stare at you, keeping his distance. It reminded you so much of Jamil, how he always seemed to watch you for some reason, never really approaching. It made you nervous, looking back every once in a while to see if the tsum was still there.

⋆ You weren't sure why it put you on edge, much like how Jamil's staring would. Perhaps it's because you're unsure what you did wrong, looking back again to see the tsum behind you, watching you still. You took a deep breath, doing your best to focus on Kalim's tsum. He was a little bundle of energy, never seeming to keep still as he bounced about happily. Watching him made you smile, laughing as you played. A chill ran up your spine as you felt Jamil tsum's stare, turning to see the tsum was looking at you much more intensely. It almost seemed like he was glaring at you, making you turn back to Kalim's tsum with a frown.

⋆ The happy tsum seemed to notice the change in your mood, laying himself in your lap as a way to comfort you. You looked down at the tsum, his eyes looking back at you as if asking if you were alright. A small smile came to your face, petting the top of his head. He was so cute, and reminded you so much of Kalim. You looked back to check on Jamil's tsum, doing a double take when you realized he wasn't there. You started looking around the room, trying to see where the tsum could have gone to and doing your best not to panic.

⋆ Right as you were about to get up and start searching the halls, Jamil's tsum appeared, carrying something on his back. As he got closer you realized it was a plate of fruit, the tsum sitting it down in front of you. You stared at the tsum in confusion as he nudged the plate, as if telling you to eat. You pick up a grape, realizing you were hungrier than you thought. Your chest grows warm as you eat the fruit, realizing the tsum had noticed you hadn't eaten in a while.

⋆ You turn to look at him with a shy smile, petting the tsum's head as you thank him. The tsum seems pleased by this, soaking in your touch. After a moment, Kalim's tsum hops in your lap, clearly wanting some attention too. You laugh at his antics, moving to pet his head instead. You feel Jamil's tsum staring again, just as intense as before. You turn to the tsum, wondering what was wrong. As you gaze at the tsum you realize his stare wasn't directed at you, following his line of sight to the tsum in your lap.

⋆ It takes a moment before it clicks, with you apologizing to Jamil's tsum and shifting your attention back to him.

"Ah, sorry! Did you want to sit in my lap too?"

Jamil's tsum seemed embarrassed at being caught, but didn't deny your offer, moving to lay next to Kalim's tsum. Though he didn't seem happy with sharing, pushing the other tsum out of your lap when you weren't looking. Kalim's tsum bounced back up a moment later, choosing to sit on your shoulder instead.

⋆ Jamil was done with his tasks for the day, heading back to the dorm lounge to check on you. He hopes Kalim's tsum didn't give you too much trouble, figuring his own wouldn't do much. If anything, perhaps his tsum helped you keep Kalim's in check. When he got to the doorway of the lounge he froze, taking in the sight before him. You sat on the floor, Kalim's tsum sitting on your shoulder while his own rests in your lap. You had a small smile on your face as you looked down at the tsum, petting his head. His tsum was clearly pleased with the attention, looking smug when he noticed Jamil in the doorway. Jamil couldn't help but cross his arms, shooting his tsum a look.

⋆ What he wasn't prepared for was you picking his tsum up from your lap, lifting the tsum close to your face as you eyed him affectionately.

"You really do look like Jamil! Same hair, same clothes. It's so cute!"

You press a gentle kiss to his tsum's forehead, setting him back in your lap afterwards. The sight causes his heart to pound in his chest, feeling flustered as he turns around. He'll come back later, after he's calmed down ♡

I might post the original one I wrote featuring my OC one day, but for now...

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾! ♡

#♡.sheep writes #♡.twst #♡.jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 2 months

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Catch My Breath

The first kiss.

Set in Christmas Eve 2022, after the events of Call of Duty Modern Warfare II.

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC) Characters : Simon "Ghost" Riley, Charlotte "Jade" Le Jardin (OC), Captain John Price, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC), Alejandro Vargas Word Count : ~ 9600 Warning : Fluff with a slight bit of angst, a touch of hurt/comfort, and good ol’ cursings.

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Dont forget to come to cpt prices house today.’

You : ‘Of course not. I’m still at the orphanage for christmas gifts exchange. As soon as I'm done I'll be there :)’

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Good’

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Gaz is making some bangin biscuits and scones’

Jade smiled at her phone as she chatted with Soap. Her mouth already watering from imagining the taste of Gaz’s cooking on her tongue. According to Soap’s and Ladybug’s testimony, his chocolate biscuits were second to none.

You : ‘Wouldn't miss it even if I die.’

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Alright. See ya.’

She bit her lip. There's one more question she wanted to ask though. She contemplated asking Soap this or not.

Her thumbs moved across the screen slowly.

You : ‘Is Ghost coming?’

When Soap had invited her to the dinner five days prior, all Jade could think about was whether or not Ghost would be joining. Their one week together in Las Almas made her feel… something. Something really, really good. Something she hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He earned a friend in Alejandro, Rudy, Soap, and Ghost, especially, whom she’d thought of as a real piece of work back in Verdansk. Oh, how foolish she was.

He was the best part about Las Almas.

Dammit. What was she thinking?!

By the end of Chicago, after they eliminated Hassan, Ghost and Jade had traded phone numbers. Jade had his numbers and named it “💀💢 Beanpole 💀💢”, after the nickname she gave to him before they knew each other’s name. They haven’t texted at all. Ghost wasn’t the kind to text first, that much was clear to everyone who knew him. And neither was Jade. In fact, she didn’t know what to text him first. A “hi”? A…

What else?

What do people text each other when they’re trying to get to know each other? She had no goddamn clue. Well, she knew what to text when she wanted to get intel from an unassuming target, but she didn’t want intel from Ghost.

She just wanted to know if he was okay, if he was fine, if the gash on his shoulder was healing well. Because of course, in her 29 years of life, a serious romance wasn’t a luxury that she could afford in her line of work in MI6. She took that lesson from her parents who literally had to ‘die’ first in order to even start. The point is, none of them texted first. They’re just another series of numbers in their contact list.

An animation of dots showed up, indicating that Soap was typing.

He’d typed for a few seconds before the animation stopped for a moment, and then started typing again. He must be changing his response.

Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘If there's food he should be there.’

Oh? ‘... should be there’. That meant Ghost was not with Soap at the moment, and he didn’t know whether or not Ghost would be coming along. A week in Las Almas was enough for Jade to know that Ghost had grown closer to Soap as a friend-brother figure. The fact that Soap might not know his whereabouts was not a surprise, though. He’s the Ghost after all.

But she couldn’t help but think, where was he?

What did Soap type?

“Chacha! Can you help me a bit here? We're about to start the event!”

Jade looked up from her phone, her ginger hair falling on her shoulders as she tucked her phone back in her pocket, swiftly walking over to one of her co-workers, Esther, an elderly soft-looking lady who volunteered for the orphanage - her former orphanage. This place held a lot of bittersweet memories, and it made her who she was.

Her legs brought her to one of the high ladders leaning onto one of the walls of the dining hall. She took many mistletoes from the decoration boxes and swiftly climbed the ladder, hanging the vegetation one by one with ease.

“Do we need this many mistletoes?” Jade asked while her hands worked. “At this point we’re gonna kiss someone by accident.”

“Of course not, what are you talkin’ about?!” Esther’s loud laugh almost broke Jade’s ears. “It’s Christmas, Chacha. The church had an overflow of mistletoes from the donations. If there's a day where we can add as many mistletoes as we can, it’s now. Let's call the kids over.”

“Alright. Let's start this shall we?”

—

The sound of Jade’s boots rang throughout the pavement as she hurried over to Price’s house. She travelled by public transportation from Surrey as she didn't have a car with her (plus she’s not much for driving safely - fake driving licence and… all that). She looked down at her watch to see 7 PM as the cold night finally settled. Each of her breaths turned to clouds in the air, shivering as she didn't have her outer jacket with her right now. She’s never one to be unprepared, but after one of the kids got too excited about getting a Lego toy and spilt a whole glass of apple juice onto her jacket, Jade had to fight through the cold with her trusty turtleneck and only one layer of thin knitted jacket as an outer, clutching the soaked coat close to her chest.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of walking, Jade reached the front of Price's house, immediately knocking on the wooden door three times. She looked up at the massive three-story building made out of bricks, that had a good space in the front yard. The building looked old like a family heirloom, but she could tell that it was pretty much taken care of. There’s a pair of trees that had shed all their leaves for the winter and had a decent amount of vegetation on either side of the doors.

Jade looked back at the front yard. There were three cars parked in front, and she assumed that one of them belonged to Price, the other two should belong to either Gaz’s, Soap’s, or Ghost’s.

The wooden door opened. She expected Price as the owner of the house to welcome her, instead, it was Eleanor, Gaz’s very own Ladybug who immediately screeched on top of her head. “JAAAADEEE!!! You’ve finally arrived!” The medic bursted out of the door hugging her figure so tight Jade might’ve folded. A beautiful burgundy sweater around a tan shirt wrapped her figure perfectly, and of course, with her wavy dirty blonde hair tied on the back with the ribbon Gaz gave her, worn out as it could be.

“Hey Lady! I miss you so much!!” The ginger greeted warmly all the while trying her best to stay balanced on her feet or else she’d fall five steps down to the ground on her back. As Lady pulled away, she gave room for Jade to step inside the warm house, taking a glance at Jade’s look.

“Whoa. You only wear two layers? You’re shivering!”

“Yeah. Apple juice all over my jacket, but don’t mind it.” She chuckled as she took off her jacket and coat to hang them on a standing coat hanger on the side of the door, “Have the others arrived?”

“You’re the last one. I came early with Kyle to bake the cookies and help Price with the food. Soap came second bringing sacks of snacks and drinks, and Ghost had just arrived before you, about 45 minutes ago.”

That caught Jade’s attention, her heart beat a little faster just at the mention of his name. “Just? Isn’t the Captain’s invitation at 5 PM?”

“Yeah. It looked like he was coming back from somewhere though.”

Somewhere?

Lady’s eyes half blinked, looking at her teasingly. “...Am I sensing something here?”

“What? No. No. It's just that he’s um… usually an on-time kind of man.” Jade tried her best to act indifferent, looking away from her to observe the doorway decorations.

“Oh really? I see, I see.” Ladybug nodded, “Because I might have heard some stuff from Kyle~”

Jade’s eyes opened wide at the statement, her mind already racing at the thought of what Gaz had said to his girlfriend. “What did he sa–”

“There’s me trusty Ginger!”

A voice which she could identify from a mile away as Soap’s, called to her. Donning the green military-issued sweater above his uniform, which he rolled to the elbow, he walked in both women’s directions with a chocolate biscuit in hand.

“Well hello there, Ocean Eyes.” Jade softly hugged Soap’s ever-bulky body while he patted her back several times. “How's your arm? Healing well?” She remembered how Soap got shot by Graves in Las Almas and how both of them, along with Ghost, had to survive the Shadow’s manhunt in the city. Even in Chicago he had to force through it.

“You’re one to talk. How's your side?” Soap pointed at her left side while munching through his biscuit.

“You got hit?! Where?!” Ladybug, who’d been in Urzikstan to help Farah and Alex for nearly a year after Barkov’s demise, hadn't been updated much about Las Almas. Looked like Gaz left that tiny little detail.

“She did get hit.”

“No! No no. I didn't get hit per se. We were… breaking into the Las Almas prison to free Alejandro and the Vaqueros - a little bullet missed my hip, but it did leave a teeny tiny graze.” Jade made a little gesture with her thumb and index fingers.

“It wasn't.” Soap retorted, which made Ladybug look even more concerned. “You almost fell from the prison walls during our escape and LT had to catch you and carry yo–”

“ANYWAY.” Jade tried to dismiss the conversation away from Ladybug’s growing unease. “It was quite literally us four against a thousand. So we had our own hits. It was a month ago, right? I literally walked my way here! See? Now. Where's the man of the house?”

“Thought you want to camp in that doorway.” Price's gravelly voice called from the living room, his head peaking out from one of the walls. “Come in and close that damned door will ya? The forecast said it’s going to rain snow unless you muppets want to shovel the snow.”

With Jade closing the door, they all walked together towards the interior of the house, where the warmth from the fireplace radiated throughout the room cozily. And holy shit. The word ‘family heirloom’ could perfectly describe the house. Some of the furniture looked like it was carved specifically for the house, soft carpets covered some parts of the wooden floor, and portraits of whom she assumed as the former Prices hung on the walls. The exterior of the house didn’t do the property justice at all. Soap had said that this was the Captain’s own house which he’d left mostly abandoned since he resided in Herefordshire. She wouldn’t lie, if Price turned out to be a secret old money she wouldn’t be surprised.

Jade’s eyes found Gaz at the kitchen island wearing the same exact outfit as Soap and Price, but with an apron around his waist while he pulled out another batch of chocolate cookies from the oven. Gaz noticed her presence when Ladybug approached him and pointed her way. “Oh, Jade! Come here and eat the salmon. You’re not allergic to fish aren’t you?” This sight of Gaz was pretty surprising for her. He seemed more cheerful and open around Ladybug, contrasting to his serious demeanour in the field. It was refreshing, to say the least.

Jade put down her bag on one of the sofas where Price sat on the edge of it, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands skilfully. “Nope, no allergies. Have all of you eaten yet? Sorry I’m late.”

“We have, and apparently my Ladybug over here is a vacuum cleaner of food.” Gaz was replied with an elbow to the rib by his partner.

Taking her own plate of baked salmon, Jade watched from just enough distance as Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ladybug played a game of poker on the desk. The atmosphere was tense from the rivalry but hearty at the same time, their laughs filled the room as Price caught Soap hiding a card on his sleeves, which resulted in a 50 push-up penalty for the Scot. Apart from the chaos, Jade couldn’t help but find herself trying to find that one particular big man.

The memories of sharing sleepless nights together on the rooftops of Fuerzas Especiales base rushed down her mind. Those moments made up the few moments of peace that they could muster up from the chaos of Las Almas. Just the both of them, the night sky, two cups of tea, and the lights from the city of souls. All those times they spent together completely with his mask on. Only when he decided to take off his mask in front of the 141 and Vaqueros did she ever see his face.

She’s good with faces. That’s an absolute requirement for her job. That image of his face was ingrained in her brain. How the black paints surrounded his surprisingly soft eyes, how the sun reflected his whiskey brown eyes and light eyelashes, the scars on his cheeks from wearing the mask, and his strong jaw.

Jade only wished she could enjoy the actual sight of it once more.

The former MI6 turned her head a number of times, making up blueprints of Price’s residency inside her mind. This house didn’t have a rooftop, and from the looks of it, all the bedrooms are located on the upper floors. Ghost likes looking out at the scenery, so he might’ve gone upstairs, broke into one of the many bedrooms and looked out on of the balconies as he sipped on a cup of tea. Considering how Ghost was, he’d break into his captain’s house without anyone knowing about it just fine.

All the while the others were playing, Jade finished her plate of grilled salmon and found her way towards the kitchen sink to wash the dishes. She came the latest, the least she could do was helping cleaning the kitchen area. That task came to a halt when her phone vibrated. She was confused at first, but when her eyes read ‘Col. Vargas 🤠’ on the screen, Jade immediately accepted the video call.

“Hola, Coronel! Como estas?”

“Hola, Compa! Muy bien, muy bien.” Alejandro's gravelly voice greeted her excitedly as his video showed on Jade’s screen. She could tell that the sun was still up in Mexico judging by the light on his face. He looks like he’s standing just outside his family’s house. Quite rare to see the colonel in other attire than his military ones, but as Jade saw his blue shirt tucked inside his blue jeans, she couldn’t help the snicker that came out of her mouth. She remembered that Alejandro had revealed to her privately that he had two beautiful daughters who lived in Mexico City with their maternal grandparents. “I’m in Mexico City with my family to celebrate Christmas. We’re about to head to church for the Christmas Eve sermon.” Alejandro continued in Spanish, but something caught his eye. “Wait, Jade. Where are you? Is that Soap?”

Jade lifted the phone above her head to help him see the place clearly, “Yes, that’s Soap, Captain Price, Gaz, and that’s Eleanor, Gaz’s girlfriend.” She said in his language. Her fingers pointed at each soldier as they slammed their cards on the table, chaos ensuing in the middle of them. “This is Captain Price's house in London. He invited us all for dinner, and now that it’s done, they’re playing poker, aggressively.”

Now it’s Alejandro’s turn to laugh. “I’m assuming they’re on their second bottle of whatever alcohol they’re consuming.”

“Yep. Looks like Captain Price is richer than he lets on. He has 4 bottles of wine from the 1800s! Can you believe it?!”

Jade and Alejandro continued their video call, sitting in her former position on the sofa. Despite Soap’s slight dislike that they were conversing in Spanish as he couldn’t understand what they were talking about, Jade kept on going. Jade learned that Rudy stayed in Las Almas to rebuild and restore the city after the Shadows wreaked havoc, encouraging Alejandro to leave the city and unite with his family.

“So. Onto the most important topic…” Alejandro’s voice sounded deeper and his eyebrows lifted. Jade had learned after a thrilling week working together that those were a sign that he was onto something cheeky. “Where’s the Ghost?”

Again, Jade’s heart beat faster at the mention of his name, and her stomach grew warmer. Damn it. “Um, I don’t know where he is. He is here somewhere in Price’s house, but… I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He’s there? Have you tried the rooftops?”

“This house doesn’t have a rooftop. It does have a lot of rooms with balconies, though. But I didn’t see any open window from the outside.” Her head started to look side to side, “ I don’t know if this house has a back or side entrance, he might be somewh– Alejandro!!” Jade stopped when she realized that Alejandro was laughing his belly off.

“You’re looking for him too, don’t you?” The colonel guffawed. “Aaah, You should’ve seen your face when you were explaining where he is to me.”

“That’s–”

“Look. I wished you luck with him back in Las Almas. It’s only natural that I asked for ‘updates’!”

“Keep fighting the good fight, hermano.” “To the bitter end, my brother.” Soap handshook the Mexican colonel and sergeant as they were about to leave Las Almas. He then turned around and tapped Ghost’s shoulders twice, heading towards the rear end of the aircraft to unite with Price and Gaz. The lieutenant though, stood still on the tarmac a few steps behind Jade. “Good luck amigos y amiga.” Jade hugged Rudy warmly, tapping her back a few times before holding out her hand to handshake Alejandro. Instead of a handshake, Jade saw a wide grin on Alejandro’s face and opened his arms wide, indicating that he was waiting for a hug as well. “Come here, Hermana!” Jade chuckled, expecting that a handshake wouldn’t be enough for the Mexican. She obliged by stepping forward and warped her arms around Alejandro’s figure. What Jade didn’t see though, was how Ghost’s body tensed slightly behind her. Alejandro sneakily observed the man’s movement, looking visibly uncomfortable. No matter how skilled Ghost was at appearing as still as he could, Alejandro could see that this skill of his just disappeared when he was in Jade’s presence. Before Alejandro let go, he lowered his voice and spoke to Jade’s ear. “Que te vaya bien con el fantasma.” ‘Good luck with the Ghost.’ Jade blushed profusely when she translated that sentence in her mind, stepping away from the hug to punch his shoulder lightly “ey!!” She looked over to his side, finding that Rodolfo was also grinning ear to ear. “I mean it, Jade.” Alejandro spoke in Spanish, tilting his head as a sign that he was serious. Jade’s head nodded in surrender a few times. As much as they wanted to converse more, her job wasn’t over yet. Her legs started to walk backwards, “Gracias, Alejandro, Rudy. Cuidate.” Alejandro observed as she turned around, finding Ghost’s waiting figure right in front of her. She then tapped his chest plate once, jogging her way towards Price, Gaz, and Soap on the aircraft. That sight made the colonel scoff, glancing at Rudy, who looked as amused as he was. Just as Ghost was about to turn around as well to join his teammates, Alejandro called to his name. “Ghost!” The lieutenant turned around. “No te pierdas carnal!” “A huevo!”

