Side note: This is my first ever tumblr fic, so uh, be gentle!! moving on!
pairing: ghost x f!reader
synopsis: callsign is sunshine, because you're anything but. team 141 thought ghost was bad? at least they could crack a smile out of the guy from time to time, you? you were stone faced, all day, every day. until one day you're not, not with a certain someone anyway.
warnings: inaccurate military language and sequences, violence, angst, descriptions of interrogation and torture, INTENSE gore (imo), cursing, allusions to mental illness (reader has sociopathic tendencies) you get the gist. If you have a weak stomach or faint heart, please do not read this, like please.
I'd also like to start this off by saying that the mc is not a good person, and that is on purpose. I've seen a lot of the angel fics where ghost falls for his antithesis, so I decided to try something new. So here, please forgive any mistakes.
if this does become a series there will most likely be smut because,,, yes.
(update it's becoming a series so if someone wants to be tagged for that lmk cause i have so many ideas for this)
This is part 1! part 2 part 3
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Word count: 3.4k
"Sunshine how copy?" Ghost's gruff, static filled voice called through coms, scope checking the parameters of the building she found herself held up in. She didn't respond at first, busy fighting for her life in a basement underneath the building they weren't aware of.
The deeper she went the harder it was to understand what was being relayed to her, so she settled on doing it on her own. He listened to a man grunt, their body dropping to the floor under her boot as she took a deep breath.
"There's a basement underground, coms are cutting out. I'm taking charge on clearing the basement. I'll report when I get to the surface. Sunshine out." She loathed her callsign with a passion. To speak it caused a burning hatred to spark in the lowest depths of her heart and made her cringe horribly. However, she knew it was better than letting everyone know her real name, so she dealt with it.
Ghost sighed, knowing she couldn't be stopped once she started. She had been on a few missions together in the past few years, he knew she was uptight and lacked the emotional capacity to make friends with others. It made him wonder why, what could've been that bad to freeze her heart over and shrink it to the size of the pebble he was crushing under his foot as he shifted uncomfortably. People would try and try to thaw her out, yet always failed.
He waited, taking out strays that attempted to heed the possible rescue requests that came from that basement, and patiently waited.
"This is Sunshine, basement cleared. Might wanna come take a look at this." His eyebrows furrowed, affirming the request and making his way down quickly, not wanting to stay in the open for too long. He made his way to the basement, eyes widening at the various bodies that trailed to wherever she was down there.
Had she done this all by herself?
He followed the bodies all the way to her, lights flickering, casting a bland white light on the concrete walls. seeing her digging through an opened trunk in a room filled with them.
"Weapons. American." Sunshine reported, glancing at him as he took his place next to her, seeing the American flag painted onto the inside of the lid. She turned at the sound of a groan, a soldier she left alive rousing to consciousness.
"Fuckin' hell. This mission was to take out ultranationalists." Ghost sighed. She didn't respond, the task force member watching her turn on her heel and grab the soldier by vest, throwing him against the wall with impressive strength. Blood flowed out of the back of his head, smearing against the wall as he slowly slid to the floor. He had never seen her in interrogation, but he had heard from those who have.
Brutal, heartless, some had to exit the room.
He wouldn't. He's witnessed plenty of torture tactics, even had to rely on some himself to get information necessary for national security. But this is another reason why they called her 'Sunshine', because to others she didn't feel remorse for what she did, some said she enjoyed it even, that her eyes brightened like the sun peaking over the horizon. Whether that was true or not he'd figure out now, as eager as he was. He watched her take out her knife, flipping it in her hand as she crouched to the soldier's level.
"Where'd they come from." She asked simply, keeping an even tone that surprised Ghost. He expected something more fierce, intimidating, but it was as if she was starting a conversation with a normal person. The victim attempted to spit in her face, but with a quick turn on the head it landed on the floor behind her. Her knife dug itself into his foot, his cries of pain echoing in the basement as she twisted it. The sounds of his bones cracking made Ghost shiver.
"Where'd they come from. Who sold them to you." She persisted, her face void of all emotion as she ripped the blade out of his foot. She sighed, turning to ghost who stood in the back, surveying the action. His eyebrows furrowed as she pointed to the door with her knife.
"Wait outside. This might take awhile." At first he didn't move, but the hint of impatience in her eyes spooked him out, for reasons unknown to him, but instinct told him to listen. So he slowly retreated and stood watch outside for anyone either getting up or rushing down the stairs. Y/N turned back to her victim, seeing two loops with chains hanging off of them imbedded into the wall. She tied his arms up, leaving his body sagging down.