“The both of you have forced me and Rudy to watch a telenovela the entire time! Please tell me that you’ve at least done something together after Chicago.”

“We traded numbers…” She said nervously.

“And then? Did he text first?”

Jade grimaced, expecting that Alejandro wouldn’t react well to her next response. “We… haven’t texted at all.”

“NO MAMEEESSS!!” Ale facepalmed on the video call like he just watched the Mexican national football team fail to score a goal in a World Cup match. “Ghost… I swear… you need to do better.”

Jade stood up and walked over to the kitchen aisle yet again and put her phone on a leaning position on the wall, hoping that Alejandro’s shout of despair didn’t reach the other soldiers. “Well– what if he doesn’t want to continue this… whatever’s going on between us?” she grabbed a white mug and a cocoa mix, putting in 3 spoons of the choco powder inside. “You’ve seen how he is. I don’t want to hope too much.” Jade confessed to the colonel, pouring hot water on the mug and stirring the contents with a spoon until the sweet aroma hit her nose.

“Oh you don’t know that yet, right?” Ale replied, “Do you want to have a relationship with him?”

A relationship with Ghost?

That sounded crazy to say, but if she's being honest with herself, yes. Yes, she did.

“Yeah…” She started to walk towards the hallway on the side of the kitchen with the warm mug. The walkway looked narrow and led to the rear side of the house. She guessed that if this conversation was prolonged, they were going to need a place where Soap wasn’t shouting his lungs off. Her green eyes looked to the end of the room, where a wooden door similar to the front door was present in front of her. A back door perhaps?

“Okay. Now one of you needs to start. Ghost clearly isn’t starting because he’s a stupid, bad man. But maybe you can convince him that you’re worth his time.”

Worth his time? “How?”

“Start by finding him.”

The former MI6 walked towards the back door and glanced over the glass parts where the outer side of the house was visible. Just then, she registered a man with a large frame, sitting on the stairs of the back porch. He wore the same attire as the rest of the SAS members - their military uniform covered with a military-issued sweater, and layered further with a familiar black jacket that she’d seen before in Chicago. The man had a mask over his head, but she could see that it was currently lifted up as he took a sip of what she assumed was bourbon.

That’s definitely Ghost.

“Jade? What happened?” Alejandro asked curiously as she stopped speaking earlier.

“I found him.” She muttered.

Alejandro’s lips curved, slowly forming a smile.

“The floor is yours, Jade.”

—

*5 hours earlier*

Johnny : 'LT. You’re coming, right?'

Ghost looked down at his phone, staring at the message that Johnny had sent him, not planning to text anything back.

He hated Christmas. No, he didn’t hate decors, the bright lights, the red, green, and white that coloured the streets and buildings around him. No, he’s not petty like that. He’s indifferent to it.

What he hated was how the month of December always reminded him of the darkest part of his life.

He lowered his phone and tucked it inside his pocket, going back to the sight of his family’s gravestones right in front of him. His mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew.

Ghost remembered the blood; the foul stench hitting his nose as he stood frozen, witnessing the lifeless bodies of his family – all surrounded by the colourful lights of red, green, and blue from the Christmas tree that they were decorating. If only he realized sooner that his enemies wouldn’t settle with torturing him. If only he wasn’t so naive and thought that his battles were done as soon as he was home. How wrong he was.

How fucking wrong he was.

Ghost’s tears had dried out a long time ago. Every Christmas Eve he always visited their graves. He’d cry for the first three years, but now he’d settle with staring at the stones, not a word coming out of his mouth. Just him, alone with that memory.

His phone vibrated again. Johnny’s still messaging him about the dinner at Price’s house. Ghost closed his eyes in annoyance and sighed, taking his phone and turning it on to find a few messages.

Johnny : ‘Captain said not to disturb you during Christmas week’

Johnny : ‘Idk what you’re doing now’

Johnny : ‘but I hope you’re enjoying yourself’

Ghost moved his thumb on the keyboard screen, wanting to text Johnny that he was not coming and to stop messaging him.

Johnny : ‘Also’

Johnny : ‘Jade’s coming’

His thumb paused right above the send key.

Fuck.

Why did his heart beat faster suddenly? What was this warmth in his stomach? His memories of his family’s death disappeared, and suddenly all the moments with Jade came down rushing through his mind.

The moment when they met – where they shot at each other in Verdansk, leaving a permanent mark on his left ear – The sleepless nights in Las Almas, the meaningless conversations, their moments in battle together. How beautiful she was when she kept her calm during pressing and stressful situations, the grace in her movements…

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

Ghost had read Price’s invitation two weeks before in their group chat. He already made up his mind from the beginning that he wasn’t coming. He never really enjoyed parties or any form of gathering at all. That’s how he’d been living for three decades of his life. Why did that one mention of her name from Johnny instantly change his resolve just like that?

He didn’t reply to Johnny at all, only leaving the two blue check marks indicating that he’d read Johnny’s messages.

And that… was how Ghost ended up sitting on Price’s back porch. The crescent moon was high in the sky. Little bits of snow started to fall down alongside the windy weather. For the first time of the day, he had his skull-painted balaclava up to his nose in order to take a sip from his glass of bourbon.

When he had arrived at Price’s front yard with his sedan, Ghost saw the amused surprise in Price, Gaz, and Lady’s faces, but he also took a glimpse of Johnny’s smirk on his lips. The sergeant now knew the way to his heart, and it infuriated him. God damn him.

The sun was already long gone by that time, and he could see that the others were already in the midst of eating their dinner.

He’d sneakily taken a glance around Price’s luxurious house.

No Jade yet.

Ghost had conversed for a while with Price, took his own plate of baked salmon, poured himself a glass of bourbon, and excused himself to the back door. For an hour and a half, he sat right there, slowly sipping on his alcohol. Just as he thought that she wasn’t coming and that Johnny had lied to him, the wooden door behind his back opened.

He turned around and found the woman herself.

Jade.

Her ginger hair was braided like usual, but stopped on the back of her head, letting the long hair run freely down her back and shoulders. The deep red turtleneck which usually looked out of place in warm weather such as Las Almas currently fitted perfectly on her figure. A green pair of wide pants hung from her hip, letting the fabric run freely downwards instead of wrapping around her legs like the jeans he’s used to seeing her wearing during their mission together.

Ghost caught her green eyes, reflected by the moonlight, and he could easily tell that she wore some sort of makeup. What the name was he couldn’t bother to remember, but she looked… beautiful.

His heart was already beating pretty fast from the alcohol, but now it’s going even faster, and don’t even start about the butterflies that were flying rampant inside his stomach right now.

She only stared at him, her breaths turning to cloud along with the vapour from the cocoa mug she was holding. For a few seconds, they stayed like that, until Jade finally started.

“Why aren't you inside? It's cold.”

Can you miss someone’s voice? Apparently you can, judging by the unexplainable sense of relief that washed over him after he heard her voice. The last time he heard her voice was back in Chicago, a month ago. He then turned around again, facing Price's plain backyard to try hiding any signs from his exposed mouth that she might read. The former MI6 had this scary skill to read every body language of any person. Sure, he had a mask up to his nose, but he wouldn’t take any chances.

“I don't like parties.” He replied.

“It's cold.”

“Better than whatever's going inside. And I have my friend right here to keep me warm.” He slightly lifted the bourbon glass, shaking it slightly to make the content swirl.

Jade hummed. She observed his glass and noticed the alcohol. For all their nights in Las Almas, Ghost always drank tea, never alcohol. Of course, they were in active duty, so drinking liquor could cost them so much, but he'd said himself that he pretty rarely drinks, since Ghost had confessed that he liked being in control of what he did. She wondered why he was drinking, but she let it go. Instead, Jade stepped two stairs down, and sat beside Ghost’s left, drinking her own cup of hot chocolate.

“Why are you here?” Now it's Ghost’s turn to start.

She wondered how to answer that. If she's being honest, the answer would be ‘to be with you’, but she deleted that response in her mind.

“I… don't really like parties.”

“…You don't look the type.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s ‘my’ type?”

Ghost took another sip from the glass, “Likes being around people. Gets your energy from a communal space.”

The former MI6 scoffed. “Fooled you right there. Maybe it’s just me, but being around people automatically sets me in observation mode. Don’t get me wrong, I like people. It’s just tiring.”

“Hm.”

Another few seconds of silence, before she continued. “What about you? Why are you here?”

“Gets noisy inside, especially if Johnny's starting to lose his grip on reality.” Ghost immediately answered, almost like he expected Jade to ask him that. “He’s a screamer.”

“Hey how's your graze wound? It's healing well right?

Jade suddenly asked, which surprised Ghost. He glanced at Jade, finding the woman herself looking straight into his brown eyes. He should admit, her face so close to his caught him off-guard, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, creating a cloud in the air. Ghost then took a sip from his glass again before answering. “Yeah. I changed the dressing every once in a while. It's just a scab now. “ To be honest, he kind of forgot about the wound on his right shoulder. It was disgustingly painful during their time in Las Almas and Chicago considering how he must carry the chestplate and his gears on that shoulder. The memory of Jade tending to that wound of his at the safehouse came rushing down his brain.

“Okay, that's a relief then. Just make sure you don't scratch it or it'll open again.”

“I know the drill, Midget, I’m not a kid. This isn't my first rodeo. What about you?”

“Wh-what about me?”

“Your hip.”

The former MI6 sucked both of her lips between her teeth. “It’s fine.”

“Fine how?”

Jade now looked at Ghost’s brown eyes, intensely gazing at her own. He wasn’t taking ‘It’s fine’ as an answer. He was always an intense person. She suddenly remembered the feeling of being safe in his hands when he carried her towards the van, arms under her shoulder and knees when she couldn’t bear the pain in her hip any longer.

How Ghost had slept the whole night, in a sitting position on a chair beside her bed in the safehouse with his mask on, staying right by her side.

“Oi. Midget. I’m asking you.”

That snapped her out of her thoughts. “Huh? Yeah! It’s a bit itchy at times, but I can manage. It’s healing well.”

That answer seemed to finally satisfy him. “Hm.”

Jade went back to her hot chocolate, but Ghost didn’t leave her. He could see her shivering a little bit in the cold. The tip of her nose and ears had turned rosy.

“You cold?”

“Hm? No! No, not at all. Why?"

“You're shivering. And where's your jacket? A single layer of sweater won't help with this fucking weather.”

“Well– About that. I was at the orphanage for Christmas gift trading earlier before coming here. One of the kids got… too excited and spilt apple juice all over my jacket, so I had to take it off.” She admitted.

“What, you're gonna freeze yourself to death here? It's 1 degree out.”

“I don't want to be insiiiide.” Jade whined, almost childish. A sight Ghost would never admit he found cute.

“Your survival instincts are out of the damn window. I thought you were a seasoned MI6 black agent.” Somehow he found more ways to ridicule her.

The ginger scowled, pouting her lips before standing up “…Whatever, I'm going inside”

“Fuckin’ hell– stay. Stay here. Sit back down.” Ghost’s swift hand grabbed her forearm a bit too harshly, prompting her to balance her hand as a drop of her hot chocolate spilt out to the white snow below.

“Why? You want me to freeze to death?” Regardless, she sat back down, closer to his body now.

“You're the only company I've got that isn't annoying. So stay here.” Ghost unexpectedly moved his arms to take off his black jacket, revealing his green sweater underneath, and much to Jade’s surprise, his arms loomed over her and rested the dark clothing around her shoulders. Her bewilderment failed to hide itself when his hand patted her shoulder a couple of times to set it in place. “There. Better?”

Wow. It’s… warm. And most importantly, It’s his warmth.

One of her hands left the warm mug, softly tracing her fingers along the hem of the jacket to tuck it closer to her chest. “...Better.”

Shit. Ghost didn’t know the sight of Jade beneath his jacket would create more butterflies to fly like bees inside his stomach. In an attempt to suppress it, he sighed, leaning back and closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

…before he opened his eyes, finding a mistletoe hanging right above them, placed neatly. And purposefully. It’s like a damned grenade trap. “…Fuckin’ hell…”

“STOP SWEARING!!” Jade exclaimed, annoyed at his shortage of vocabulary. “You've said those words twice in the same mi– What are you looking at…?” Jade looked at Ghost, who was leaning back while his head hung backwards on his neck.

She looked up as well, finding the mistletoe that made him swear. “…oh, blimey.” There was not a single Christmas decoration on the back side of the house but this one. Price was a person who had a high attention to detail, but Christmas decoration was not one of them. Heck, he barely decorated the house at all. That thing was hung far too strategically.

Both Ghost and Jade were thinking of the same thing.

Soap.

Ghost sighed, “Just ignore it.”

“But it's bad luck though.” Jade thoughtlessly said.

“You don't really believe that, do you.”

“Well I don't! It's hanging vegetation. Still, I'm saying it could be true.” Her hands gestured at the mistletoe above her.

“What, you want a kiss?”

The woman gasped, almost offendedly. “HUH? KISS YOU??”

“Who else is underneath this fucking mistletoe?”

She joked, trying desperately to hide her panic at the thought of kissing him. “A ghost.”

“Fucking funny. Also what's with you? It's just one kiss.”

Jade stopped speaking. Her eyes widened as she pursed her lips. “Um…. I just don't…”

Confusion fell down Ghost’s half-masked expression, quickly reading her reaction, until he got to the conclusion. “...Don't fucking tell me you haven't had your first kiss yet.”

When he saw how Jade couldn’t respond anymore, Ghost pinched his forehead.“Bloody hell... Then why did you say you want it?!”

“I NEVER SAID I WANT IT??? I just said that the bad luck thingy could be true!”

“Well fuck us for five hundred years then!”

“DAMMIT– OKAY!! KISS ME!”

Those words perplexed him, not realizing that he was practically glaring at her that his eyes might come out of its socket. The ever-present black paint around his eyes didn’t help to ease the tension either. Jade herself didn’t know which thunder slapped her that she said those words. She wasn’t the kind of person to just spout things without thinking of the consequences first.

Ghost observed Jade’s face, trying to read her expression, to see whether or not she was joking or serious. Because in the deepest part of his heart, he’d hoped that she was joking. But even deeper, he hoped that she wasn’t. “…you don't mean that.”

Jade wondered if her mouth had disconnected from her brain. What she was saying came out literally the opposite of what her instincts were. “You heard me. You can kiss me. Just a peck though.” What was she thinking? This was NOT what she wanted to say. Or was it? “How many women have you kissed?” Aaand now she’s prying onto his past? Great job, Jade.

He used to be young, that’s for sure. Despite his father and brother mocking him and his mother for it, he used to go to school and met a few women during his learning days. Only two of them, though, and that was all before he got into military. He didn’t know what commitment was back in the day, and his ‘girlfriends’ didn’t know that either. “...a few.”

“Were they experienced?”

“Probably so.”

Okay, so he had some experience. That somehow made her feel easy. “Well… I have zero experience on the act. So… be gentle, okay?”

“…Fine.“ Ghost breathed as he put down his almost-empty glass on the stone staircase behind him, finding Jade doing the same.

The coldness of the wind prickled her skin, making her realize that this was not a dream. He’s about to kiss her, and it’s from a mistletoe. Out of nowhere, she remembered the overflow of mistletoe that the orphanage received earlier. Could that be a sign? Either way, she snapped back to her current state, where Ghost was visibly looking at her lips, and that sight made her heart drum twice the speed. At this point, she might explode. “Okay. So… what do I do? Do I tilt my head a little, or do I open my lips just a little bit? Should I lean in to kiss you too? Or like–”

“Just. Stay. Still.” Ghost shut her up before she could blabber more.

“Okay okay okay”.

Jade watched Ghost secure his mask up to his nose, revealing his mouth. When she glanced at his lips, Jade could see a tinge of red on his cheek, but she could dismiss that as a reaction to the cold or from the alcohol he was drinking. When he leaned in slowly, Jade could see him so close, the closest he's ever been to her. His eyelashes were longer than she's ever realised, fluttering against his skin, the little healed scars on his face–

Jade sucked her lips into her teeth, "WAIT WAIT WAIT." Making the man flinch and pull away in confusion.

"What?! Do you wanna do this or not?!" Ghost exclaimed.

"I do, I do! It's my first time! Just–”

“I said all you need to do is stay. Still.”

“I've never done this before, literally! I'm 29 and I've never kissed someone!”

Ghost fell silent as Jade hid her face on her palm.

“…I have never fallen for anyone before.” She confessed. “I wanted my first kiss to be with the one and only, and now… “ Her hands wildly gestured to the mistletoe above them, “someone happened to put a mistletoe right above us.”

Jade was a lot of things. A formidable fighter, a dependable ally, a brave operator who’d jump from a cliff with you, a spawn of the devil herself when she does her thing. However, at that moment, Ghost didn’t see any of those at all. All she saw was a vulnerable woman, curled up in a ball because she couldn’t fathom the concept of a single kiss.

After a few moments of him letting her collect her thoughts, Ghost muttered, “…Jade, if you're not ready, then we can just pretend that it doesn't exist. You don't have to.”

“You know what?” She tapped both of her knees with a considerable force, like she just made up her mind about something. “I gotta start somewhere right? Besides, when I finally kiss my man, I need to work on my kissing game.”

Ghost couldn’t help the scoff out his mouth. And… ‘her man’, huh? That could be a dream. “'Kissing game'?”

“Yes! Gotta…know what it feels like, at least?”

Ghost observed her expressions yet again. The woman in front of her was looking at him like she’s about to surrender her life to his hands. What, was he about to shoot an apple above her head? To him this was just a kiss after all.

Or was it?

Jade wasn’t his girlfriends during his younger days. She’s an extraordinary woman like no other.

“…Okay. Look. We're gonna do this slowly. I will do all the work while you can just stay there. Does that work with you?” Ghost started, looking at Jade in the eyes.

She put on the bravest face she could muster up and proceeded with a nod.

“Say it.” The deep timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine, because of course, it wasn’t enough for him.

“Okay, Ghost.”

“Good. Close your eyes, Jade. Just calm down. Trust me.