Ghost listened to her repeat her questions, and when she didn't get an answer, a shout would follow. But those shouts turned to ear-piercing screams very quickly. He listened to pleads and begs of mercy to understand him, that he couldn't say anything out fear to what they'd do to him.
"Imagine what I'll do next if I don't get the response I want." She'd respond.
The bones cracking, the retch of vomiting, blood splattering onto the cold concrete.
"If you think you can outlast me, that I'll get tired of this and stop for the night to let you regain some of your humanity, you're wrong. Because unfortunately for you sweetheart." The blade tore through his skin, another bellow of pain emerging from his throat as he squirmed in his place. They were both coated in blood, her eyes dull and her ears tuning out the noise. To her, it was as if he was silent, his screams didn't penetrate through to her, and talked and talked until it drove him mad.
"I don't have all night, and I'm getting impatient. You won't die, I wouldn't allow that. I went through med school, graduated top of my class with a doctorate in Neuroscience. I know how to break." Which was evident as his leg was broken and facing different directions from the knee down to his toes.
"And I know how to fix. I'll keep you alive a lot longer than the night, and I'll do a lot worse. So if you want this to end, start talking, or you're in for a long week." Simon wondered what she was doing. His mind went over the possibilities until her victim finally cracked after the final scream he unleashed into the empty basement. He detailed a secret arms trade between an ally of the United States' and another country, which would lead to the likeliness of intentions for them.
War.
Y/N huffed, ripping off a piece of the soldiers shirt that wasn't soaked in sweat, blood, or vomit, which was a very small one, and wiping her hands clean as best as she could.
"Could've said that 10 minutes ago. Now, you'll bleed out within the next 5. Shame." Ghost listened to his anguished sobs as footsteps approached him, turning around from the entrance to see her, covered in blood. His eyes widened slightly, noticing a piece of...
Her eyes followed his to her vest, noticing a very small piece of flesh sitting between her shirt and gear before flicking it off to the side.
"Hopefully he didn't have HIV." She joked, but there was no humor in her voice, no sign of her finding it funny at all, as if she said it to just say it. Ghost didn't respond, he wasn't sure how. He slowly moved to look inside the room, the curiosity of what she did to the soldier eating him alive, until she grabbed his roughly.
"Don't." The word sent shivers down his spine, and he knew better than the disobey as she had operational command authority, and would likely court martial him if he had. So he took a step back and maintained eye contact, radioing in to Price.
"Captain, this is Ghost. How copy." He called, his gruff voice bringing a smile to her lips that he couldn't see due to her mask which was just a boring black one, decorated with blotches of drying blood that lightened up enough to see.
"This is Price."
"We found weapons and gear, they're American." He went onto explain the situation, being weary of his mission leader walking around him in circles, waiting impatiently as he reported their findings.
"Copy that. I'll transfer this to Lanswell. Good work, report back to base for debrief."
"Copy, Ghost out." He connected his radio back to his vest. She took out her pistol, leading him to pull out his own. The behavior she exhibited was one he hadn't seen often, and it led to a deep mistrust he couldn't shake. She smirked, turning around, walking back in the room, and confirming her kill with a bullet between the eyes before reappearing in front of him.
He looked at her suspiciously as she gestured to the stairs, wondering who trained her, who made her into what she is now. She wasn't normal, not like the rest of them, she had no signs of remorse, care, or empathy for the people she killed, and she killed them with ease. Over 30 soldiers in one cramped basement and she came out unscathed, in tip top shape. He followed her out and made it to the landing zone where a helicopter came to pick them up.
She was silent the whole way back, Price being there to greet the two before they sat through debrief.
"Sunshine, we have orders from headquarters to have you join Task Force 141. Ghost is to watch over you. An official introduction will be made tomorrow." Price announced, not missing the tightened grip of Ghost's fist on the table.
"Copy that captain." She responded in her usual tone, only fueling Ghost's anger as he turned to glare at her, though she only ignored him, keeping her gaze unwavering on Price.
"Hit the showers soldier." Price dismissed, Y/N being the first to leave. But before she did, she turned to look down at her new partner.
"Happy to be on the team, Mr. Riley." It took his everything to not jump to his feet and knock her out, holding his breath to calm himself down as she walked away, the door shutting behind her. He hated that she had power over him, and worse that she rubbed it in his face.
"There's no chance in hell I'll stand for her being on my team." He immediately threw at him, standing up in his seat with his finger pressing firmly on the table in front of him.
"First, it's my team. Second, It's not my choice, orders are orders." Ghost growled lowly, clearly upset over the lack of fighting to keep her off, to keep her away to those he held near and dear to his heart, even if that wasn't too close to begin with. He saw her as a danger, an immediate threat, someone who belonged in an institution before they saw the battlefield.
"Then send an appeal. She's a war criminal. Tell em that!" He snapped.
"Bloody hell we're all war criminals. Then we'll be stuck in prison with her and you'll complain some more." Price groaned, rubbing his forehead, clearly irritated by his soldier's insistence.
"Not like that. Not how she is. She'll kill one of us before we get the next mission, hell she parade around our bodies like a joker and hail-" Price's hand slammed on the table, cutting his lieutenant off.
"Quiet." Ghost went silent, sighing deeply as he waited for Price to gather the right words, to somehow ease his mistrust in her, though he doubted she could do that. He watched as he shut the door and locked it, keeping his voice hushed, standing closer to his comrade.
"This is classified information, what I say stays in this room and is to never be discussed with anyone else. Is that understood lieutenant." Ghost's eyes widened for a moment before nodding in affirmation, waiting for his captain to continue.
"She- she wasn't brought up normally. As a great many soldiers weren't, hence why many of them join the ranks in the first place. She was a prodigy, she became a seal at 17, and on her second mission she was set up, deserted, and kidnapped. Nobody knows what happened to her in there, a search team was sent out, but she wasn't found til a few months later, and when she came out after she was different."
She was a child.
That's all Ghost could thing about. God knows what happened to her in there, and he didn't want to think about it.
"She exhibited sociopathic tendencies, she was closed off, didn't speak for a very long time. She failed psychological evaluation requirements, depression, ptsd, ecetera. Even then they sent her back out on missions a couple months later." Simon's eyes blew open, Price nodding glumly.
"Missions? Fuckin' hell, she needs help not special ops." He sneered, not at Price, but his anger was seeping through at rates he couldn't control. He was angry, how could they do that to someone? Did they not care, not even a little bit for her life? Her wellbeing?
"I know. But they're not taking her out any time soon, and now that she's on our team the least we can do is try to help her. I knew her before she became this. She was a kind soul." His voice dropped to a whisper, as if reminiscing, and he was. Her bright eyes, so full of potential when they met for her first mission, how she wheezed when she laughed. She was a kid, and it hurt his heart thinking about what she turned into over the last 6 years. Ghost nodded, silently agreeing to his motives before Price simply waved him off.
Simon hit the showers, scrubbing off the dirt and gunpowder that clung to his skin, watching the water turn black as the face paint drizzled down into it. The captain's words ran through his head over and over, the words going in one ear, through his brain, and out the other in a constant circle. He knew firsthand how corrupt his line of work could be, but that didn't make him any less angry when it revealed itself to him in the ways it did.
When he exited, fully dried and clothed with his mask back on, he passed by Y/N's room, noticing the light peaking out from underneath the door. He sighed quietly, his hand coming up and knocking on the door.
"It's open." Her cold voice responded, though it sounded more distant than before. He twisted the knob and let the door open, seeing her laying on her cot in deep thought. He went to question her, until he realized that she probably listened in on their conversation.
"You were listening." She nodded once, curtly and formally before sitting up and turning to look at him. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, analyzing every aspect about him. He felt like he was being stripped naked just by her look, his soul bare for her to look into.
Her eyes drifted over his exposed arms, the sleeveless tank he wore leaving them on display. He was a big guy, his arms were veined and muscled, tattoos filling up a majority of the space, combined with scars that passed through some of them. The top he wore was a bit tight, outline his chest in an attractive way, but she forced her eyes away, knowing he already caught onto what she was staring at.
"Price is right. I wasn't always like this. And I think he was the only one to notice, or at least point it out." She began, drawing attention away from the fact she just checked him out shamelessly.
"Wasn't right, what happened to you." He replied stiffly. She snickered, standing up. He watched her pace the room, twisting a knife in her hands, causing him to tense. She noticed.
"I'm not going to stab you lieutenant." She reassured, though it didn't help at all as she went on. She wasn't sure what she felt, confused for sure, as to why she was unable to emotionally process her emotions or evaluate the information she heard, as if her mind was barring her from contextualizing her state of mind. She knew she wasn't normal, but she couldn't bring herself to accept it and label herself.
"I was 17 when I was taken, you know that. Had a rough upbringing, I won't explain that to you now." She wasn't sure where she was going with this, and neither was he, but he'd listen for a bit to try and understand her more, maybe to trust her more now that she was his teammate.