As she closed her eyes, she breathed the cold winter air deeply before letting them out. Now that her vision was no more, her other senses had heightened. The sharp cold air stabbing her skin, the faint sounds of Alejandro's guitar playing from inside of the house, the smell of hot cocoa on her hands, the faint scent of something that could only come from Ghost's jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

For a good amount of time, she didn't feel anything other than her surroundings. Jade was expecting something on her lips. Anything from the man that was sitting right in front of her, but none came. She was about to open her eyes and call his name, until something touched her chin, lightly lifting her head to face upwards. And just then, Jade finally felt a soft, tender kiss on her forehead. His lips stayed there only for a second before they parted with her skin, yet it felt like she longed for it for more than eternity. No one has ever laid their lips on her skin before. No one.

What she was expecting was something on her lips, not her forehead, so when Jade was about to open her eyelids, again, he stopped her by putting his fingers on her left cheek, tenderly sliding them from her rosy cheek to the back of her ear, taking the stray strands of her red hair with them. The hands that killed, that murdered many so more could live, were gingerly touching her face with an unexpected amount of softness. She didn’t know his hands were capable of doing such delicate movements, and neither did he.

Before she could register what was happening, she felt him getting close again, and for the second time, her expectation betrayed her when Ghost kissed her cheek, just right under her eye. The kiss lasted longer than the one on her forehead, yet Jade couldn’t find any reason to complain. If anything, she wanted his lips to stay on her cheek longer than that. To feel him closer, to feel him more.

Ghost’s fingers moved on backwards from behind her ear, going through the wilds of her undone hair and finding its place on the back of her head. Heart racing, Jade was expecting another kiss that was not in the designated place. However, when his deep, raspy voice softly said to her, “I’m going to kiss you now.”, she found herself giddy with her eyes closed. Part of her wanted to open her eyes and see what was going on right in front of her, but the other part stood strong against it, not wanting to ruin the moment.

So when she felt him closing in, Jade gave all control over to him. She relaxed herself, letting Ghost gently pull her head closer to his, to at last, close the distance between their lips.

It was the softest, slowest kiss possible, filled with unsureness on her part, yet with a sense of certainty and confidence from him, and because of that, Jade let him do his part, leading the kiss to the point that it was enjoyable and… lovely.

The kiss lasted for only a mere 5 seconds at most, but it felt like hours. Ghost reluctantly pulled back and saw that Jade had already opened her green eyes. Her face was painted with shyness and shock, a pleasant one, as she saw that Ghost had removed his mask entirely, his face right in front of hers, his brown hair still a bit dishevelled from removing his balaclava.

Jade was a heavily trained warrior and an exceptionally skilled individual who stayed calm in times of distress and emergency on the battlefield, a force to be reckoned with, and could be an absolute menace when she wanted to be. Now, seeing the same woman like this – dazed, wide-eyed, a blushing mess, and taken aback by a simple kiss – The sight made him smile softly.

If only she'd known how long he'd wanted to do that to her.

Palm still resting on the side of her neck, he asked her, “How was that for a first time?”

Jade looked like a robot losing its ability to function. There were no words in her brain to respond to his question. Scratch that. It looked like she didn’t even register what his question was.

Seeing her so flabbergasted made him let out a deep chuckle. “Midget. I’m talking to you.”

That bastardized nickname snapped her out of her thoughts, making her blink rapidly, seemingly trying to sort her jumbled brain. Jade looked at the man who just claimed her first kiss right in his dark, brown eyes.

He’s still right in front of her, face looking at her delightfully with a sweet smile, not like the usual dark, ready-to-kill gaze. It’s almost like looking at a different person entirely.

“Uh… Umm–” Jade couldn’t form words.

Another chuckle, “You okay?”

"...this is a weird request, but" A pause, "Can you… do that again?"

Never in a thousand lifetimes, he would ever expect that answer from her. "...You want me to kiss you again?"

"Yeah. Can you do that?" She spoke with a low voice. "Please?"

His eyes opened wide at her request. Confused, but amazed at the same time. Did that request mean she liked it? Her expressions said that she did, though. Or did she just want to make sure? Nevertheless, Ghost decided to oblige and leaned in again to kiss her.

Jade closed her eyes again and felt his lips against hers for the second time that night. His kiss was as soft and as tender as the first time. This one, though, she decided to take in the feeling of his rough lips, the way he tilted his head to fit hers, the way his large hand lightly pulled her in and softly kissed her. All the sensations she felt from his actions became ecstasy.

Her hands lifted their way up to find Ghost's cheeks. Jade could swear she heard a small gasp from the man. Fingers gliding along the side of his face, she could feel his stubbles grazing her skin. It was such a surreal sensation, to think that this is the face of the man who got branded as a ghost, a myth, who wears the mask to hide who he is. Right now, she's having her palm on the skin of his face, and he allowed her to.

No one had touched the skin on his face in years. No one ever managed to get their hands on his face save for enemies who sought to kill him and punched his mask before meeting their demise with his knife. The only form of touch he remembered was of his father, who was all but loving.

With the tip of her thumb, Jade traced the scars on his face. Her warm hands instantly built a gentle fire on his skin. The feeling of such a tender touch was almost like meeting a stranger to him. But if it's a stranger, why did he find himself missing it so much? Why did he yearn for it so? Her touch ignited a warmth that he never knew he needed.

At that time, the woman he was kissing felt more like home than anything and anyone ever did. He felt like he could just melt right there and then. Here Ghost thought that he was the one kissing her, but now it was like she was the one casting some sort of magic spell on him.

Soon, their hands moved, Jade’s hands left his cheeks and found his wrist who was holding the back of her head. He almost forgot the feeling of someone’s hand on his own, but before he knew it, he felt her other hand grasping his sweater, right above his heart, crumpling the cloth. As they went on, he couldn’t just stay still anymore. Ghost’s other hand also found its way to her back, lightly pressing on her. He wanted her closer, he needed her close.

Ghost snapped himself out of his thoughts and pulled back, catching Jade off guard.

The both of them looked into each other's eyes as they caught their breaths, not noticing that they'd been kissing for the last minute. Faces extremely red from racing hearts and rushing blood, clouds of cold air escaping their mouth from the cold, for a moment they thought they knew this was just because of a single mistletoe, yet deep down, they knew this was something more.

Not hearing anything from one another, Ghost took his hand back from her neck and waist as Jade parted her hands from him to her lips with her hands.

The man spoke first, "You need more?"

"Yes– I mean– No! That was enough." Words stumbled their way out of her mouth. "Uh… So… that happened. I just had my first kiss."

Ghost couldn't help the smile, "I just stole your first kiss."

"No. You didn't steal it." She denied, "If anything, I'm glad you are my first kiss."

Hearing those words, Ghost could feel his heart racing again, the world suddenly felt warmer.

"I'm sorry you have to kiss me, though. You've always hated me." Jade continued with a laugh.

"Who says I hate you?"

That made her look at him, and what she saw was the most gentle face she'd ever seen him. Again, she didn't know he was capable of that expression. "If I hated you, I wouldn't ask you to stay, wouldn't I?"

That's a true statement. "You're right. So we're past the "stay away from me" phase now?"

"Our first meeting was in Verdansk. Situation was out of control and we were off to a bad start." He explained, "And we just kissed. We're way past that now."

Smiling, Jade pursed her lips before saying, "So… are we still friends?"

"Friends?" He glanced at her.

"Yep."

"Friends then." Confirmed Ghost.

"Who just kissed each other."

"Because someone hung a fucking mistletoe on the back porch." He retorted while gesturing to the decoration above them.

The woman laughed out loud before looking at the man, who was also having a chuckle of his own.

That's the first time she heard him – saw him – this happy. Had he always been this… handsome? She'd only looked at his face once before, which was when he revealed himself to the team in the Los Vaqueros safehouse in Las Almas, and then, never again.

But if this was what Jade could see beneath the mask – his happy face, the crows feet on the corners of his eyes, the corners of his lips turning upwards, and the fact that she just learned that he had shallow dimples when smiling – then she wished the mask could just disappear. Forever.

Because after this… he would put on that mask again.

This might be the last time she saw him without the mask.

When would she see him without it again?

Out of nowhere, some unexplainable force of will inside her made Jade lean in and left a peck on Ghost's cheek.

The SAS lieutenant instantly looked at the woman, flabbergasted.

Jade herself gasped loudly, covering her face in disbelief of her own action. She couldn't see it, but in his eyes, her face was as red as her hair.

Why did she do that? What made her do that?!

They swore it was the most deafening silence in their lives. Both of them stayed like that for a good 10 seconds, seemingly trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened.

"Oh my God… OH MY GOD. I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY!” Jade uttered in absolute panic.

Ghost stayed still in silence, his eyes wide open glaring at hers.

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. He’s mad. HE’S MAD.

“It– It's freezing! I'm going inside!" Jade scrambled to stand up, taking the cocoa mug with her and went to the doorway, before remembering that she still had Ghost's jacket on her shoulder.

"Ja- Lottie! Wait–" He was about to stand up to follow her, but his words got cut by his jacket flying straight to his face. When he removed the clothing, she'd already disappeared into the merry party inside.

Touching the part where Jade kissed him, Ghost slowly stared back at the falling snow in front of the porch. He hadn't worn his jacket yet, and somehow he didn't feel cold at all.

It's so hot.

It's too hot.

He buried his face in his palms, before running them through his brown hair. She didn't have to do that, didn't she? There was a mistletoe, they kissed because of it, and that was it, right?

Then what was that peck for? There wasn't any obligation involved that required her to kiss him again.

Ghost could feel his heart pumping blood faster than it ever did, faster than when he was on the battlefield, faster than when he ran laps every day. Butterflies were rushing deep inside his stomach, flying all around his insides like it just wanted to break out of his body.

He didn't know why, but if the kiss and her touch were a gentle fire that built slowly, that little peck felt like he just got struck by a damn thunder.

Violently.

And yet, he was so happy about that little peck - weirdly more so than the kiss - Too fucking happy.

Ghost grasped the sweater right above his heart before muttering to himself,

"Fuckin’ hell…"

Jade didn't melt his cold heart.

She set it on fire.

—

Price couldn’t believe the situation he was in.

His sergeants, Kyle and Soap, along with Ladybug, leaning on the back door of his house, looking at Ghost and Jade kissing at his back porch. Fucking spectacular.

“See, Gaz?! I told you–”

“SHUT UP Mate they’re gonna hear your loud arse.” Gaz nudged the drunken Scot’s rib to silence him.

Nevertheless, the plan worked. Gaz and Ladybug was the provider of the decorations since Price didn’t have any Christmas Decorations in this house in London. When Soap arrived with a mischievous look on his face and told the couple about “Operation Red Skull”, they were automatically IN on it.

And who would’ve fucking guessed? They made his house a home ground for matchmaking, and they succeeded. They weren’t his best subordinates for nothing after all.

Suddenly, Price heard a loud gasp from the three in front of him. His captain persona suddenly kicked in and stepped forward, shoving both of his sergeants to see the situation clearly.

There they saw Jade and Ghost, looking at each other, with Jade’s face looking like she was absolutely shocked.

“Oh my God… did she just sneak another kiss to him?!” Ladybug exclaimed with a whispering voice.

“FUCK! I didn’t have a clear visual.” Gaz followed.

“I think it was just a peck to his cheek??” Soap added.

“Everyone fall back!” Price commanded, and just like muscle memory, they all scrambled back to the living room, taking their respective deck of poker cards and sat around the messy table to pretend like they were still playing.

Soon after, Jade herself opened the back door with a face that none of them had ever seen before – a combination of shock and embarrassment.

“Jade? You okay?” Lady twisted her body to see Jade.

The former MI6 nodded uncontrollably like a shaking head doll. “Huh? Yeah. Yeah yeah, I’m okay.”

Gaz and Soap were covering their mouths with their deck of cards, unable to hide their smiles. It looked like they were about to break into a massive laughter any second now.

What broke it was Captain Price, who suddenly asked Jade,

“Really? What’s that black spot on your nose, then?”

---

YEEEHHEHEEHEHHHEHE. Sorry for the long wait! Thank you for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it! (❁´◡`❁)

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

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lathalea · 8 months

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The Arrival

Yes, my beloved readers, it's time for another Thorin fic from yours truly!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader/OC (pick one) Rating: G Warnings: none Author's notes: Thorin and his Company have reclaimed Erebor and started rebuilding their kingdom. Everything seems fine except for the fact that the King Under The Mountain is eagerly awaiting the arrival of someone very dear to him... Also, I want to apologise to Peter Jackson for stealing some lines from An Unexpected Journey and J.R.R. Tolkien for appropriating and rephrasing one sentence from The Lord of The Rings. I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You can find this fic on AO3. For @legolasbadass 💙💙💙

Khuzdul: Iglishmêk - dwarven sign language Kurdelê - my heart Lukhdelê - my light of all lights

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the second of his name, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Durin’s folk, was not a patient Dwarf—and yet he waited. He had been standing on the main terrace above the Great Gate of Erebor since the moment when the first rays of the morning sun gilded the distant peaks of the Iron Hills. His eyes, however, were turned towards the west, where the jagged tops of the Misty Mountains grazed against the pink sky. As he took a deep breath, fresh spring air filled his lungs. It was his—and his people’s—first spring in Erebor since it was reclaimed. The winter after the Battle of Five Armies passed in a blink of an eye. The kingdom was being rebuilt and prepared for the returning Dwarves, food stores had to be replenished, new trade agreements had to be signed… but among all those duties, something else kept Thorin awake until late on many a night. His memories.

The memory of a pair of hands gently resting on his shoulders as he sat behind his desk, and the sweet timbre of the voice that went with it, “Come, Kurdelê, it is time we reposed for the night, those reports can wait until the morning.”

The memory of those soft, sweet lips pressing innocently against his cheek and murmuring something scandalously indecent into his ear.

The memory of how her body felt in his lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against his, her silver laughter as she pretended to scold his rash behaviour, so unbecoming of a king.

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

But there were other memories, too. Their lengthy late-night conversations about anything and everything. Their secret escapades to the market, or to an inn, dressed as common folk, pretending to be a couple of travelling merchants. Their wanderings through the Blue Mountains in search of the best view of the sea in the west (his choice) and the most beautiful flower glades (her choice).

During the lengthy council meetings he had to hold almost daily in Erebor, he would recall how much her presence changed the dynamics of similar gatherings back in the Blue Mountains. Her reasoning was swift, and her no-nonsense approach to the matters of state made even the most ancient council members nod in approval. Even now, he would—out of habit—turn to his right, wishing to discuss a matter with her or ask for her insight. But she was not there, and so he would give out a dissatisfied grunt and return to the matter at hand.

He knew that the only thing he had to do was wait, and he abhorred it. But there was nothing to be done. No sane person would risk crossing the Misty Mountains in the middle of winter. Now, however, the spring came into its own right. And he sent his best men to the High Pass to oversee the approach of the first dwarven caravan from Eriador. It was supposed to bring the first group of his people returning home, merchants, masters of craft, their families and belongings… and her. The whole Erebor was waiting for the arrival of their kin—the symbol of a new beginning for the Mountain and its dwellers. Many eyes turned to the west, counting the days, making wagers, discussing the route the waggons must have taken, and the current road conditions. It seemed that in those days, only one topic existed: the caravan.

But Thorin could only think of her lovely hand in his. Of her kindred touch.

As soon as a raven brought word from the caravan, reporting that they have succesfully crossed the mountains, he could not stop himself from looking to the west, and hoping.

This was the fifth day he spent on the terrace, waiting for any signs of the caravan’s approach.

On the first day, Gloin waited with him in hopes of seeing his wife and son, but was called away due to some issue in the treasure chamber. Thorin stayed, cursing the enchanted forest (and its haughty king, for good measure) for daring to obscure his view. Sadly, neither the forest nor its king moved out of the way.

On the second day, Dwalin asked Thorin whether he was growing mawkish in his dotage, staring at the edge of Mirkwood like a lovesick whelp—a question he had to take back on the training grounds.

On the third day, Dori asked whether Thorin would rather wait inside, on account of that nasty rain, and drink some warm tea with honey. No, said Thorin, he would not. And that envoy from the Iron Hills could join him there, on the terrace, by the way.

On the fourth day, Nori, Bifur and Bofur kept Thorin company, amusing him—and themselves in equal measure—with the latest gossip straight from the taverns of Erebor (all two of them, for now). He had no idea that several hundreds of dwarves, mostly newcomers from the Iron Hills and the White Mountains, could wreak such havoc. And marry so swiftly and in such numbers. Spring was truly in the air.

Now, on the fifth day, he stood alone, and waited. Roac was circling the Long Lake below, giving out a single caw from time to time, “Still nothing.”

And then, a hunting horn rang out in the air. Thorin knew its sound all too well.

“Balin!” he exclaimed to his friend who sat in the hall beyond the terrace. “Sound the alarm!”

The elderly dwarf raised his head from above a piece of parchment, slightly puzzled.

“Call out the guard,” Thorin insisted, feeling his impatience take the better of him. “Do it now!

“What is it?” Balin rose from his seat, his scroll forgotten.

“The caravan!” Thorin gestured excitedly—perhaps a tad too excitedly for a Dwarf of his stature—towards Mirkwood, where a long line of waggons started emerging from the forest. “They will be here soon!”

She will be here soon.

Over a year passed since the last time he held her in his arms, since he braided the silky dark waves of her hair, and since he looked into the brilliant, wise eyes of the woman he loved. To him, it felt like an eternity, and in that very moment, as he hurried down the stairs that led towards the Great Gate, he made a solemn promise to himself.

When the caravan arrived, most of the Dwarves were already gathered outside of the mountain. The guards held their heads high, presenting their weapons in an honorary salute, not leaving their posts, but even they cast curious glances at the newly arrived, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd. Thorin smirked at his thoughts. They looked as impatient as their king.

He knew the protocol of such meetings like the back of his hand, requiring him to stand by the gate, look regally, and welcome the newcomers to their new—old—home. His resolve wavered, however, when he saw a familiar figure clad in a green, fur-lined gown getting down a waggon, helped by one of the guardsmen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Without thinking, he took a step forward, and then stopped, recalling who he was and what he was expected to do. He was also not allowed to leave his post, just like his guards. Instead, he observed from a distance, admiring the way the waves of her hair fell down her shoulders as she looked around, perhaps slightly disoriented, taking in the surroundings. Thorin saw the exact moments when her gaze rested on the mossy stone shaped by his ancestors into statues of warrior kings. Then her gaze moved down, focusing on the green marble of the Great Gate. Her eyes widened, her lips formed an “O” and then moved, she spoke something, but her words were lost in all the commotion. In that very moment, she reminded him of that bright-eyed maiden he had met for the first time in a mountain meadow half a world away; the maiden who laughed at his abysmal jokes, who fit so well in his arms when they danced, and who accepted his awkward courting efforts. The time that passed between then and now did not take away her ability to wonder and enjoy the world around her. She endured so many hardships on the way from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, so many cold nights on the road, faced so many dangers, and yet she never wavered in her decision to leave the Blue Mountains behind to be with him and their people. Now, she was finally here and, at last, he felt complete. Being able to see his own kingdom—their kingdom—through her eyes, and to see how amazed she was at the view, was a reward on its own.