"I can feel emotion you know. Only to a certain degree, I can empathize. Fleeting, but it's there sometimes. I do feel some remorse, but you know how we are in this field. Weakness will get you killed, so you internalize it, you keep it buried underneath everything else, and because my everything else was stripped away with me, it just sits in here." She tapped her temple and shrugged. He understood what she meant, he did that too. He withheld his shame, his guilt, and his remorse, remaining a stone cold figure in the field. He saved the emotional crap for his time alone where he could deal with it in the way he knew how.
"You just let it sit there then?" He pressed, crossing his arms over his chest. She nodded.
"Don't know what to do with it. Lost my sense of self and all I know is this job. I do try though, I try to force some tears like I've seen others do, but the only time these.. feelings present themselves is on my missions, which is why everyone thinks I enjoy it. But I don't, for the record, I just can't control it like you guys do. And I envy you for that." His eyes widened slightly.
"Envy, huh."
"Mhm. You can talk to each other, find common ground and relate, make friends and connections. I can't because I don't feel like you guys do. And then you demonize me and outcast me more than I already am, so. Oops." He thought she was getting upset, but she wasn't, there was not a hint of anger or sadness or negative emotion in her person whatsoever, none that he could see anyway. Her arms were loose and carefree as she swung them around every time she turned her heel to pace back in the direction she just walked in.
"We can help you." Her first sign of feeling was an eye roll with a steady irritated gaze. But she didn't say anything. The idea of needing help repulsed her beyond anything else, made her want to punch a wall and scream, her eyes widened. Anger. There it is, outside of a mission too. She hummed, looking back at him.
"Alright Casper." He grunted, displeased by the new nickname which made her smile widen cheekily. She searched his eyes for a moment, finding entertainment in the small flames in his amber eyes, how they flickered and danced when he found something humorous, how they died out when he found something unamusing or boring, how they raged when he grew angry or determined to finish something with a newfound passion.
She liked to think he had that burn in his eyes when Price spoke to him about the notion of helping her, hoping that he'd care that much even if she didn't want the help, or perhaps she did, that would explain the want would it not? That was a thought for later. For now she'd do her job the way she knew how, she wouldn't change, not yet, not that she knew how anyway.
"We're going out for a drink tomorrow night, care to tag along." He offered, jousting his chin up at her in a heads up manner.
"I don't drink." She replied, monotone as she laid down on her cot, shutting her eyes with a sigh. He watched her body sink into the bed, all stress and tension releasing, and he took that as his dismissal. He shut the door behind him, releasing a breath and walking back to his room, confused and tired where he slept on the day's events.
Though he was curious on how tomorrow would turn out.
And that's it! If you want a series out of this let me know!! It's my first fic and I'll probably binge a bunch because I feel like writing. I'm still trying to figure out the whole border thing I wanna make everything aesthetic or whatever but yeah.
Synopsis: Your feeling for John were wrong – horribly wrong – but when you see your current boyfriend in bed with another woman, what’s to hold you back anymore? (18+)
Word Count: 20.8k
Warnings: Cheating, toxic relationship, angst, fluff, depictions of violence and gore in flashbacks, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smut, breeding kink, praise kink, Protective!Price, vulgar language, porn with an incredible amount of plot
A/N: Literally just supposed to be smut practice and I turned it into a novel lmfao. I should be getting back to requests after this.
One more line of code, and the screens flicker and settle. Lit in the eerie white glow, she presses a hand to her radio and speaks. “Actual, it’s Moth. Alarms are down, you are good to proceed.”
“Copy, Moth.” Price is all business, and she shuts down the wave of relief she feels at his voice. “See you in two hours.”
Not if someone beats you to it.
whew, this one rly beat me tf up. good news is next chapter is 90 percent done already. moth gets into deep shit. love u guys xoxo
pairing: john price x f!oc
wc: 4k
synopsis: the 141 moves in on volkov's residence.
warnings: adversaries to lovers, sexual themes, gore, protective john price, guns, cod-typical violence, mentions of suicide, no sex but making desperation sexy, trust issues
also posted to ao3 here
It really wasn’t so much of a residence as a skyscraper.
She’s looking at the plans even though she doesn’t need to, tracing the familiar hallways. The place looks like it should be so much bigger like this, just a tangle of geometric shapes on a piece of paper, lacking scale or perspective.
In fact, she knows it’s only thirty paces from the stairwell to Belayev’s rooms, burrowed three left turns deep into the thirty-second floor.
She tells Price this, looking over the plans that are spread over his desk, where she had been spread too. His body is hot at her shoulder, and the brace of his fingers on the wood of the desk makes her shiver. She can remember finding the smell of his cologne on her neck when she’d gotten back to her room that evening.
It hasn’t been awkward since the night in his office, not strictly - just more… professional. She thinks he might be waiting for her to make the next move, but the last week she’s been so curled up with her own anxiety she can’t bring herself to even think about kissing. She hasn’t been sleeping well, and her performance at training has been so dismal, even Ghost has started to tease her about it.
The team is going in from the ground floor, Price tells her, because the airspace is controlled over the city and makes a helicopter entry complicated. Belayev had set up his headquarters in a highly populated urban center and screened the inner workings of the building behind several legitimate enterprises, which worked to hide shipments and money coming in and out. Plus, he used to gloat, means more collateral damage if they ever come after me.
He’d always been confident. So confident, in fact, that he’d never noticed Volkov training her to take down his cybersecurity, or Volkov’s mistrust in him at all.
Price pulls her aside after training one morning, when she’s sustained a glancing blow on the cheek from Gaz. He doesn’t intimidate the men into pulling their punches anymore, but she also gets the sense they’ve changed their tactics, using her speed to train their own rather than just going off their brute force advantages.
They stand together to the side of the hallway, and she watches Soap’s back disappear over Price’s big shoulder. Her cheekbone smarts, and she knows it’s going to bruise.
“Moth,” Price says, his voice low and smooth, like the purr of some big predator. “Something bothering you?”
She looks at him then, the blue of his eyes sending her stomach into a little fit. The last time they’d been this close together, he’d been running a warm towel gently over her skin, his lips skimming over the curve of her neck while he cleaned his own spend off her abdomen. He’d treated her like an angel, like something worthy of his worship, and she’d found the feeling so unfamiliar she isn’t sure how to look at him anymore.
She wants to kiss him, even if she is afraid of what comes next. Maybe even more so because of it. The feeling is so strong, she almost leans up onto her toes and does it, right there in the hallway.
“Moth,” he says again, his own eyes glued to her mouth. She shakes herself out of the trance and the anxiety descends again to its usual spot, heavy on the back of her neck and deep in her chest. He looks back up at her eyes.
“Nothing, sir,” she says, but there’s no heat in her voice, just a flat acknowledgement. It’s nothing he can help her with. “Thanks for asking.”
He blinks at her, clearly taken aback by her shortness, but he doesn’t push. She’s grateful.
“When you decide you want to tell me, you know where to find me,” he says in that soft, raspy voice. She holds herself very still to keep from wrapping her arms around his thick abdomen and burying her face in the divot between his pectorals. He smells so good.
She doesn’t bother to deny again that something’s wrong. His hand, warm and scarred, brushes over the red mark on her cheek for just a moment before she turns away. Tears are forming in her eyes. What is wrong with her?
“Thank you, sir,” she manages, and retreats down the hallway. She tries not to run from the feeling of his eyes on her back.
On the morning of the mission, she’s woken by a cheery Soap at her door, delivering a tactical vest and standard-issue service pistol in a thigh holster. They look good on her, and he gives her a cheeky grin when she comes out for breakfast.
“Aye, lass, I reckon ye look just like Mum's Christmas dreams.”
She remembers his quip about his mom hoping he’d bring a fellow operator home for the holidays. She lets out a dry laugh. “If I live through this, I’ll take as many Scottish Christmases as you can give me.”
She looks up just in time from her plate to meet Price’s stony face. Maybe he’s mad that Soap is flirting with her. Or maybe he didn’t sleep enough last night.
He can join the club.
She’s dressed like Price was the first time she met him, in a form-fitting black jacket with a high neck that fits snugly under the tactical vest. It ends just above a pair of black canvas pants, over which a belt and thigh strap keep the pistol tight to her side. Thank god Volkov trained her in basic gun safety - Price had quizzed her thoroughly before letting Soap persuade him it was necessary.
The helicopter takes off at dusk. Her ponytail is ruined by the time they touch down outside the city, and she’s still brushing pieces back when they all pile into a nondescript white van and start towards the residence. The men all match her in black jackets and vests, and she spots more than one type of explosive strapped to their chests. It’s the first time she’s seen them in their element, involved in the operations they’re really trained for. If she didn’t know them, she’d be terrified.
The black of their rifles glints at her under the city lights, and she touches the little pistol at her side. It feels like a toy compared to the weapons they’re carrying. Her breath jolts through her lungs. In and out, she repeats to herself. In and out.