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling when her eyes finally met his.

“Welcome home, my…” he began signing in iglishmêk, in that discreet way they often did on official occasions when the eyes of many would rest on them.

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, she responded with a smile, and began walking towards him, oblivious of her escort and the joyous crowd around her, forgetting about the protocol, moving faster and faster, a giggle escaping her lips, her braids danced in the wind, her cloak flowed behind her, and…

“Thorin!” she called him in that melodious voice of hers, and there were diamonds in her eyes, or perhaps it was only his vision that suddenly turned very blurry, and he opened her arms, and thought “the Abyss take the protocol!”, and he rushed towards her, ignoring Balin clearing his throat in embarrassment, because she was finally here, and he had waited long enough—and they finally met halfway.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her pressing into him, and there was laughter, and more tears in their eyes, the diamonds of happiness, those most precious among gems, and he was finally able to finish that sentence.

“Welcome home, my wife,” he rasped out, pressing his forehead against her, breathing in her familiar flowery scent, the one he adored so much. This was her, finally her, in his arms, and only she mattered in this very moment, not the crowd cheering around them, witnessing this moment of tenderness between their ruling couple, not even his kingdom, nor the world around them—now, it was only her.

“I missed you, my love,” she murmured, holding tight onto him, as if she wanted to make sure he would not disappear, and a wave of warmth washed over him. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, with you, after all those months…”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, cupping her cheek tenderly and eliciting a small sigh from her. “It was much too long, Lukhdelê.”

“Aye, it was,” she nodded, her eyes searching his face, as if learning it anew.

“I made a promise to myself,” Thorin continued. “Never again.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head in that alluring way of hers, and he had to suppress the improper urge to kiss her passionately in front of his people.

“Never again shall we part for so long. I crave you by my side, my heart,” he stated, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Then I will be looking forward to you upholding the promise,” she graced him with a teasing smile that made his blood run faster. “We have been apart indeed for too long, and so were our people. I believe it is time for us to work on improving their morale, would you not agree, my king?”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he agreed and took her in his arms again, and then their lips met. Sweetness intermingled with warmth, tenderness fueled the fire inside them, and he cared not that they stood in front of the gate in the sight of many.

After all, who cares about protocol when you have to properly welcome your wife home?

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chryblossomjjk · 1 year

Text

the weekend | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: dilf!jk x babysitter reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | fwb, sm*t, angst

⇢ WC: 13.8k

⇢ WARNINGS: alright boyz strap in bc it's a doozy lmao, protected s*x, multiple org*sms (m & f), or*l s*x (m receiving), face f*ck, f*ngering, rough s*x, face slapping, sp*nking, exh*bitionism, sir k*nk, t*tty f*ck, t*tty sucking (duh), body piercings (n*pples), age gap (reader is 23 and jk is like 30), infid*lity (reader is the other woman), ch*king, overst*mulation, sp*tting, man handling, finger s*cking, d*m jk, brief mentions of past add*ction, implied passing of a bby (mainly subtext w no details given), maybe unrequited love, maybe not (EVIL CACKLE), some dark thoughts discussed (nothing too graphic or detailed), fighting n yelling n crying yikes, all of these characters are v flawed (except for yul duh), cute bby moments!!, oc is v immature n naive n contradicts herself a lot, she maybe has a thing for older guys bc of that, some bl*od (just a scrape on the knee but ik bl*od can be triggering), this relationship is extremely toxic and not meant to be desired!!!, one homage to trixie mattel lmao

⇢ SUMMARY: every weekend, you give jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing monday through friday.

⇢ NOTES: so after months and months of planning this fic (i literally posted the teaser in JANUARY UM??), it's finally here. i think this is my fav thing i've written thus far and i worked v hard on this! would love to know ur thoughts, feedback is always appreciated!! ty @/taegularities for betaing!! (for whatever reason, this fic refuses to show up in tags n it sucks n nothing i do fixes it so i shall leave it be lol)

You can't tell what’s louder—the crunch of dewy, end-of-summer grass pricking the soft skin of your thighs like angry thorns, or the cracking of bones as your body thumps to the ground from your bedroom window.

“Ah-” the whine is quickly stifled by a sharp hiss as you remember your dad’s sleeping figure is just behind the wall next to you. “Ouch,” you whimper, praying that the crash hasn’t reached his watchful ears. Carefully, you climb to your feet, brushing the dirt off your bare legs. You spot a fresh crimson scrape on your knee.

Fucking great.

Finally, after days of longing and waiting, the weekend has arrived. Today, in particular, is a fantastic day. You were trying to look sexy, and blood isn't exactly the sexiest accessory. Bringing your wrist up to your nose, you inhale the candy-scented liquid you had doused yourself in before leaving.

Perfume still in check, thank fuck.

Goosebumps form on your skin as you take long, dutiful strides, cool night mist gliding through the thin material of your long silk shirt. You’ve committed this path to memory—out the window, usually in a more graceful manner, through the neighbor’s yard, and then straight down the sidewalk to the black Mercedes Benz waiting for you at the end of the road.

If you hadn’t done this a million and one times already, you might’ve missed the vehicle, so dark that it blends into the night seamlessly. You can’t help but wonder if that’s his goal entirely.

Still, the excitement of it all makes you walk a little faster.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you smile as you slide into his black leather passenger seat, leaning over the center console to give his cheek a gentle peck. Maybe you’ve overstepped a boundary and muddied the lines in the sand of your… relationship, but you can’t help yourself. Seeing Jungkook was always a treat, one you looked forward to every Friday night for the past five months.

“Hi,” he says impassively, eyes darting over your figure. A loose strand of hair dangles in front of his eyes, teasing you. “You’re wearing makeup?”

“Oh, um…” You’re at a loss for words; surprised he noticed such a slight change in your appearance. Although his perceptiveness was something you noted shortly after you began working for him, you can’t help but feel flustered. “Yeah, I… wanted to look nice tonight. Totally busted my ass climbing out the window,” you laugh.

“Did you get hurt?” His straight brows furrow slightly, silver piercing reflecting the moonlight.

“Just a scratch.” You lift your leg to show him the red mark on your knee. “Didn’t break anything, though, so that’s a plus.”

Wordlessly, Jungkook reaches over, popping open the glove compartment before you and pulling out the first aid kit he keeps there for emergencies. The scent of clean linen wafts over you from his daily cologne. His scent. Only his. You try your best to subdue the possessive smirk forming. “You should be more careful.”

“I’m okay.”

“Be more careful,” he commands, peering up at you with an icy gaze. “Got it?”

Whether it’s the seven-year age gap between the two of you or the tone of his voice, you know better than to argue. “Yes,” you wince as he rubs Neosporin onto the open wound. “Besides, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt if my dad wasn’t so… overprotective.”

“Well,” he continues, sticking a pink Baby Shark bandaid to your skin before putting the box back, “as a father, I understand.”

“Yul is two, though,” you laugh, “I’m in my twenties.”

“Being in your early twenties hardly makes you an adult,” he mutters. "Besides, it doesn't matter. The need to protect your children always stays the same.”

“Poor Bunny,” you pout jokingly as you click your seatbelt on. “She’s going to be just like me when she’s older. Sneaking out of a window to see a boy because her daddy is a big grizzly bear.”

The comment has his nose twitching in irritation. “I’m done with this conversation, __.”

You freeze. Have you struck a nerve?

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you peep. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop.” His voice is flat, but your heart thumps. “It’s fine.”

All the excitement you feel suddenly morphs into an uncomfortable ache as you slump into your seat. It’s different than it was last weekend, positioned much closer to the dashboard than you would ever put it. There’s a claustrophobic sting in your chest as you realize someone else has been in this very spot.

You know they have, and you know who.

The deafening sound of the bulky silver band on his finger, tapping against the steering wheel as he begins driving to the hotel you frequent, is a sick reminder.

You swear there’s even a musky floral scent lingering in the air. Deeper and more mature than yours. It could be paranoia, or guilt, making you imagine things. Still, you hope your perfume finds its way into every fiber of his leather seats.

“How was your day?” Jungkook asks, interrupting any rational thought or doubt, luring you back into the vicious cycle.

“A bit stressful,” you sigh. “I applied for school today.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, pretty sure I messed up on the financial aid paperwork, though. It was super confusing; I didn’t understand any of it.”

“You should’ve brought it over. I could’ve helped you.”

Jungkook does have a master’s degree in finance. He could’ve been your Rosetta Stone, helping you decipher convoluted questions about taxes and deductions. However, you weren’t sure how he would’ve reacted to you pulling out your laptop post-sex, asking for assistance on something completely unrelated to your normal routine. “That’s not the type of thing we usually do when we’re together,” you shrug, “you know?”

Your response has him shifting in his spot, pierced bottom lip curling inwards like the words made him queasy. He was the one who encouraged you to go back to school in the first place. “I wouldn’t have minded,” Jungkook mumbles before quickly redirecting the dialogue, something he does whenever he’s frustrated or uncomfortable. “So, what’s the special occasion?”

“Huh?”

“What’s got you all dolled up?”

Oh, right. That special occasion. The one you’ve been anticipating since you were made aware of its existence.

“Happy three years sober!” You announce with a cheesy smile, throwing your arms up eagerly.

“Ah,” he huffs in recognition. His eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face. Success. It takes everything in you not to physically rejoice. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“What do you mean?” You ask with a pout. “How could I forget?”

“I don’t know.” Just like that, the flicker of happiness wisps away like a flame in the wind as his expression turns emotionless and stoic again. “It’s not really a big deal.”

You frown. Must he always be so… cold?

‘It’s okay to smile; you deserve it,’ is what you want to tell him. It's not your place, though. You opt for: “It’s a huge deal, Jungkook,” instead. Reaching over, you gently tuck the stray strand of hair behind his decorated ear.

A somber aura hangs around him like a dark, dreary rain cloud, and in moments like this, when it’s so visible, you just… need to touch him.

It’s stupid to think that you’re the special one; that you’ll be the girl to turn the rain into a rainbow and save him from himself, but you can’t refrain from trying.

“Did you celebrate?”

He shakes his head. “Went to work.”

You can tell from his outfit—a sleek black blazer resting neatly on top of an even darker button-up and tie. His long hair is slicked back, but gravity, and his ten-hour long shift took their toll, making the strands hang slack, short undercut peaking through. He looks so incredibly sexy. Maybe, you can comfort him in the only way you know how…

“Well, there’s still time.” You point to the clock on his touchscreen stereo: 11:12 p.m. You throw your hair over your shoulder before slowly undoing the top two buttons of your shirt, revealing the skimpy black lingerie set you splurged on just for tonight. Just for him. “We can celebrate…”

“Yeah?” His cheek bubbles, tongue poking at the inside of his mouth, eyebrow jumping at your suggestion. “How so?”

You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. Hastily, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over the center console. It’s reckless, but so is being with a man like Jungkook. When you finally get to have him the way you want, you’re incapable of rationality.

One night of him isn’t enough. What kind of tease is that? You need at least six more to be satisfied…

“__,” he warns, arching his head away from your sneaky lips. “Put your seatbelt on. Wait until we get to the hotel.”

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” You pout, cupping his cheek in your hand and batting your eyelashes innocently. Jungkook doesn’t take the bait, giving the desolate road ahead his unwavering attention. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, you can tell you’re getting to him. Below you, his slacks tighten around his thick, tensed thighs. He’s playing right into your hands. Needily, you tongue the little silver hoops dangling from his ear.

“If I have to pull over, you’re in trouble.”

“Maybe I-”

A hushed ‘fuck’ cuts you off as the car comes to a screeching halt. Jungkook slams on the brakes, coming too close to the slower vehicle in front of you for comfort. Luckily, his dad reflexes kick in. His strong hand grips your waist tightly, preventing you from barreling forward. You brace yourself by clutching his shoulders, and when the adrenaline rush fades, you finally look at him. His nostrils are flared, and his jaw is clenched painfully tight. He’s pissed.

You know you should apologize, or be a little shaken up, but the blinking of the turn signal as he pulls to the side of the dark highway has your mouth watering. This is just what you wanted.

Jungkook sighs in frustration, tilting his head back against the headrest. The movement is counterintuitive, exposing the inked canvas of his neck that you’re desperate to paint red and purple.

A hand fists your tangled hair, pulling you off with a harsh yank before you have the chance to sink your teeth in. The silver ring on his finger digs into your scalp like a knife. “Do not fucking mark me.”

The feeling of the frigid metal is agonizing. Not physically—his grip loosens immediately after the initial tug—but emotionally. You know why he doesn’t want you to mark him. Any evidence of you, other than your weekly babysitting duties, would unravel the entire life he’s built for himself.

Jungkook is an intelligent man, though. You don’t have to tell him that it’s all a façade, and everything’s already been undone.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out frail and shaky. “I just want you.”

And like some cruel joke, his phone rings.

The contact image would typically make you swoon. It’s a picture of him and his daughter from her first birthday party; her sticky, strawberry ice cream covered hands holding his cheeks as he stares at her with scrunched eyes and a big smile. You think that picture is the only time you’ve ever seen him genuinely happy.

The bold, white font at the top of the screen makes you sick to your stomach.

‘Wife.’

Jungkook releases your hair and places a finger over his mouth, signaling you to shut up, before answering.

“Yes, Seulgi?”

“Your daughter would like to speak to you.”

Her voice makes you want to curl into yourself. Whenever you talk to Seulgi regarding Yul, you’re able to compartmentalize and detach that part of yourself from this one. The one that’s sleeping with her husband. Hearing her in this compromised setting makes you feel absolutely repulsive.

After some rustling and tiny sniffles, Yul answers. “Da-” She only manages a syllable before breaking into a cry-induced coughing fit. You cringe, poor Bunny. “Daddy!”

“What’s wrong with my baby?”

You don’t mean to giggle, especially when the little girl you’ve grown to love so much is clearly distressed, but the intimidating, grumpy, tattooed businessman beside you, talking in full-on pout, tickles your brain just right.

“I don’t wanna sleep alone!” Yul screeches in the most anguished, high-pitched tone.

“Bunny…” With the way his hands scrub down his face, you can tell the tears on the other end are physically affecting him. “Take a deep breath, please.”

There’s a shaky inhale, and a sad whine of an exhale as she tries to steady her respirations.

“Thank you, good job,” he affirms. “Yul, daddy is…” Dark pupils flicker over to you, his face scowled to match. He eyes you like you’re an annoying stain on his leather seat. A dirty little secret that’s keeping him from his daughter. The gesture sends a dagger through your chest. Usually, Jungkook tells his wife he’s working overtime, but he can’t bring himself to lie to his only daughter. “Busy.”

“B-B-But.” The wails have simmered down to a blubber. “Scared.”

“You have mommy, though, don’t you?” He counters exasperatedly, cogs turning at maximum speed to conjure up a solution. “And Ruru?”

Yul is a persistent girl. You’ve seen the two-and-a-half-year-old deadpan Jungkook with a ‘you can have them, then,’ when he tried to convince her that vegetables were delicious and totally not an abomination to tastebuds. “Jeon Ruru is scared, too.”

After a few months of dedication and trust building, Yul finally initiated you into her inner circle of squishmallows, all of which shared the surname, Jeon, followed by whatever random title her baby brain bestowed them. Jeon Ruru, a glass of strawberry milk, was her favorite. You coo in remembrance.

“What about Ado?” Jungkook suggests, exhausting all his options.

“Ado?” She peeps curiously, and you can almost see her doe eyes scanning the room for her runner-up, an avocado squishmallow you gifted her. “Ado’s sleepin’.”

“Can you go get him?”

There’s a long pause of contemplation before the pitter-patter of tiny feet on wood fills the speakers. “Jeon Ado!” She calls out, voice becoming distant as she runs to her bedroom, “daddy wantsa’ talk to you!” You make out a quiet ‘I’ll tuck you in’ when Seulgi helps her to bed. “Okay,” Yul huffs, breathless from her scurry down the long corridor, “he’s here.”

“Jeon Ado.” You rarely see this side of him, and it takes all of your strength to suppress the smile that’s creeping up. “Can you keep Yul safe while I’m away?” He even leans forward a bit, turning his ear towards the speaker as if he’s actually waiting for the stuffed avocado to answer, subconsciously playing along with his daughter despite being miles apart. The scene puts your overwhelmingly sweet perfume to shame. “Uh, Yul, he said yes. So can you sleep in your big girl bed tonight?”

Reluctantly, Yul grumbles in agreement.

“Alright baby, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Again, she answers with a little grunt and a yawn.

“I love you.”

“Love youuu!” She extends the vowel for emphasis.

“I love you more.”

There’s a beat of silence before the sleepy girl simply responds ‘yep,’ not even attempting to argue. He glances at you, this time with a wholesome smile, eyes warm with burning stars. It’s moments like this that keep you hooked, you think. Like always, the feeling is short-lived. When Seulgi mumbles a sweet goodnight to her daughter, their daughter, you’re reminded that you shouldn’t even be observing this domestic interaction.

“You know,” the man begins, turning his attention to his wife, “if you had given her a warm bottle, she would’ve gone down without a hitch.”

“Jungkook, she’s too old for a bottle.” And just like that, the fire between them ignites. You’ve never actually witnessed the pair fighting, only felt the uncomfortable heat between them in passing. “And she’s too old to be co-sleeping. She never had an issue sleeping alone beforehand.”

“Alright,” he asserts, “if Yul’s okay, then we’re done here.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little unfair?” Despite his warning, she continues. “Getting her used to sleeping with you and then not being here?”

There were many things about having a daughter that Jungkook wasn’t prepared for.

It’s not that he didn’t do his research, and Yul certainly wasn’t an accident. He had wanted her more than anything. Especially after the…

Incident.

A baby-sized hole was left in Jungkook’s chest. Every day, it grew bigger and bigger until, eventually, that bitter emptiness would’ve swallowed him alive.

Jungkook needed Yul.

Still, there were certain things that parenting books and videos hadn’t warned him about, like the worry in his stomach whenever his daughter refuses her lunch, or the ache in his heart when he drops her off at daycare and she watches him leave through the window with a sad wave and tears rolling down her cheeks as if he’s just abandoned her forever. As if he or his wife aren’t going to pick her up in a mere four hours like they do every Tuesday and Thursday. His readings haven’t prepared him for the even stronger ache that consumes his entire body whenever he leaves for work too early and comes home too late, with barely any time to spend with his favorite person in the world.

Before Yul was even born, Jungkook and Seulgi had decided that co-sleeping was out of the question. Their room was for them, and he stood firm on that principle for a while. However, as time passed, their room became Seulgi’s, and the empty bedroom downstairs became his.

Jungkook couldn’t stand that room.

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, Jungkook trudges up the stairs for a late shower. Without finance talk or Yul’s babbles, he’s left to his own thoughts. Usually, under the scalding water, he wondered how his life turned out this way, or more so, why? This time, Jungkook wonders if there is even a reason to keep going at all.