It’s what Price said to her, and it sounded so simple. She breaks in with a simple code, disables the security system while Sergei and Alex are at their weekly debrief with Belayev, and sits back while all hell breaks loose. On their way out, they pick her up, and they’re gone before local authorities ever find a single body. Easy.
It won’t quite be that simple, but if she’s very lucky, it won’t be much worse.
The van stops, and they’ve pulled up in the loading dock of a nondescript midsize urban building, just outside the range of the security cameras. She looks at each of the men, trying not to think that it might be the last time she sees any of them. “Well,” she says weakly. “This is me.”
Nobody laughs, but Soap quirks a grin she’s grateful for. “Write when ye find work, lass,” he says, and it’s almost enough to calm the rampaging cadence her heart is keeping.
“Stay quiet and calm,” Price reminds her, his gaze intense. “We’ll be waiting for your confirmation. If you don’t make contact in twenty minutes, we’re coming in after you, laser traps be damned.”
She swallows. “Twenty minutes.”
Before she can think again, she hops out of the van and strides casually to the door of the cargo dock. One figure dressed in black won’t raise an alarm on the automated camera trackers, but five would, no doubt. Her face burns all the way across the pavement, and she can’t help but expect a bullet hole to appear there any second. Please let it be dark enough.
She’s somehow unscathed when she reaches the keypad at the door. A bit of mental math - Belayev liked to keep the codes changing on a memorized algorithm - and the door beeps open. Her timer is running down now, primed when the light in the control room began to blink the indication of an unlocked door. Twenty minutes before someone decides something is wrong.
The hallways are the same as they always have been. She slips inside and starts towards the control room, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Twice she has to duck against the wall and wait for guards to pass, her fingers twitching at her pistol, but they walk right past her. It’s almost too easy.
When she reaches the control room, it takes two deep breaths for her to calm her breathing before slipping inside. It’s gloriously empty, and she lets her hand relax from where it’s been hovering over the holster.
Five minutes left on Price’s clock, ten before Alex and Sergei return. She locks the door from the inside and settles into one of their seats, flicking off the open-door indicator. She can’t afford distractions.
It’s familiar, the way she slides into the system codes. Like meeting an old friend just to stab them in the back. Carefully, Moth peels back the security system, layer by layer, until it’s just her and the rattle of the keyboard, the pounding of her heart. One minute. She’s almost there. Just needs to confirm the lock disengagement, override the thermal detectors in the lobby, and reinstate the puppet mainframe -
One more line of code, and the screens flicker and settle. Lit in the eerie white glow, she presses a hand to her radio and speaks. “Actual, it’s Moth. Alarms are down, you are good to proceed.”
“Copy, Moth.” Price is all business, and she shuts down the wave of relief she feels at his voice. “See you in two hours.”
Not if someone beats you to it.
Her plan is simple: While the household is preoccupied with the 141, she’ll slip out and disappear down the street.
It only takes two of her five remaining minutes for the shouting to start, the pounding of feet past the control room door while Belayev’s security personnel swarm to the front of the building. When it’s silent again, she pulls the pistol from its holster with one gloved hand and eases the door open with the other.
It’s clear. She starts at a quick stride but breaks into a run, back down towards the door she came in through. The halls are empty, the sound of gunfire echoing somewhere far away. She’s so close, this might actually work-
Then there’s a shot ringing in her ear, and she’s tumbling to the concrete floor. A shocking pain is flaring in her back and her lungs spasm around nothing - the impact emptied them entirely. She gasps for air, feeling a jagged disjoint in her back when she pushes over to face the shooter.
There’s a hand at her throat, a choking sensation before something breaks.
When she looks up, there’s a man wearing a smug smile and dangling her throat mic from a finger.
She’d been so close.
Volkov looks just like he had the night she’d escaped, except the gash she’d made across his face - the one he had carved back into hers as retaliation - is now healed into a shiny pink stripe.
“Butterfly,” he croons, his mouth stretching into a horrible grin, “I’d heard you were home.”
She’d known this would happen, but it still hurts. It’s sharp, like the accidental slip of a knife - you don’t realize how bad it is until you see the blood.
“Stay away from me,” she says to him, but her voice is barely more than a whisper. She feels at her back, expecting the hot rush of blood, but her fingers come away clean - the vest must have absorbed the piercing impact of the bullet.
She sees her pistol, a few feet to the side where she’d dropped it.
His smile grows, and he leans closer. “Why would I do that? I just found my favorite toy. I’d thought I’d lost it.”
There’s another series of shots behind him, and he turns to scowl at the empty hallway. She leans over a little, closer to the gun. It’s close, just an arm’s reach.
“Inconvenient for your captain to choose now to move in, I daresay he rather upstaged my-”
He turns back just as she lunges for the gun. Her fingers scrabble against the textured hand grip, but it spins away on the slippery floor. One step, and his shoe settles over her outstretched hand.
A little sob of dread leaves her throat. His heel raises, then stomps back down, and there’s a blinding pain as several of the bones in her hand shatter. She screams, but it’s too far from the lobby for anyone to hear.
“Little Butterfly,” Volkov murmurs. “I never wanted to clip your wings like this.” She can barely hear him over the shuddering of her own breath.
His heel comes down again, and two more fingers break. She’s crying now, her screams wet with tears. The pain in her hand blocks out thought and logic. The hand in front of her doesn’t look like hers, but she can smell the blood leaking from the compound fractures.
The shots are closer now, and Volkov spooks. He hauls her up in one hand and her gun in the other, surprisingly strong for his lack of bulk, and she bites her tongue against the spikes of agony coming from her hand. He shuts them back into the control room, dumping her unceremoniously on the floor and settling into the chair she’d just been sitting in ten minutes before. He taps clumsily at the keyboard, but the screens sit inert- the virus she’d installed is incurable.
She drifts in and out of consciousness, the pain of her body forcing her brain out of commission. There’s no way of knowing how much time has passed in the dark silence of the room, several floors under the combat.
Then he speaks from above her. “You must have known,” he says. “Sergei saw the door alarm go off before he left. When we heard the shots from the lobby, we knew you were home.”
She’d been a minute too early- just a minute.
“You must have known,” he says again. “Why take the job?”
She shivers in silence on the floor, a chill taking over and settling a light numbness over the pain.
“Oh, dear,” he murmurs. “You really thought you meant something to them.”
She didn’t, not really- she’d only hoped, but hadn’t been able to believe it.
“Didn’t have a choice.”
He huffs, a humorless laugh. His voice is cruel, cold. “Poor baby. How many men does Price have with him?”
She’s not sure, but there had been at least two other vans of operatives with them. She stays quiet.
He laughs again, and the strain in it betrays his stress. “How long before he notices your silence, Butterfly?”
“Three hours.”
Volkov bends down, balancing an elbow on his knee. “Now, that can’t be true,” he sneers at her. “Not with the pace they’re moving.”
“They want Belayev, not you,” she says. “You’re collateral damage.” There’s no small satisfaction in saying it. He loves his delusions.
He doesn't like that at all. A sharp flick of rage sparks in his eye, and with almost a casual movement, he kicks out a foot across her cheekbone.
Her head whips to the side, and she tastes blood leaking from her nose over her lips.
“Was that worth it, Butterfly?”
Blood spills from her mouth in response. It’s starting to soak into the neck of her jacket.
She thinks back to how she’d felt on the train, fleeing him for the first time. It had been terrifying and painful, the illness and pain setting in like they’d never leave. But under the aches, there had been a certain glee, a freedom she didn’t recognize. Whatever happened next, it had to be better than what she’d run from.
Volkov asks again. “How many men?”
Now here she is, unarmed, one shattered hand cradled against her chest, feeling the familiar dread of Volkov’s presence descend on her. Isn’t this how it was always going to end?
She glances to the side, her eyes unfocused at where she knows she won’t see Price come through the door, and Volkov smiles a little when she slumps back against the wall. “Forty.” It’s an inflated number, but he has no way of knowing.
The radio comes alive at her shoulder. “Moth, sit-rep.” She almost starts to cry again at the sound of Price’s voice.
When she looks up, a slow smile is tugging at Volkov’s face. He reaches over and yanks the radio from its spot on her tactical vest.
“Moth, do you copy?” He’s trying again.
Volkov is looking at the radio now, staring at it like it’s made of solid gold.
“Moth, check in-” He flips the radio off. There’s horrible new hope on his face.
“Let’s see if your Captain Price won’t take mercy on you after all.”
She barely has time to flinch before his hand comes up and whips the handle of her own pistol against her temple.
Moth is MIA.
He called her just a few minutes ago, and she hasn’t responded yet. The anxiety of it pulls at him, but there’s an active firefight around him, and he can’t spare the resources to send someone to check on her.
When he transmits again, there’s just the flat tone of an incomplete connection. Her radio is off. Bloody hell.
“Soap,” he says, gritting his teeth against the flash of a grenade, “When this floor is clear, head down to the control room. Moth’s radio is off.”