He catches his reflection while brushing his teeth. His eyes are dark, cold, distant. Those same eyes belong to his daughter, but all he sees when looking into hers is love, innocence, and everything good in life.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for him.

Taking a detour to Yul’s room, Jungkook does his best to quietly tip-toe around squishmallows and discarded markers. Underneath the pink blanket is a little ball of fluffy black hair. She’s got her thumb in her mouth—a bad habit he and Seulgi had been trying to nip in the bud—with her chubby cheeks squished against her pillow. There were few things he hated more than waking her up, especially when she was sleeping so peacefully, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t stop himself.

Tiny, confused cries fill the room as Jungkook scoops her up.

“Shh,” he hushes, smoothing his palm over her onesie-clad back. “It’s just me.”

“Da- ddy?” Immediately, she relaxes at the familiar sound of his voice, words slurred as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes with a little fist before peering up at him with big marble eyes.

“How was daycare, Bunny?”

“Scared,” she whimpers, slumping into his chest for comfort. “Scaredy cat.”

“Scaredy cat?” Jungkook repeats, trying to make sense of the phrase. “Who’s a scaredy cat?”

“Jeon Yul.”

Typically, Jungkook finds it adorable when Yul refers to herself in the third person. The way she says it this time makes him frown. “Jeon Yul is not a scaredy cat. Jeon Yul is a baby, that’s all.” Realizing that she’d probably heard the unfavorable title at daycare, his chest tightens. With a heavy sigh, he rests his chin on top of her round head, swaying back and forth. Her hair smells like green apples from her baby soap. “Why were you scared, sweetheart?”

“No color…”

On his lunch break, Seulgi informed him that she was picking Yul up early. In an attempt to encourage her to engage with other children, the teacher took away Yul’s crayons, sending her into a full-blown tantrum. Jungkook knew his daughter well, a spitting image of him in every capacity. The crayons weren’t the problem; it was that crippling shyness that made her afraid of socializing with nearly anyone other than you and her parents.

Her back ripples with tiny hiccups as she recounts the events. Jungkook decides it’s best to change the subject, not wanting to upset his two-year-old anymore—especially this late at night.

“Guess what?”

Yul grunts an inquisitive noise.

“Daddy got you Baby Shark coloring books.”

Her wispy bedhead bounces as she glances side to side, inspecting her room for any sign of new Pinkfong merchandise. Jungkook was genuinely amazed at her ability to keep track of it all, considering how much he and his wife loved to spoil her rotten. However, the word ‘rotten’ doesn’t even come close to describing his baby. “Where?”

“In my car,” he laughs, slicking her choppy bangs out of her eyes. “We’ll color tomorrow., okay?”

“I like Baby Shark,” Yul says, completely ignoring his question. The teeniest, tiniest, most precious yawn slips out, two little front teeth on full display before her lips smack together sleepily. Truly living up to her nickname.

“I know you do.” He’s still rocking her gently, buying some time before she falls back into sleep’s arms and out of his. “I missed you so much today.”

“Why?”

As of late, ‘why’ seems to be Yul’s favorite word.

Why is the sky blue?

Why do vegetables taste yucky?

Why is daddy’s nose so big?

He’d be lying if he said that last, brutally honest question hadn’t caught him off guard when she first uttered it on his hip at the grocery store.

“Because I love you.” It’s the most effortless sentence he’s ever spoken. The most natural feeling he’s ever felt.

“Why?”

“Because,” his eye roll is disconnected from his growing smile, “you’re so cute!” If they weren’t enclosed by the four pink walls of Yul’s bedroom, Jungkook would be embarrassed at the squeakiness of his usual monotone voice. Leaning down, Jungkook blows a raspberry against her doughy cheek, a tried and true method of making her laugh. “Do you want to sleep in my room?”

It’s against his better judgment and the ground rules he had agreed to, but he just… really needs to spend time with her tonight. The small nod against his chest seals the deal. Before he gets to the door, Yul stops him with an exaggerated gasp.

“Daddy, Ruru!”

“Ruru?”

She grunts, frustrated at her father’s confusion, frantically pointing at her partner in crime, the strawberry milk squishmallow lying neatly underneath her comforter. Just how she left it.

“Yul,” Jungkook starts, taking a few steps backward and bending at the waist, allowing her to take the oversized stuffie into her arms. “Isn’t this Mimi?” As far as Jungkook knows, the pink milk carton with a face had always been Mimi; a name Yul had dubbed it since he brought it home a couple months back.

“Ruru,” she states affirmatively.

And ever since then, Yul’s been a co-sleeper.

Jungkook prided himself on knowing his daughter like the back of his tattooed hand. Whether it’s a sixth sense, some innate father’s instinct that the parenting videos mentioned, or his own attention to detail, he could read her like a book. However, sharing a bed with the tiny human taught him something he had been blissfully unaware of:

Yul sleeps wild.

More often than not, Jungkook was awoken by a tiny foot kicking his back, or by his own reflexes as he was somehow pushed to the very corner of the bed by his twenty-pound baby. There were even a few times when a harsh tug on his hair acted as an alarm clock. When he turned around to confront the culprit, however, she was fast asleep, arm slung over one of the many squishmallows that had worked their way into his room.

Having her with him was worth all bald spots and bruises, though. It’s bad, he knows it, and night by night, Yul becomes more attached. Getting her acclimated to daycare had been hell, to say the least. He knows co-sleeping has possibly made her more reluctant to socialize than she already was.

Still, Jungkook can’t help but wonder who’s more dependent on the other. When he thinks about it, undoubtedly, the answer is him. Because as long as he wakes up to a little foot in his back, a fist in his hair, and the smell of green apple baby soap, he has a reason to keep going.

“Don’t you think she deserves better?”

Her sharp words swipe through the air like a blade. Even you feel the cut, cautiously eyeing Jungkook. You can’t read his expression, but something about it makes you rub a comforting hand over his shoulder. He doesn’t react to your touch at all.

There’s a sullen pause before he finally answers. “I think Yul deserves everything.”

“Right… Goodnight, Jungkook.” She hangs up before he has the chance to respond. Seulgi always struck you as a level-headed person, albeit a bit aloof, but never unfair or cruel. You assume she’s just being spiteful, because anyone who knows Jungkook would never question his dedication to his daughter. That ugly, bitter, jealous side of you thinks maybe she just doesn’t know him the way you do.

“Are you okay?” You whisper as if approaching a wounded animal, ready to attack.

“On Fridays,” he starts, eyes shamefully dropping to his fidgeting hands. “Yul spends the day with my parents.”

His incessant need to defend his parenting makes your heart ache. “Hey, I-”

“She’s usually asleep by the time I leave work.”

“Kook,” you interrupt his rambling. “You don’t have to explain; I understand... I think you’re an amazing father.”

Lifting his head, Jungkook looks you directly in the eyes. His are glassy and gentle now, but the fingers that hook into your lace bra, right between the cups, are rough and abrasive. “C’mere,” he gruffs, pulling you over the center console until you’re uncomfortably sandwiched between his solid chest and the steering wheel. There’s no effort to make room for you; he doesn’t slide his seat back. He doesn’t compromise any of his space for you. You accept it, steadying yourself on his shoulders with a grunt.

Sometimes, you question what your presence in his life truly is. Are you an escape or a punching bag? Are you merely something he can sink his nails and teeth into when angry? Something he can break without consequence? The sound of thread ripping and buttons popping fills the car as he slides the silk off your shoulders, letting the delicate material fall to the floor without a care in the world.

“You wore this for me?” A fingertip lightly traces the petite swell of your breasts, barely bulging over the frilly black cups of your push-up. The sensation sets your skin ablaze.

“Mhm,” you confirm, “I wanted today to be special.”

“You care about me?” Moonlight cuts through the dewy window, beaming against the side of his face, highlighting the taut pull in his features. His question seems genuine, but the answer is obvious, isn’t it? Simply being here with him makes the entire foundation of your soul, all of your morals and beliefs, crumble to pieces. Against your better judgment, you’re still here.

Yearning. Trying. Fighting.

You swipe a thumb over his thick brows, trying to ease the angry crinkle that’s become a permanent fixture on his beautiful face. You comb through his hair. It’s a little knotted, a little crunchy from old gel.

The answer should be obvious, but you don’t think Jungkook could internalize love if it was right in front of him.

“I care about you,” you say truthfully, “a lot.”

The stars in his eyes gleam for a moment, glowing bright and vibrant, before they’re engulfed by the suffocating blackness of his pupils.

“You poor thing,” Jungkook tuts, trailing his fingers up your neck before grasping your jaw with a single hand. The baby fat of your cheeks mushes together from the force. “You're gonna let me do whatever I want to you, aren't you?”

The tone of his voice has your heart fluttering and your stomach churning with thick hot desire. Gripping his wrist with both hands, you moan out a ‘yes,’ unconsciously grinding down onto his slack-covered bulge. He’s barely touched you yet and your cunt is leaking, making a mess of your itty bitty thong and his work suit.

“Right, of course.” With the same hand holding you, Jungkook taps his index finger against your glossy pout, “open.” Just barely parting your lips, you let the thick digit slide between them. Immediately, he presses down against your tongue, trying to coax a gag out of you. “What if I want to fuck this pretty little mouth until you cry? How does that sound? Would you like that?”

Inhaling deeply, you nod. That sounds absolutely perfect.

“I don’t know if you can handle it, though,” he lulls, retracting his finger before plunging it back in, all the up to his inked knuckle. You squint in defiance. He’s teasing, but you can’t fight the tinge of anger in your chest. If there’s one thing you can do, it’s suck a mean dick. Looking him directly in the eyes, you swirl your tongue against his palm with ease, not choking once. You feel his cock twitch against the supple flesh of your inner thigh.

Unamused by your antics, Jungkook yanks his hand back angrily, making a string of saliva drip down your chin. Maybe a full face of makeup wasn’t the best idea. “Get in the backseat,” he orders huskily, wiping the damp skin on his blazer. Biting back a smirk, you climb off his lap and wriggle over the center console. You situate yourself on the cool leather, laying down and assuming face-fuck position.

The yellow glow of headlights swims across the ceiling as a passing car drifts down the misty highway. This is the first time in five months that you and Jungkook are out in the open, blissfully oblivious to the possibility of getting caught. It’s childish, but you hope someone sees. For a moment in time—in a wandering eye’s glimpse of reality—you’re his and he's yours.

“Couldn’t wait until we got to the hotel, huh?” Jungkook huffs when he opens the door. Giddily, you lean your head back over the edge of the seat, coming face to face with the tent in his pants. His hands frantically work to unbuckle his belt, desperate to bury himself inside of you. His favorite escape. “Well, since you want to act like a fucking whore-” his pants fall to his knees with a clang when he unbuttons them, “-I’ll treat you like one.”

“Please,” you whimper, noting the wet spot on his gray Calvin Kleins. Reaching up, you lightly drag your nails across it, teasingly pinching the head of his cock before he tugs his boxers down. A big greedy smile spreads across your face as his semi springs out.

The sight makes your lips part. It’s so pretty. Something about how the moonlight catches the glowy pink tip, peeking out from under his foreskin. The light accentuates every ridge and vein on his girthy shaft. So yummy it has you drooling-

Jungkook’s right. You’re a complete and utter whore.

“Is this what you wanted?” He peers down at you over his prominent nose, one hand clutching the roof of his Mercedes. The other wraps around his thick shaft, giving it a few languid pumps, getting himself fully erect for you. Teasingly, he taps the head against your plump lips. Unable to resist, you press a sweet peck and a kitten lick to his silky frenulum. “Uh-uh,” he chuckles, raising his delicious cock just beyond your reach. “You know better than that. Ask for permission.”

“Wanna suck it,” you pout, squirming impatiently. “Please?”

Suddenly, his heavy cock slaps your cheek with a wet thud.

“Please, what?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl.” The praise is contradicted by another light smack to your face, this time with an open palm. Taking the hint, you open your mouth wide, tongue sticking out in anticipation. Jungkook watches you intently with furrowed brows and a slack jaw as he feeds you the first few inches. As soon as the salty flavor of his arousal hits your tastebuds, you moan obnoxiously, back arching off the leather beneath you.

He starts slowly, using your breathing to guide his movements—pausing on the exhales and giving you a bit more on the inhales. He does this until the entirety of his length is shoved down your warm, wet mouth.

The hem of his black dress shirt flows over you, obstructing his view. He places it between his teeth with an annoyed groan, wanting to watch the swell in your neck as you swallow him like a snake. “You take it so well,” he grunts over the material, “the best I’ve ever had.”

Tears clinging to your lashes finally lose grip, trickling down your skin until they get lost in the thick, dark swoops of your dangling hair. For once, you mean something more to him than she does. It’s insignificant and shameful, but at least it's something.

“Are you okay, __?” Jungkook asks, sensing the shift as your soul splays before him like your half-naked body. Stepping back, he gives you some reprieve.

With red eyes and drool bubbling at the corners of your lips, you moan out an implied ‘yes.’ His confession has you on cloud nine.

“Do you remember the sign?”

Again, you hum.

“Can you show me?”

Lazily, you tap his outer thigh three times, a hard ‘stop’ symbol you had agreed upon months ago while hanging off the edge of a hotel bed, preparing for Jungkook to fuck your mouth for the very first time.

“Good girl,” he says before rutting his entire length into you again. He’s so deep that the soft skin of his scrotum nudges against the tip of your nose, and the dense patch of trimmed hair on his pubic bone tickles your chin. Reaching down, Jungkook grips your neck, reveling in the feeling of it stretching against his palm as he moves in and out steadily.

Eventually, he hunches over, hands wandering down and holding your temples for better leverage. Despite the harsh digs of his hips, his delicate fingers brush away a few strands of hair stuck to your damp cheeks. The sweet gesture makes you whimper around him in pure ecstasy, moving your head to meet his thrusts for extra stimulation, circling your flat tongue around the base.

The whistles of the midnight breeze and the murmur of passing cars fade, and all you hear is Jungkook. The melodic, venomous praises pouring out of him poison your mind with optimism. He takes one last plunge, so powerful it sends you sliding back against the seat. To steady yourself, you grip his legs, attempting to ease your triggered gag reflex. He holds you there, cock stuffed to the brim as he slams a hand against the black steel of his car, shirt falling from his teeth as he moans ardently. You gasp when he finally pulls out, leaking tip still connected to you by a bridge of spit and precum.

“Why-” Cough. “Why did you stop?”

Your question is met with only the sound of rustling fabric and the chime of his hanging belt buckle as he removes his suit jacket and throws it into the passenger seat. Grabbing you by the band of your lingerie, Jungkook hauls your frame closer.

He snaps your taut bra strap against your shoulder with a single finger. “Take this off.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter, still trying to catch your breath as you sit up at the waist and unclip your bra. A shiver runs down your spine as the cool night air licks your exposed chest. This time when you lie down, you’re positioned under his spread legs. He stands over you with such authority and dominance. The underside view of his hard cock looks absolutely menacing.

“These,” Jungkook’s large palms grab at your tits, jiggling them, “I wanna fuck ‘em.”

“There isn’t anything for you to fuck,” you giggle.

After years of insecurity, and crying over vengeful comments from dumb boys you had broken things off with, you finally came to terms with your appearance. Your tits are small, and that’s okay. Plus, the cute little nipple piercings you had gotten a while back were definitely a confidence booster. There wasn’t an ounce of self-hatred in your comment.

Jungkook doesn’t take it that way, though.

“Shut up.” With a huff, he steps back and hunches, reaching down to deliver a harsh swat to your cheek. It was a little rougher than usual, and you wince upon impact. Instantly, he soothes the skin with a gentle pet. “Your tits are… perfect.”

Perfect? Your cheeks and aching pussy heat up at the compliment.

Squeezing your chest, Jungkook brushes his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. He pays extra attention to the silver barbells, decorated with little sparkly peaches at the ends. “These are new,” he notes, tugging on the jewelry. You let out a breathy moan, legs clenching together, inner thighs embarrassingly wet. “Sheesh,” he laughs, “someone’s sensitive.”

“Yeah… keep going.”

“I like them. They’re cute on you.”

Throughout your acquaintances, Jungkook was rarely this vocal. Maybe some praise sprinkled in here and there, but seldom anything substantial. Tonight, however, he’s been dishing out sweet talk like candy. You can’t pinpoint precisely what, but something’s changed.

Whatever it is, it fills you with awful, wishful hope.

Jungkook shuffles closer, teasing the teat of your pierced bud with his sticky tip. The dreamy sensation has your eyes rolling back into your skull. A glob of spit drops between the valley of your breasts before he spreads the wetness over your skin with his shaft. He has to use a death grip to force your tits into a soft plushness, perfect for him to slot himself into. Again, you feel that fucking ring embedding itself into your skin like a nasty tick.

Cautiously, he guides his pulsing cock between your constrained breasts. A beautiful symphony of groans lulls out as he throws his head back in pleasure, long locks dancing along his clammy neck.

“You like that?” You hum, taunting him. “Tell me how it feels.”

It takes him a minute to collect his thoughts, eyes trained on your tits pillowing around him, focusing on the dewy sheen of your nipples and chest as his oozing cock spills onto your skin. “It feels-” his hips stutter, “-so fucking good.”

The way his teeth snarl around the hushed curse makes you smile, eyes closing as you relish in his pleasure. Maybe you’re too horny, or perhaps the blood rushing to your head from being upside down for so long is making you crazy, but you wish you could live in this moment forever. Wallowing in the darkness, frozen in time with him. Yeah, you think, that would be wonderful.

“You can touch yourself,” he comments, spotting your clenched legs, desperate for some pressure.

“S’okay,” you mumble, reaching around to caress his balls. His thighs tremble a bit against your arms. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“Can you-” he grunts, stomach clenching as he begins to feel that familiar pooling in the base of his thick shaft. “Hold them for me. I’ll take care of you after, just- let me cum.”

Obliging, you replace his hands with your own, squishing your tits together for him. The visual of you lying under him, complacent and willing, sends him spiraling. A guttural roar echoes throughout the empty road as he speeds up. “Tighter,” he orders; you listen. The saliva and precum are beginning to rub off, making the friction of his chaotic thrusts sting your skin. He notices, letting another string of spit fall from his mouth onto your flesh. “Be good and take it. I’m almost there.”

By now, Jungkook should know you’d endure any pain to be with him.

The darkest parts of your brain tell you he’s well aware of that fact.

After a few more humps and lulled words of encouragement, he’s bursting at the seams. Just before he blows, Jungkook steps back, tight fist jerking himself frantically as he spills his seed onto your chest. Your eyes dart from his angry cock to his fucked out expressions. The moonlight shines behind him like a glowing aura as he finishes with a scrunched nose and his tongue between his teeth. He looks angelic. You moan under him, flinching when a stray spurt lands on your chin.

Fucked out and dazed, he laughs softly, running a hand through his hair as his chest heaves. Collecting the liquid with his finger, he brings it to your giggling lips. The taste makes you hum as you lazily begin rubbing his cum all over your tits.

“Really?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. “You’re already starting?”

“Starting what?” You pout, batting your lashes at him and circling your nipple lightly with the tip of your nail, trying your best to look oblivious and innocent. Well, as innocent as you possibly can while literally covered in sperm.

“Don’t play dumb. You know what you’re doing.”

See, in many ways, Jungkook is different from any other guy you’ve been with prior. For one, you didn’t meet via horny messages on Tinder at 1 a.m. For two, he’s older, meaning he’s much more intelligent and much more experienced. After years and years of honing in on his craft, he just knows how to fuck. Jungkook is one of the rare few penis-havers in the world who can orgasm back to back; no refractory period necessary. Truly a hidden gem.

To put it simply, the man is a fucking faucet—one that you can turn off and on whenever you want.

As if on cue, Jungkook twirls his inked finger, indicating for you to turn around. The other hand squeezes his cock just below the crown to cut off circulation, keeping himself erect. With that, your white converses are planted flat onto the sparse grass as you bend over the back seat, leaning your weight on your elbows.

It's like whiplash when Jungkook's aggressive persona drops, and he's running his hands all over your body. Up your thighs, over your back, down your arms. He blooms petal-soft kisses on your bare shoulder before whispering in your ear. “Can I go in like this? Or do you need some foreplay?”

“This is fine,” you murmur, jarred by his sudden tenderness. “Perfect, actually.”

With a hushed ‘alright,’ Jungkook reaches over you to rummage through the pocket of his discarded blazer. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as he pulls out a square foil packet. Condoms were an unwavering constant in your weekend escapades. Jungkook always wears condoms. Normally, that would be a great thing; however, in this situation, it’s like a stab to the heart…

Because if he’s adamant about using protection with you, then that means he’s still sleeping with her, doesn’t it? And it’s not like you can even ask or scold him about it. She’s his wife, after all. You’re the outsider.

Jungkook hooks his thumb into your panties and pulls them aside. Your glistening folds are on full display, waiting to get pounded mercilessly right on the side of the road. He shoves three digits into your mouth, letting your drool on them a bit before pressing them to your wet cunt. Opening your folds with his index and ring fingers, he lightly dips the middle inside you. He collects some arousal and spreads it to your clit in feathery flicking motions. You cry out, feeling the shocks of a blossoming orgasm.

“Already dripping, I see.” You can practically hear his cocky, satisfied grin as he stands straight and rolls the condom down his length. “Always so sensitive.”

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, “I always get like this with you.”

“I know you do.” Pulling a cheek to the side, Jungkook cards his sheathed tip through your entrance, making sure to nudge under your clitoral hood with every swipe. Lewd wet sounds ring in your ears as he tortures your hole relentlessly.

“Kook,” you huff, reaching back to dig your manicured, almond-shaped nails into his skin. “Just put it in!”

Suddenly, Jungkook slams your torso onto the leather. In one swift motion, he’s catching your wrists, pinning them both to your lower back with a single hand.

“I’ll give you what you want just-” releasing the back of your neck, he spanks you so hard you recoil, “be patient.”

Despite his words, you wait no longer than a minute before he’s guiding his dreamy member right where you want it. Jungkook always gives in quickly. How could he not when you’re ass up, face down, and practically begging? As he sinks into you, and you feel that familiar burn from the initial stretch, your eyes roll back, mouth opening around a silent scream.

Usually, Jungkook likes to overwhelm you with his entire length all at once. There’s some hesitation this time as he slides in only halfway before stopping. Too much hesitation for your liking. You’re confident he’s testing you. Your assumption is verified when he speaks in that annoying, condescending voice.

“If you want it so bad, come get it.”

“You’re so,” breaking free from his grasp, you press your palms into the seat and lift yourself up with a grumble, “infuriating.”

He hums halfheartedly, head dropping to watch you work yourself onto him. Only a single stroke in, and he can already see you coating him in a shiny, milky dew. “So fucking wet…”

“Can’t help it,” you peep, taking him to the hilt and circling your hips, trying to savor the feeling. You’re no stranger to his cock; how good it makes you feel. You spend every Friday night bathing in that pleasure, forgoing parties and hangouts with your best friends for a romp in the five-star hotel sheets with Jungkook. Still, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to commit his touch to memory. Perhaps, despite your denial, you recognize that this is temporary. Deep down, you know that someday, all you’ll have left of him is a tragic echo. “I love the way you make me feel.”

“Me too,” he gasps, guiding your movements as his fingers dig into your hips. Clearly interpreting your admission differently than you had meant it. “Your pussy’s like heaven.”

High on praise and drunk on the sounds you’re coaxing out of him, you whine, dragging your cunt up every inch of his throbbing length before slamming back. Hopefully, the dense forest behind you is enough to insulate the pornographic wails ripping through you. Even if someone somewhere hears, you can’t bring yourself to give a damn. Not when heady pleasure and adrenaline course through your veins like blood.

Just when you’re about to collapse, arms giving out underneath you, Jungkook grabs you by the neck and holds you flush against his toned chest. “Don’t you run,” he chuckles. The low baritone rumble goes straight to your clit. His warm breath gusts over your skin, contrasting the chilly night air. “Don’t give up on me.”

He’s pounding into you now, choking you tighter than he ever has, but he pecks you so delicately. Lips barely ghosting over the shell of your ear. So gentle and tender. As tears stream down your cheeks for the second time tonight, you can’t help but feel there’s a hidden meaning behind his words.

“What’s wrong?” He smirks, tilting your face, wanting you to look him in the eye as you fall apart. The visual nearly makes you combust. His stringy hair is sticking to his cheeks, flushed from exertion. Even the tattoos littering the expanse of his neck are splotched pink and red. Twisting in his hold, you grab a fistful of his damp waves, fingers tickling his short undercut. “What do you want, baby?”

“Cum…”

“You wanna cum?”

“Please, please, please.” Weak whimpers punch out of you in tandem with his brutal thrusts.

“What do you say?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl,” he rewards you with a smack to your sensitive clit, “you can cum. I’ve got you.”

And with his permission, you’re cumming. Your legs shake violently as you’re overcome with blinding, electric gratification. If it wasn’t for Jungkook’s strong arms supporting you, you would’ve toppled face-first into the seat. He fucks you through the height of your orgasm; hips never ceasing, even when everything becomes so intense and sensitive that your body instinctively tries to push him away. He watches your face intently, reading your expressions to ensure he’s milked every last drop of your orgasm before he lets you fall onto the leather.

Even in your hazy state, you catch the breathy string of curses, a telltale sign of his own impending orgasm. “Fuck!” He groans, removing the condom to paint your ass and lower back in hot, white ropes.

It’s funny, really.

He refuses to cum with you or inside you, something so intimate and special, but he has no qualms cumming on you. It’s almost like he’s marking you, burning himself into your flesh. Consuming a piece of you every time your bodies come together as one.

And all the while, his mind is somewhere else as his body swallows you alive.

“Look at you,” Jungkook laughs, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, rubbing his semen into your skin the same way you had earlier. “I’ve made a mess out of you.”

That’s true in more ways than one…

Lost in post-nut clarity, your brain barely registers Jungkook maneuvering you both into the car. Closing the door behind him, he moves you onto his lap, your back pressed against his sweaty button-up. Peering down, you see his slacks and boxers still around his ankles, black dress shoes poking out underneath. You’re in only a thong and sneakers, and your makeup is definitely melted. The two of you must look like the biggest sluts ever.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook mutters, noticing your delirious giggles.

“Oh, nothing,” you hum, leaning into him. Habitually, he wraps both of his inked arms around your middle. You despise how incredibly natural and serendipitous it feels, almost like you’re meant to be in them.

God __, get your head out of the clouds and return to Earth.

Life isn’t a romance novel, and you’re not a child anymore. You shouldn’t see the world as quartz-colored and magical. The man is seven years older than you. He has a wife and child. Logistically, it could never, ever work…

But if soulmates exist as they do in the books, you wish on every falling star that Jungkook is yours.

“What are you thinking about?” You coo softly, turning your head to stare into the abyss of his infinite eyes.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, he can’t resist lowering his sinful hand to your most private area, cupping your sex unabashedly. “I want more.”

“You always want more.”

“So do you,” he laughs, pointing out the way you grind into his touch. Nuzzling into your shoulder, he nips your skin and then soothes his tongue over it like an insincere apology. “Just one more time, okay?”

You nod, head leaning back on his shoulder as you succumb to his skilled fingers, rubbing your clit in tight circles. Jungkook pauses in contemplation before popping his glistening fingers into his mouth. When the taste hits his tongue, his face contorts. He even moans dreamily like you’re the most delicious dessert he’s experienced. The scene has your own brows furrowing, lips parting at just how hot and bothered he’s got you.

Sensually, he trails the wet pads down, ghosting over a nipple, teasing you on their treacherous journey to your waiting core. He slides them in your wet cunt seamlessly, curling right into your g-spot. They move in a dip and wave that drives you wild, a wet suction noise sounding in the enclosed space. Turned on by your purrs and mewls, Jungkook subtly ruts against you, his plumping cock sliding between your cheeks.

“You’re already close, aren’t you?” He tuts patronizingly. “Gonna cum around my fingers, sweetheart?”

“No…”

“No?”

“Wanna cum with you…”

He stops, realizing what you’re alluding to, before pulling his fingers out and tapping your clit gently. “There’s another condom in my pocket. Can you hand it to me?”

“We don’t need it.”

“Yes, we do. Don’t be foolish.”

“... I’m on the pill,” you suggest hesitantly. Once again, you’re nothing but stupid and irresponsible when it comes to Jungkook. You just want to be with him, that’s all.

“__,” he starts, voice shadowed with sternness, “give me the condom.”

Realizing he won’t budge, you do as he asks and fish it from his blazer, watching idly as he goes through all the steps—stroking himself to full mass, rolling on a barrier, and then positioning you between his spread legs as he guides you down onto his length with a hand on your hip.

Cyclical.

Like clockwork, your jaw drops, eyes screwing shut as you let him invade your space and infiltrate your mind. You don’t believe the two of you have ever tried this position before, but it feels so fucking good. His cock is so deep you can feel it in your fucking stomach. It’s obvious from his groaning and the aggressive spank he gives you that the unexplored angle is affecting him too.

Outside, light rain begins chiming against the steel roof of his car as you take the first shallow rise of your hips.

Scratch everything you’ve said about this not being a romance novel.

Distracted by the calming sound, you thoroughly miscalculate how much space you have in his sleek Mercedes Benz and bonk your head on the ceiling.

“Ow,” you wince with an embarrassed giggle.

Hissing at the impact, Jungkook clutches your head, massaging the area gently. “Are you okay?” His voice is muffled, and you can tell he’s trying his best not to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” You shout playfully, slapping his knee.

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.” Chuckling, he moves your hair and places a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades. “You’re cute, that's all.”

Cute? You swoon.

“Alright baby, keep going. Don’t stop,” Jungkook orders, the heel of his calloused palms pushing at your ass, encouraging you to bounce on his needy cock. A fucked-out sigh escapes him, head falling back for a split second before it jerks back up again, not wanting to miss the view of your perky cheeks rippling as they collide with his solid pelvis. “This position is so sexy.” Overwhelmed, he doesn’t know where to put his hands. He chokes you for a moment, plays with your tits, swats them, grabs your hips, and then finally settles on your clit, flicking it like a light switch.

“Jungkook!” You wail, knees knocking together as you brace yourself. Men you’ve dated in the past struggled to get you off. Sure, they made you feel good, but they couldn’t quite bring you to the edge. It only ever took Jungkook a matter of minutes to have you whimpering and shaking, begging for release. “I can’t take so much! I can’t!”

Ignoring your pleas, Jungkook pilots your right arm around his shoulder, sending you flush against his frame once more. Dipping his head, he sucks the closest nipple into his mouth. Caught off guard, you’re so overstimulated that your hips come to a grinding halt.

“Move,” he commands with his lips sealed around your piercing, sending dizzying vibrations to your sensitive bud.

“I can’t,” you whimper, back arching off his chest as you try to calm all five tingling senses.

“Yes, you can.”

“No…”

Jeon Jungkook was never one to take no for an answer.

Scooting further down the seat, his large hands clasp behind your knees. He lifts your legs until the heels of your white sneakers are on either side of the driver’s headrest. In this new position, he’s able to pound up into you freely, relentlessly beating into clenching walls. Hitting every single delicious spot inside of you. “Jungkook, please!”

“Please, what?” Honestly, you have no clue what you’re begging for. All you know is that his mushroom tip rigorously stimulating your g-spot is going to have you gushing at any moment. His guttural, sensual groaning does nothing to slow your approaching orgasm. “You want more?”

As if you weren’t already gasping for air, Jungkook raises your legs to your head, knees locked onto his inner elbows. His fingers intertwine behind your neck, thumbs pressing into the base of your throat as he folds you in half.

A full fucking nelson.

“Watch me fuck it.” With a stern grip, he forces your gaze to his thick shaft, sliding in and out of your sopping cunt. Your vision is watery, but you can clearly see just how turned on you are, creamy juices coating his entire shaft. “Open it, baby. Watch what I do to you.”

Reaching both hands under your thighs, you spread your lips, getting a better look at him completely destroying you.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” Jungkook grunts, speech slurred as his arousal lulls him into a delirious, catatonic state. “Tell me what you see, baby.”

“So pretty, Kook.” You’re simply playing into his dirty talk, but the sight of your bodies connecting, becoming one, is profoundly gorgeous. “So wet…”

“Yeah? Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours.”

That sends him into a frenzy, thrusts becoming so punctuated and violent that his cock accidentally slips out.

“Put it back in, put it back in!” You chant, frantically shoving his length into you. The yelp you chortle out is accompanied by the sound of your hand smacking against the foggy car window as your climax engulfs you. “I love it!”

“I love yo-”

He quickly cuts himself off, but everything stops when the sentence fragment hits the air.

Is your brain playing sick, twisted jokes on you… or was he really just about to say he loved you?

Before you can even process what’s happening, your biological responses take over, sending through the most earth-shattering, world-bending, mind-boggling orgasm you’ve ever had. Everything goes blank. Your eyes cloud with splotches and stars. Your ears ring with static and white noise, blurring the sound of Jungkook cumming underneath you, and the pouring rain outside, splashing against concrete.

This time, he doesn’t pull out, just works through both of your orgasms with gentle ruts and vulnerable whimpers.

After you’ve both calmed down and your heaves have diminished to a slow, even pattern, he pulls out, crumpling the used condom into a loose napkin he found in the center console. Still on his lap and in his arms, you watch intently as Jungkook leans his head back, eyes closing as he inhales deeply. To you, he looks almost… peaceful.

The moon trickles in through the thin streams on the window, reflecting on his face like stained glass—something that was once so clear and pure now jaded with somber shades of blue. Sad, but still beautiful, you think.

Delicately, you trace a finger over the black ink decorating his skin. You sit silently for a while, basking in the comfortable aura, simply enjoying one another’s company, before you finally speak.

“Why this?” You peep, pointing to the dainty letters at the base of his neck.

“It’s my daughter’s name.” He counters playfully, the faintest hint of a smile on his pierced lips.

“Well, duh, I know that,” you roll your eyes with a giggle, “but why here?”

“Yul is like air to me.”

Humming in contemplation, you continue your journey over the endless swirls and loops. During sex, the first three buttons of his shirt popped open, exposing the canvas of his chest. You feel a thick, dark cloud loom over you when you reach a certain tattoo, the one that’s plagued your mind ever since you first saw it.

Another name is engraved right above his heart in the same delicate font as Yul’s:

Seol.

“Yul, please. Enough.” If Jungkook had a dollar for every time he's said that in the last twenty-two minutes, he’d be nearly as rich as his boss, sitting directly in front of him on a very important Zoom call. “Daddy is working.”

Jumping at the sudden inflection of his voice, the little girl on his lap pulls her tiny hand away. For the most part, Yul was well-behaved. However, working from home proved to be an obstacle that he and his clingy toddler have yet to overcome.

She’s interrupted his meeting three times already. First, cutting off his proposal with the Baby Shark theme song, blaring from her Pinkfong tablet that he’d forgotten to mute. Second, peeking above his desk with her space buns and doe eyes to show his colleagues the latest addition to her squishmallow collection. The last straw was when she squeezed his nose.

With watery eyes and warbled lips, Yul blinks at Jungkook, heartbroken and confused as to why he didn’t make that funny noise she loves so much. Quickly, her gaze averts to her chunky legs, swinging aimlessly as she attempts to hold back the tears.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Jungkook sighs, tacking on an apology before turning his screen off. “Bunny,” he lifts her chin with his index finger, another palm flat on her protruding tummy, “please, don’t cry. You’re not in trouble. Daddy just-”

The ring of a doorbell interrupts him.

“__?” Jungkook questions, baby at his hip as he stands in the doorway before you. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp. You weren’t expecting to see him.

Usually, you spoke to Seulgi. You’ve only ever seen Jungkook in passing, sparing quick greetings before he’s out the door. It worked in your favor, really, because for whatever reason, you felt extremely awkward around him.

Almost like that gross nervousness you get when you’re around someone you find so incredibly attractive it makes you uncomfortable…

Maybe it’s because he’s covered in tattoos and piercings. Maybe it’s because he’s a dad. Your group of fellow horny twenty-something-year-old friends have told you mythical stories and fantasies about older men. Freshly turned thirty-year-old men. Men like Jungkook. Dilfs. Something about that potent dad nut… Like, you know it works.

It’s inappropriate; you know it is. You’ve always tried your best to ignore the feral thoughts.

Today seems to be putting your mental strength to the test because Jungkook is dressed in baggy gray sweats, long dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. A few loose strands dangle devilishly in front of his eyes, taunting you.

“I-It’s 10… I’m supposed to be babysitting.”

“I’m working from home today. My wife didn’t tell you?”

With wide eyes and hot cheeks, you shake your head. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” you stutter, stepping back and preparing to make a mad dash to your hand-me-down Honda Civic. “I’ll just… be on my way then.”

“Actually.” An icy grip on your wrist stops you. “I could use some help. This one-” he nods his head towards Yul, stuck to him like velcro, “-is being a bit needy today.”

One look at her turns your flustered gape into a smile. The past month with her has been more difficult than you’d imagined. Yul was incredibly sweet and intuitive, but unbearably shy. Building a relationship with the girl was challenging, but you were determined to overcome it. “No way,” you frown animatedly, tickling her leg with the tip of your finger, “Yul would never.”

A giggle or two had been the goal. Instead, she buries her face into her father’s shoulder.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jungkook orders, noticing the defeated slump in your shoulders. “She’s always like this with new people.”

Seulgi had warned you that Yul would take a while to come around. Hopefully, it’ll happen organically. But for now, a little gift or two wouldn’t hurt your efforts, you supposed last night while running errands. Reaching into your purse, you pull out a bottle of non-toxic, baby-friendly nail polish. “Yul, look what I have!”

“Wow,” Jungkook plays along, gently nudging her head out of his neck. “Bunny, look!”

He calls her Bunny?

You’re in for it now.

Plump fingers wrap around the plastic, taking it out of your own with an awe-stricken stare. She holds it up right in front of Jungkook’s nose. “Pink.”

“Mhm, that’s right,” he confirms, pecking her temple. “Now, Daddy has to get back to work. Can you stay with __ for a bit?”

She looks at him, then at you, then at him again, then back at you, and finally, landing on the nail polish, giving her father a reluctant nod. You knew it would come in handy. Despite her agreeance, Yul still stretches the neck of his shirt with her tiny fists as she’s transferred into your arms.

Somehow, you managed to survive that painfully awkward encounter…

Only to be thrown into another one immediately after.

See, you’ve always known Yul was a daddy’s girl. On good days, the toddler would grab you by the hand and guide you around the house, giving you a tour of everything that belonged to her father. His shoes at the door. His coat on the hook. Even taking you into the bathroom to show you his shampoo bottle. But that fact was never more apparent than now, as Yul stands in the middle of the living room on the verge of tears.

“Daddy?”

“He’s working, sweetheart. Remember?” You coo on your knees in front of her. You’re quick to redirect her. “I like your shoes.”

The sniffles stop as she glances down at her white sneakers. “Mine…” she takes a hesitant step back, mistaking your compliment as an attempt to swindle her out of them.

“That’s right,” you laugh, “they’re so pretty, just like you.”

She blinks at you for a moment, and then begins stomping her little foot: heel first. When she’s finally able to kick off her left shoe, she bends all the way over, pressing her palms flat against the hardwood floor. It’s the most uncoordinated way you’ve ever seen anyone pick something up.

Without warning, Yul throws the shoe across the room. Well, that had been her intention, you assume. She had cocked her arm back too far and released too early, making it land behind her.

Oh no, she hates you.

With an excited grunt and a bounce, Yul points to the sneaker—its clear sole sparkling pink and purple.

“Oh,” you sigh in relief. “They light up?”

“Yesh.” Plopping right onto her butt, she takes the other one off, repeating the process. “Like this!” Her arms stretch out and she clenches her two little front teeth, executing the most stellar charade of a light you’ve ever seen.

It’s a small breakthrough, but you’ll take it.

Then you paint her nails, just like you said you would. She’s as patient as a toddler could be, but her tiny toe keeps curling under the tickle of the brush, making pink polish bleed outside of the lines.

“My goodness,” you groan, admiring the messy, albeit adorable, result. “You’re so cute! Wait until your dad sees you.”

Yul shrieks wildly, smacking both hands over her mouth as she hobbles to her feet. You watch with confused giggles as the milk-drunk baby stumbles down the corridor. You figure out where she's going too late.

Yul stands on her tippy toes, jumping to click open the door to Jungkook’s office with a loud creak.

“Yul!” You whisper-shout. “Don’t-”

“Daddy!” She calls, stepping a single foot into the room, showing off the fresh paint job. “So cute!”

Literally, your only job today was to keep Yul preoccupied while Jungkook worked, and you failed. Your breath catches in your throat, awaiting his response.

“So pretty,” he gasps, “now go play, baby. I’m almost done.”

A relieved exhale flies past your lips.

Something you’ve picked up on from years of babysitting is that little girls aren’t allowed to compliment themselves. They’re always told it’s rude or conceited. Jungkook does neither, and you find that so refreshing.

“Close the door, please,” he orders before she runs away, “gently.” Yul does her very best to shut the door quietly and then sprints back to you.

The next few hours go smoothly. You discovered that the green-hating toddler has an affinity for avocados after giving her a bite of your toast. “Mmm!” She had hummed, looking at you with wide eyes. With a full belly and squishmallow in hand, Yul went out like a light for her afternoon nap, giving you time to catch up on some reading.

“How was she?” You didn’t even hear him come out of his office, so the deep voice makes you jump, eyes tracking the sound. He’s leaning against a kitchen counter, one tattooed hand stuffed in his pocket and the other wrapped around a water bottle. It’s a thick one too, and his fingers still touch.

“Better,” you cough, “she’s sleeping now.”

He hums halfheartedly, dark irises boring into you as he takes a sip. Without Yul to soften the edges, Jungkook is… intimidating, to say the least. “What are you reading?”

“The Catcher in the Rye…” you peep, quickly closing it. “I know, it’s kinda lame.”

“No, not lame at all. Anyone who thinks that is lying to themselves… or is just being a contrarian.” He leans his elbows against the dark granite island, fingers crossing as he stares at you. You’re sitting idle across the room, but his presence looms over you. He has this way of making you feel like he’s in your head, listening to everything you’re thinking.

You pray he’s not. If he is, you'll definitely be fired.

“I can’t tell which one you are yet.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but the ‘yet’ makes you come clean, shifting in your spot on the leather couch. “... Both.”

“Right,” he smirks, tongue fiddling with his lip ring, almost like he’s taunting you. “That’s one of my favorite books, actually. I relate to it in many ways.”

Your fingers dance across the red cover, concealing hundreds of pages of isolation, emptiness, and the heavy dread of passing time. What an awful thing to relate to. Sometimes, when you get too engrossed in the text, glimmers of yourself bleed within the lines too.

“You’re an English major, right?”

“Oh, um, I’m not in school at the moment… I just read for fun.”

“Well, you have an Associate’s degree.” Him knowing that information about you makes you think he asked the previous question with the intention of baiting you into this conversation. “Why not get your Bachelor’s?”

“I don’t know. It’s… complicated.”

Why is he interrogating you? What does he want? For you to confess that the fear of becoming a full-fledged adult makes you not want to go back to college?

“Life is complicated. You’d be ridiculous to not go back.” The audacity should make you mad, but he speaks with so much authority that you’re dumbfounded. His head tilts, eyes squinting as they shift to the ceiling, debating something. His tongue clicks when he finally makes his decision. “Follow me; I have something I want to show you.”

With the curl of two thick fingers, Jungkook calls you to follow him down the hallway. You blink for a moment, gushing at the suggestive motion of his hand. Shaking your head at the evil, intrusive thought, you rise to your feet.

Just like a child, you have to skip to catch up to his long strides. Your gaze trails along white walls; there are pictures of him and Yul, Yul and Seulgi, but not a single one of them all together.

Now that you think about it, any affection you’ve ever seen in the household was reserved for Yul and Yul only. Seems like trouble in paradise…

You shouldn’t speculate.

The heavy wooden door creaks as Jungkook holds it open for you. You’re not sure what you expected his room to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this. The rest of the house is pretty modern, consisting of sleek blacks, whites, and woods. Countertops designed with icy swirled marble. Everything has this cold, impersonal vibe, but this room is the total opposite. The walls are baby blue, decorated top to bottom with dreamy clouds. You spot a chubby yellow star peeking out from underneath one of them, adorned with a hand-painted smiley face. On his nightstand, there’s a pastel purple foldable record player. Standing behind it is a single vinyl: Beautiful Boy by John Lennon.

“Since you like to read,” Jungkook coughs, turning your attention to a sleek bookcase, stuffed to the brim with hundreds of titles you’ve never even heard of. “I figured you’d appreciate my collection.”

“Yeah, it’s…” The words trail off as you step forward. On a whim, your finger extends, tracing the delicate spine of a well-loved book. A low chuckle brings you back to reality; you peep, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you yank your hand away. “It’s… really cool.”

“You can borrow something if you’d like. Does anything catch your eye?” Plopping down onto the computer chair, Jungkook rummages through his desk drawer and pulls out a tiny black case. You didn’t even know he wore glasses, and when he nudges them comfily onto the bridge of his nose, you nearly melt. As if he could get any more attractive.

“N-No,” you stutter as he wheels closer. Even though you’re towering over him, you still feel so small in his presence. You pray to God he can’t sense how incredibly nervous he makes you. “Not really.”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, you know,” he hums, low and sly. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No!” You peep in shock. Is the man a fucking mindreader?

“Right.” Jungkook peers over the rim of his lenses, dark eyes glimmering in the whimsical glow of the room. “So __, what do you want to be?”

“A teacher,” you say, playing with your fingers.

“My wife wanted to be a teacher, too.” He shoots you the softest, gentlest smile. “She ended up doing business instead.”

“Why?” You ask, gnawing on your bottom lip. You don’t mean to pry, but this is the first time you’ve ever actually talked to him in a meaningful way. Something about him intrigues you, like a puzzle you’re determined to find all the pieces to.

“Ah, well,” he sighs, inked fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “We figured it’d be best for our family if we both pursued more lucrative career paths. I switched my major from English to finance.” You light up at the confession, the similarity putting you at ease. “I’m sorry if I was abrasive earlier,” he frowns, “I settled down young and had to sacrifice a lot, so I encourage you to go for something that fulfills you.” With his elbows on his knees, he leans closer to you. “I think you’d be a fantastic teacher. You take care of my daughter well.”

“Thank you,” you peep, cheeks heating up at the compliment. “I mean… you didn’t have Yul that young.” He tried to comfort you, so it’s only fair you do the same, right? “I think your late twenties are a great time to have children.”

Almost immediately, his face drops, eyes glazing over with something so raw. So… longing. You’ve never seen anything like it before. The corners of his nose twitch before he composes himself. “Yeah, I suppose they are.” His pink tongue toys with his lip ring, swiftly changing the subject. “You seem surprised.”

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting all this.”

“Expecting what?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh clumsily, “books.” You mentally curse yourself as soon as the answer comes out. Really, __? Books?

“What?” He starts, raising a brow at you. “You thought I couldn’t read?”

Thankfully, Jungkook takes your comment playfully.

“Maybe,” you respond in the same lighthearted manner, feeling a bit more comfortable in his presence, “I also didn’t expect your room to look like a little boy’s room.”

All of the cheerfulness in the air evaporates as Jungkook glares at you with a clenched jaw and flared nostrils. Cleary irate. You’ve triggered a landmine.

“Jungkook, I’m-”

“Stop talking.” He raises a hand, cutting you off before you finish the sentence. Turning his back to you, he wheels over to his desk. “You can leave. You’re done for the day.”

Looking back, you know why he was so upset that day. You had put the puzzle pieces together a while ago. You’re unsure of the details, and asking for them feels wrong. Silence feels wrong, too, though. Until now, you’ve never dared to speak up.

You have no idea how to navigate something of this magnitude, but you just want him to know that you’re here. That you’re trying.

Cautiously, with your hand still on the tattoo, you whisper: “He must’ve been so beautiful, Jungkook…”

The thumb that had been drawing soft shapes into your side comes to an eerie pause as he freezes under you. When you look at him, your heart shatters. His chin is caved in with little dents, eyes glazed over with so much emotion. You’ve never seen a human being look so broken.

“Get off me.”

You frown at the shift in his demeanor. “Why?”

Remaining tight-lipped, Jungkook physically removes you from his lap, dumping you onto the seat next to him.

“Why can’t we ever talk about anything serious?”

He remains quiet as he slides his underwear up, not sparing you a single glance. When he speaks, his tone is painfully detached. “Like what?”

“Like what you said,” you answer curtly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Shaking his head with a cynical chuckle, he begins buttoning his pants, pretending you don’t exist. Like you’re not right beside him, falling to pieces.

Your eyes dart to the ceiling, lashes fluttering rapidly as you mull over what to say next. You guess now would be an appropriate time to ask him what you’ve wanted for weeks. Blinking does nothing to combat your unshed tears when you realize that his answer has the potential to destroy everything you’ve been dreaming about. Everything you’ve hoped for. “When are you going to leave her?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, Jungkook!” Shaking your head furiously, you feel the first hints of anger in your chest, tears threatening to spill at any moment. “I’m not! I see the way you look at me!”

“What the fuck did you think was going to happen? Huh?” Finally, he’s paying attention to you, just not in the way you hoped. His face is beet red as he leans closer. “Don’t tell me you actually thought we were going to end up together, __. Seriously? You’re my babysitter! You’re seven years younger than me! This isn’t some fucking fairytale; it’s life! There’s no such thing as happily-ever-afters—grow up and stop acting like a damn child!”

“No, Jungkook,” you croak, fully sobbing as you push an angry finger into his chest. “You’re the one who’s acting childish! I may not be the most mature person, but at least I know how to accept love!”

“So let’s say I divorce my wife, then what? Huh?” He seethes. “I get partial custody? I only see Yul on weekends? Every other week? She grows up in a broken home? I refuse to ruin my daughter’s life like that.”

You take a shaky breath, eyes shifting to the car floor, the air fresher on his mirror, the window. Anywhere but him. The way Jungkook explains your make-believe future together is nothing how you envisioned it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s just a fucking asshole. Neither thought process eases the pain.

“But you’re okay with ruining mine?”

For a moment, his features soften, and you see a glimmer of guilt wash over him. It fizzles out just as fast as it came. “You’re being dramatic.” Jungkook steps outside, tucking his shirt into his pants. “Get dressed.”

With jittery hands and blurry eyes, you grab your discarded lace bra, the one you had bought just for tonight, and slide it on your shoulders. When you pick your shirt up, you see that it’s ripped and tattered. Completely destroyed.

“Here,” Jungkook mumbles, tossing you his blazer as he watches you in the rearview.

Once you’re dressed, you awkwardly slide into the passenger seat. The scent of his cologne makes your head pound and your stomach flip.

“I want to go home.”

His lips part, preparing to persuade you otherwise. The hotel room he booked is ready and waiting, just as it is every Friday. He decides against it, simply murmuring an ‘okay’ before putting the keys in the ignition and starting the engine.

“Do you want to get something to eat before I drop you off?”

You just want your dad.

“I just want to go home.”

Other than the whoosh of splashing puddles and your soft sniffles, the ride to your house is painfully silent. Leaning your head against the window, you watch the moon. For miles and miles, it never changes. It’s stagnant, frozen in time, surrounded by nothing but endless blackness.

“Stop crying! I can’t stand it anymore!” Jungkook shouts, hitting the steering wheel with his open palm, finally growing uncomfortable from your non-stop tears. The sudden outburst makes you flinch. Sighing heavily, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. Just… stop crying, please.”

You sink further into your seat, curling your lips into your mouth to suppress a sob.

“I’m not worth your tears, __.”

You feel nothing but relief when he finally turns onto your street, stopping all the way at the end, concealed by the night and the shadows of overhanging trees.

“Am I picking you up next Friday?” He asks just before you leave.

With raw cheeks and a scowl, you slam the door in his face.

Your feet are so heavy that the sidewalk sinks under you like quicksand. No matter how many steps you take, the comfort of your house seems out of reach. Too far gone. Confusion weighs on your shoulders. You should feel proud, empowered even, but that voice in the back of your mind smothers any sense of relief.

Deep down, you know this isn’t going to be the last weekend you spend with Jungkook.

#bts #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook angst #btshoneyhive

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xmalereader · 8 months

Text

Miguel O’Hara x Bunny! Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Authors note: I’ve had this idea in my head for a very long time now and couldn’t stop thinking about it! This is technically an OC of mine but tried my best not to make there characteristics too detailed or anything that gives away too much OC. This is also an inspiration from MLB, I don’t care if it’s a kid show I have a love and hate relationship towards it and had some things changed for the character, either way hope you enjoy!

Summary: Miguel was the protector of multi universes, what happens when he meets someone who isn’t a spider and is able to do the same, protecting the timeline and making sure that it doesn’t get destroyed, changing the future and clashing within Miguel’s line of work.

Warnings: Angst, reader is a hybrid, time traveling, semi crossover, not mucha of Miguel honestly, language, slight lore, betrayal, hurt no comfort, mentions of genocide, slight depression, enemies to friends but not lovers, slight magic use, miguel is a bit OOC, bunny ears and tail, slight fluff, coping mechanism, readers hero name is Bunnix.

Word count: 5.4k

—

In his universe hybrids and humans co existed. In his universe he was a rabbit hybrid born in a large family with many siblings, in his universe he was seen as a monster due to the things he was able to do as a hybrid. His sense of smell was stronger, his hearing better than others and faster that a normal human being. He had the features of a rabbit, long ears and a tail big enough that reached his lower back, who he tends to have issues with whenever it came towards buying clothes for himself since most stores didn’t have much clothes for hybrids that he worked for hours making a hole big enough for his tail and to make sure that it didn’t pinch each time he slipped them on.

He was a normal hybrid trying to survive in a world where he is hated and possibly taken advantage of whenever rabbits fall into heat. He worked at a normal job and had a normal family until at the age of twenty he received a gift, heirloom to be exact from his great grand father who he watched him grow an eventually passed away when he was only a teenage. Y/n would visit his grandfather as a kid, listening to him ramble on about his past life and the things he saw and did.

Due to Y/n being a kid he would believe his stories while his own parents, even his siblings wouldn’t believe their grandfather as he spoke about time traveling and seeing their futures. Everyone disregarded his stories as plain fairytales or crazy due to how old he was getting and growing delusional that no one listened to him, but Y/n.

After his grandfathers death he left his will to the rest of his family, providing his parents and siblings small things. He never received anything that day and thought that his own grandfather hated him and that the idea of leaving something behind to the only child who listened to him was ridiculous. Only to be proven wrong when his grandfathers lawyer approached him that day and told him that his grandfather did leave him something, but was not ready to receive until he got older.

After years he finally got that gift.

When the package arrived he was quick to claim the box into his hands and dart towards his bedroom, closing and locking the door. He knew his family should be around to see what he received from his late grandfather, but something inside him was telling him to do it in private. When getting the package opened he’s met with a letter folded on top of a small box that he picks up to read, noticing his grandfathers handwriting.

My dear child,

I hope this gift got to you at the proper age that I assigned.

And hope for you to take very good care of it.

All those years you were the only one who listened to my stories of my time as a time travel and wish to gift you my most prized possession.

A watch.

This item will show you everything you need to see. It was once my duty to take care of the future and to make sure that no interruptions were made and to decide the right path that our world must face. I know this duty will be hard for you, but I trust that you will know how to use it. I only advice that you do not let this power blind you and don’t let others tell you what is right and wrong of your duty.

If you accept this gift then you will be in charge of our future.

Y/n had opened the small box that held a silver pocket watch, picking it up in his hands as he examined the outside before popping it open. Instead of seeing a regular watch on the inside a bright blue light quickly surrounds him, seeping into his body as his grandfathers life flashes before his eyes, witnessing the pain and suffering he went through, the glee of saving a future, the hesitation of having to choose the wrong path in order to save another. He saw his grandfather at a much younger state and the power that he held in the palm of his hand.

Everything went by fast that when he opens his eyes he’s still in his bedroom, panting heavily knowing that his life changed forever that night.

He figured that he watch helped for this moment only to realize that the pocket watch worked as a safe for his power that was deep inside of him, feeling it coursing through his veins. He kept the gift from his grandfather a secret from his family, knowing that they wouldn’t believe him. If they didn’t believe his grandfather than why believe him?

The hybrid would spend every night trying to practice his ability, which grew difficult since his grandfather never really left instructions on how it worked. He didn’t figure out how to open a portal until three weeks later when he was playing around with a ball and bouncing it against the wall of his apartment, bored out of his mind that when the ball bounced off the wall and towards his open palm, all of a sudden white portal opens, startling the poor rabbit with wide eyes as the ball disappears into the portal.

When first seeing the portal he grows cautious, primal instincts triggering him as his ears fall flat against his head while he nervous reached inside the portal, his hand disappearing and when pulling away he is surprised to see his hand still intact. It took him a few minutes to finally gain the courage and step through the portal where he finds himself in a white abyss full of different portals that showed him the timeline of his universe, witnessing future events before his eyes and being able to see the various outcomes of a future event. He’s able to jump from one timeline to another, visiting different areas and seeing their world before he was even born. The amount of power he had was dangerous and now realized what his grandfather meant by how hard the job would be. Having to keep everything organized, making sure that everything is intact.

Y/n first started off small, seeing his friends future and fixing their life events, picking paths that worked best for them. He sometimes felt guilty for picking a path that didn’t work out for them, but didn't;t have a choice but to decide a bad path in order to get a better one with time. He had the control of the future in the palm of his hand.

It wasn’t until three years that he made his biggest mistake.

His world was going through a war with hybrids and humans and the human government had seen the hybrids as a threat, claiming that they didn’t feel safe living, eating, or working with someone who was different to them. Someone who could do things that no human could and were coming up with ways to exterminate everyone who they saw as a threat. Y/n was only twenty three when he witness the genocide of his people, watching as his family and siblings were separated from him, being taken away. He climbed inside his burrow that night, checking the different outcomes of his worlds future hoping to find a positive end to this situation only to find nothing.

His people were meant to die and he couldn’t save them.

That day, Y/n stayed in his burrow, watching his world kill his own people until none were left but him.

Leaving him on his own without his family or friends, without the comfort of someone like him. Y/n had mourned for days, feeling so alone as he watched his universe future thrive without hybrids, watching as humans celebrated the extinction. The image alone hurt and wanted nothing to do with his own world that with time in the burrows he figures out a way to travel through different universe, alternate ones where his family is alive and safe, ones where he and his family never existed.

Even though he was suppose to keeping things small and protect the future of his own universe he decided to expand his work and protect the future of all universe, traveling from one place to another, hopping from dimension to dimension. The hybrid spent six years learning new things and setting his own rules of balancing out the future.

Each time he visited a dimension he made sure to keep his identity hidden, wearing a black and blue neon stealth suit with a hoodie over that allowed his ears to pop out from the holes he created along with a domino mask over his eyes along with a hole in his suit for his tail as he worked faster in the suit whenever he needed to escape a universe before being noticed.

The hybrid would also spend his time in universes, either trying to coexist or to stay in for awhile since he couldn’t stay in his burrow forever. He mainly stayed hidden on top of large buildings or found ways inside empty apartments in order to get away from the harsh weather conditions. He didn’t think much of his disturbance when hopping from universe to universe until one night he met a flash of red and blue.

He was visiting a earth-4837, noticing an error in the timeline that he’d been trying to fix only for his ears to perk up at the sound of fast movements, catching him off guard as he’s suddenly pinned against the ground, gasping for air at how hard and sudden the push was and regain his breathing only to come face to face with a larger build that stood before him.

“Finally caught you.”

Y/n can only stare with wide eyes under his mask, ears falling back against his head in both worry and fear as he stares at the mask stranger before him. It takes a few seconds for his brain to respond back to him as he tilts his head to he side with furrow brows. “What, what do you mean caught?” He asks, clearly confused.

He can feel the other man’s grip tighten around his stealth suit, pulling him closer as his eyes narrow down at the hybrid. “I have been chasing you through universe and you are always escaping me. You keep disturbing the universes.” He clarified. “Now I have to take you back to your proper universe.”

At the mention of being returned back to his own universe caused a switch to go off in him, reacting quickly as he grips the others mans wrist, using his own strength to kick his feet up and kick him in the chest, sending him falling back with a grunt. The hybrid watched as the masked man coughs under his mask and groan, placing a hand against his chest as he slowly sits up. “Shit, that was a really strong kick.”

Y/n finds satisfaction in the mans words only to gasp when he comes charging at him, making him move quickly and ducking away from his grip, reacting quickly as his instincts as a rabbit take over.

“I am not going back there.” He hissed out, ears pinned back and tail puffing up in anger while the other turns around to face him, taking notice of the movement of his ears and tail. “Those things are real? I thought they were some weirds thing that went along with the suit you wear.”

“I could say the same about those.” Y/n nods towards the strangers hands, noticing the talons from his finger tips. “Thought they were fake, but I guess they aren’t if you have a good grip on that building.”

His words cause the stranger to look over at his hand, talons deep into the wall that he had struck after coming after the hybrid and letting out a small laugh as he detached himself from the wall. “Now you listen—“ When turning back he finds the rabbit gone, earning a disappointed groan.

“Lyla.” He speaks up as the artificial intelligences appears on his shoulder. “Yep?”

“Find me the rabbit.”

From then on, Y/n’s grew careful of his work now that someone as after him. Spending more time in his burrow and less time in other universe and whenever he was in one he would make sure to stay in alert while buying himself to eat and keeping his features hidden from the public, trying to blend in with everyone else.

He figured that he wouldn’t see that same masked stranger again until a week later. He didn’t know how he got involved, but one minute he’s working on keeping a stable future and the next he’s being tossed around by a man dressed in a rhino suit.

“You okay? Whoa—never seen you before.”

That’s how he met the cities hero known as Spiderman.

His suit was similar to the guy who was hunting him down for some unknown reason, but this one was far nicer than the other. The hybrid got a good feeling about the kid and was quick to jump in and help him out as the two take down the rhino, Spider-Man using his webs to keep him from running off while Y/n worked on getting rid of the suit in breaking it apart.

“We make a good team.”

Y/n can only give a small smile. “Guess we did.”

The kid can only tilt his head in questioning and asks. “What do I call you?”

Y/n hesitates, not wanting to give away his own name and doesn’t know how to respond. The hero takes notice of his hesitation and is quick to step in. “I guess you don’t have a hero name?”

“I’m not a hero.” He is quick to cut in, his work wasn’t seen as a heroic thing.

“No worries,” The hero holds his hands up as he suddenly blurts out. “Bunnix.”

“What?”

“Bunnix, can I call you that?”

Y/n thinks about the name and can’t help but feel comfortable with it, finding it fitting. “Sure.”

That day he was given a new name by the cities hero who he later befriends. Y/n doesn’t tell this universe Spider-Man why he was there and what he did, only following him whenever he needed help and fighting off the villains in the city while Bunnix did his work on the side. There’s moments where he’s given the opportunity to save a future while working alongside with Spider-Man, fixing them without notice and when checking his work he left in shock by how much he is able to do.

Things were working well while staying in that universe and once again he let his guard down this time he’s met with the same stranger after helping Spider-Man fight off electro. His body was already sore from all the fighting and tired and all he wanted to do was get back to his place where he could lie down and relax only to be picked off the ground which shocks him.

Eyes wide as he frantically squirmed and looked up to see the familiar red and blue. “You!” He points at him with a deep glare, yelping when he nearly slips from his grasp, the rabbit holds back a cry as he climbs the mans body, keeping his legs and arms wrapped around him. “Hey! I can’t see!”

“Put me down!”

“How can I do that when you are blocking my vision?!”

The two banter with each other while the spider swings through the city, unable to see where he is going as he pries the hybrids hands away from his eyes only to see a building up ahead. The two scream and prepare for impact, but Bunnix is quick to act, opening a portal as they fall through it and opening another at a building where they fall on top of.

The same stranger groans as he lands on his back with the hybrid on his chest.

“How—?”

Bunnix scrambled off his chest, stepping away from him. “You could have killed us!”

“Kill you? You were the one blocking my sight!”

“You picked me up out of nowhere! Rabbit don’t do heights!” He shouted back at the man who slowly stood and rolled his shoulders, easing the pain from the hard fall. “Okay, I’m sorry, but also not because I am still here to take you back.”

“I already told you I am not going back to my universe.” Bunnix groans out, shaking his head while rubbing his temples. “I can’t have you roaming around universe, your disturbing them and I am fixing up your mess.”

Bunnix ears perk up at this. “Wait…what do you mean by fixing them?”

“Look, I don’t know what it is that you are doing but each time that you end up at a universe you cause a disturbance that can destroy timelines, let alone canons so I have to fix them—“ Before he can go on, the rabbit cuts him off. “You can fix them too?”

The others raises a brow. “What do you mean, too?”

Bunnix doesn’t know what to think, the fact that someone else is able to do the same as him leaves him in surprise. The hybrid allows himself to take small steps towards the man as he explains himself. “I can travel through universes without issue, my job is to fix the future and to make sure that no disturbance is caused whether good or bad its my job to protect it. I can’t go back to my universe because…” He hesitates before finding the courage. “My universe co existed with hybrids and humans and a genocide occurred with my people, I tried to fix it to find a better outcome of our future but found nothing and had no choice but to watch as the people I love die. I escaped and continued on with my duty and if I go back they will kill me.” His voice is full of sorrow and pain, not being able to read the others reaction towards his past.

He hears the other sigh softly, hand on his hip as he thinks. “That explains everything, all this time I thought you were an anomaly but your not your—your something else.” He finally says, understanding that the disturbances are the outcomes that Bunnix choose in order to improve the universe, at first Miguel thought that he was only making a bigger mess and whenever he checked on a canon expecting some mess he had to fix, instead he saw the canon already fixed for him.

Which only raised questions to the older man, giving him another reason to come after the hybrid.

As the two stand apart from each other it’s Miguel who speaks up.

“I’m not taking out back.” He finally says. “But I would be interested in seeing your work, perhaps you can help me.”

Bunnix raises a brow. “Help how?”

“You fix futures and I fix canons, together we can protect the universe from being destroyed.” His words intrigue the hybrid as he stares at the man before him, eyeing him up an down before sighing to himself and agreeing to his offer to protect the universe. “Good.” The rabbit flinched in surprise when the man’s masked is removed, dissolving away to reveal his own face. “I’m Miguel.”

Bunnix swallows nervously, but gains the courage to speak up as he reached up to remove his own mask. “Y/n.”

Y/n ends up working with Miguel in his universe for two years, being the only hybrid in base while everyone else was a spider felt off to him. Everyone knew him as Miguels second hand since he was their from the very beginning. Everyone thought that Jessica was Miguel’s best spider only to find out that its Bunnix. A simple hybrid that didn’t belong in any universe, but powerful enough to change anyone’s future and seeing that they couldn't.

His time working with Miguel made him realize how much the other spiders feared their leader due to his short temperament and the fact that he too had a beast inside of him. He once caught Miguel taking a serum that helped control the beast within him. At first the hybrid didn’t think anything of it until he decided to test a few things out, noticing how Miguel was sensitive to the bight lights and often kept his own lab under dim lighting, the noticeable fangs whenever he talked and now he used them in order to paralyze the anomalies that struggled the most. He already knew about the talons on the base of his finger tips, curious about them that he once approached Miguel and without asking he takes the mans hand into his hand and checks out the talons.

Miguel stares with a raised brow as the rabbit only hums to himself before dropping his hand back down and jumping off the platform while he continued on with his discoveries. Technically Miguel was a hybrid himself, but refused to say anything about it, Miguels own animalistic features bring some light comfort to the rabbit, feeling like he wasn’t alone anymore.

From their time together the two have grown comfortable around each others presence that Bunnix didn’t fear Miguels temper and whenever he grew upset about something going wrong during a mission he would usually come to Bunnix and rant to him, letting his anger out while the rabbit sat back and listened, watching the bigger man pace around the lab as he grumbled on about one of the spiders not listening to him.

Other times Miguel had grown to admire the rabbits tail, noticing how it flicked and twitched with each movement he made that without even asking his large hand reached down to touch the tail, fingers finding the soft fur while the hybrid tensed up. He’s caught by surprise and should yell at miguel to not touch him without asking, but the feeling of having someone touch his tail after so many years only brings back old memories of his family. He expected Miguel to be rough with his tail only to realize that the man was gentle, stroking the fur while he also concentrated on his own work.

It became a habit for Miguel to randomly touch Bunnix’s tail whenever he felt stress, feeling better after playing with the soft fur.

Their routine together grew and their trust for each other deepened.

Y/n only stepped into the whole canon issue whenever a screw up occurred, stepping into his burrow and meeting with Miguel two days before the moment happens, providing him instructions on how to handle the issue and what to do to fix it. Miguel had grown used to such moments happening, where the rabbit is hopping from past and future to present again.

The two worked well together and treated each other with respect.

As the spider society began to grow, Y/n started to see how alike everyone was and how their canons aligned with each other. He never questions Miguel as to why the canon events must remain intact or what would happen if one were to be broke. He kept those questions to himself while he watched Miguel command different spiders into different universe and getting the job done while also keeping the canons together.

It wasn’t until Miles came into the picture, he noticed a slight change in Miguel as their time together grew. The taller man used to be so blunt with him until he started hesitating that the hybrid started to notice. It felt like Ike he was hiding something from him and didn’t want him to know, as irritating as it was, Y/n would sometimes feel the itch to check his burrow, in hopes of finding his answer his questions, but promised himself that he wouldn’t due such thing. He could never look at his own future or know what to expect.

Bunnix had been working in the lab when Miles and Gwen show up alongside with Hobie, glancing at the teenagers while he works on a few of Miguel’s new gadgets.

“Oh! This is Bunnix, Miguels most trusted hero.” Said Gwen while giving Bunnix a soft smile while the hybrid nods in return before his gaze shifts towards Miles, noticing how the kids eyes widen a bit in surprise as he noticed his state. “I can tell from your staring you’ve never seen a hybrid before?” Said Bunnix with a raised brow.

Miles stutters out a nervous laugh. “I’ve seen weirder things.” The kids admits, avoiding his eyes while Bunnix chuckled and got back to his own work and allows them to approach Miguel. Y/n looks over his shoulder and watched as the platform lowers, rolling his eyes at how dramatic the man can be when trying to show intimidation.

The hybrid sets his work aside and turns around it make his way over to Miguel as the platform lowers only to gasp when a trash bin is thrown towards the teens way, causing the hybrid to react quickly as he grabs Miles by the arm and pulls him to the side, away from the hit.

Miles stares up at the hybrid who glared over to Miguel. “Miguel what the hell?!” Bunnix shouts, letting go of Miles once he checks him over and then turns his attention back to Miguel who ignored him and continued with his own rant. Y/n has never seen Miguel react in such way before, yes he had a temper, but it was never this bad.

The rabbit walks over to Miguel and jumps onto the platform. “What is going on with you?” He whispers low enough for Miguel to hear only to get a side eye from the bigger man a sense of irritation in his eyes before turning back to the teens. His actions only worry Bunnix even more, knowing that something wasn’t right as he takes a small step back.

His instincts were kicking in, telling him to run to hide, but from what?

While Miguel is distracted talking to Gwen and Miles, he takes the opportunity to step out of the lab, getting away from the others as he opens a portal and steps through, stepping inside his burrow and closing the portal behind him.

He’s surrounded by various timelines and universe, swallowing nervously as he approached one of them and placed his palm over it. Watching the scene before him as Miguel explains to Miles about the canons, fast forwarding Miles finding out about his father needing out die in order to keep the canon from breaking, from Miles escaping and Miguel chasing down the kid.

“No, no, what is happening.” He whispers as he steps away from the timeline and approached another with Miguel and Miles, watching as he chased the kid through the city. He can see the anger in Miguel’s body language, talons digging into the buildings and it sets an alarm off in the rabbit. He fast forwards to see the outcome, only for an additional timeline to show up, raising his ears in surprise as he moves over to check the two outcomes.

His looks into both outcomes, noticing how a third timeline appears. He’s never seen something like this before and it interests him as he checks everything figuring out the good and bad the right and wrong of his own choices that he is to make. When he connects all outcome together to create a new future he takes a step back, knowing that his next step could possibly ruin the trust he had with Miguel, but knew that it was the right thing to do.

It was his duty to protect the future.

The hybrid lets out a deep breath, extending out the palm of his hand as he opens a portal, jumping through and quickly holding onto the rail of the train that everyone clung onto. He can see as Miguel held Miles down, pinning him down as he shouted to the kid about how much of a mistake he was and how he wasn’t suppose to be a hero.

He can see the hurt in Miles eyes when hearing Miguels words only for it to grow worse when he finds out that his own friends knew the truth the entire time and never told him.

Bunnix holds on tight to the railing his movement getting Miguels attention, noticing the opened portal above them and hardening his stare. “I can’t let you go back.” Said Miguel, looking back to Miles as his grip on his shoulders tightened. “Bunnix, take him back to the lab.” His voice is full of demand, expecting the hybrid to listen and to take the kid back only to see no movement.

Miguel looks up to Y/n with a hint of confusion in his eyes. “Bunnix.” He hissed out towards the hybrid who can only frown.

Holding onto the rial he used his back leg to push himself up, eyes full of guilt. “I’m sorry.” He says, using the strength of his legs to push himself forward. “I have to protect the timeline.”

Miguels eyes widen when he finally realizes what he means, reacting too late as the hybrid uses his legs to kick Miguel off of Miles, sending him flying back. Y/n is quick to grab Miles, not letting the kid speak before giving Miguel one last look and jumping through his portal and disappearing from sight.

Both Y/n and Miles roll through the burrow together. “What—“ Miles starts as he stands from where he lies, only for his eye to widen. “What is this place?”

Bunnix grunts, getting up and rushing over to the kid, covering his eyes. “don’t look.” His voice is low and dangerous. He couldn’t allow anyone to see what he sees, not even Míguel had the privilege to look into his burrow.

“Hold on!” Miles starts again, reaching out to try and pry Y/n’s hands off his eyes, but Y/n tightens his hold. “You can’t see this, if you do it will alter the future and I can’t have that. happening, not now.” He is guiding Miles around his burrow, checking the different timelines while the kid began to ask.

“Why did you save me?”

The hybrids ears raise at his question before they fall back, forgetting to explain to him. “I know what Miguel is only trying to do his job into keeping the canons from breaking, but…I also have a job of my own which is to keep the future safe. I saw the outcome of Miguel’s doing and I had to fix it.” His voice is soft while leading the kid around, keeping his hands over his eyes still until he finds what he is looking for.

“Wait, so you can see the future?” Miles looks over his shoulder while Bunnix sighs, knowing his next questions as he opens the portal to where he is to take Miles, stepping through and into the rain. The sound gets the kids attention and his eyes are uncovered, looking around in confusion and then turning back to Bunnix who stood before him.

“I know you want to know if you make it to your dad on time.” Said Bunnix. “I know what happens, Miles and it’s something I cannot reveal. I decided that this path works best, whether its good or bad its the right one.” Miles is staring at Bunnix with a look of determination and desperation wanting to know if his own father make sit out of the situation alive and if he’s able to save him before its too late.

As Miles opens his mouth to speak again he is cut off by Bunnix holding his hand up, stopping him.

Y/n gives the kid a sad smile already knowing that Miguel possibly hates him for what he’s done. “Your path goes on, mine ends here.” At this point their is nothing he can do for him, knowing that Miguel will be searching for him and the only way to stay hidden without getting caught would be in his burrow until everything is complete.

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