“Copy, Actual.” Soap’s accent is strong and holds an uncharacteristic tension. From across the room, Price sees him drop three men with two bullets.
They’ve just cleared the nineteenth floor when Ghost comes in on the radio, breaking the silence he’d kept during his overwatch. His voice, normally so level and impassive, has a note of urgency Price has rarely heard.
“All points, be advised. Volkov has Moth on the roof.”
For a second, he thinks he’s misheard him.
“Ghost, repeat.”
“Volkov has Moth on roof level. Gun to her head. He knows we’ve got overwatch - trying to send a message.”
Price swears, but the oath is nothing compared to the way his blood goes cold through his limbs, the sweat on his neck turning frozen in a split second. He can’t feel his fingers, so he has to look to check that they’re still balanced next to the trigger of his rifle. How did he find her? Is she hurt?
Ghost reads his mind. “She looks bad, Actual.”
“Do you have a shot?”
“Negative, sir. He’s got her as a shield.”
Fuck.
His tactical brain snaps back into action, breaking through the numbness and commanding his men in the only way he knows. He strides back to where they came from, where the elevator sits next to the open stairwell door. His words come out as if from a stranger’s mouth.
“All points, this is Actual. Upgrade to active hostage situation. Mark is Leonid Volkov, six foot one, black hair, brown hair. Gaz, what’s the elevator status?” He’s in the stairwell now, looking up at the unending circles of steps.
Gaz appears next to him. “Tried it just now, sir. Looks jammed.”
Only one thing to do now. “Gaz, Soap, with me. All other Bravo points, continue sweep upwards, target on Belayev. Execute authority remains, eliminate all threats.”
He barely hears the volley of copy, sirs that comes back through the radio, and the feeling starts to come back into his legs as he starts up the stairs. Soap has silently joined Gaz, his face set in a stony fury. It’s only been a few seconds since the message came through from Ghost, but he barely recalls the minutes before. Why didn’t I have someone covering her?
“Ready to climb for your lives, boys?”
“Hell yeah, sir,” says Gaz.
It’s a dizzying ascent, but it’s no worse than anything he’s done before.
“Check in, Ghost,” Price grates out. The steps spiral down beneath him.
“He wants you to know he has her. Says he’ll kill her if we don’t let them both go.”
Fuck. Volkov had somehow accurately gauged Moth’s importance - better than Moth herself, he thinks. Ghost’s next transmission confirms it.
“Actual. Moth is telling him nobody’s coming. Some plan you didn’t share?”
He vaguely hears Soap swear viciously behind him. “Negative, Ghost. Not one I know about.” Though why she’d be telling him that is beyond him. He’s known she’d been struggling with trusting them, but they brought her into this. Why wouldn’t they also be prepared to get her out?
A dark figure bursts out onto the next landing, and it takes just one well-placed shot from Price to take him out. The three of them step over the body as the blood spills down over the steps. They start on the next flight.
He thinks back to what she’d said about protecting his investment. It’s what Volkov would do. Is that what she thinks he’d do, too? Does she not know him well enough?
If she bases all her expectations on what she thinks Volkov would do, then that’s what this is - she truly expects the team to abandon her here now that she’s gotten them into the residence.
Fucking hell. He’s going to have a fucking word with her when they get out of this.
They step into another flight. Ghost comes back in. “Actual. It’s getting ugly.”
He’s telling him to hurry up without presuming to give orders to his commanding officer. Price’s thighs are burning, and the sweat on his neck has turned hot again, but there’s a desperation pounding through his ears that nearly blocks out Ghost’s words. He’s never been this rattled on a mission - can’t afford to be this rattled. If it comes down to a close shot between her and Volkov, a shaky hand could be the end of everything.
He thinks he might be praying, actually. There’s a litany running through his head, a please please please pleasepleaseplease that isn’t directed anywhere special but he hopes it makes it to the right ears.
His battle-trained mind pushes through. “Ghost - can you indicate presence? Let him know you’re listening?” Another shot, and another of Belayev’s men topples past them down the stairs. Price doesn’t bother to watch him fall.
“Negative. Wind is too unpredictable. The risk is too great. If I miss, he’ll retaliate on her.”
He wants to shout with the injustice of it, but he knows Ghost’s evaluation must be spot-on. There’s something like a sob climbing in his throat, choking down his breath, and he shoves it back.
They reach the 40th floor. Soap and Gaz are panting next to him, but they’re showing no signs of slowing down.
“Ghost - we’re approaching top floor. How do you advise we exit?”
Another floor down. Then another.
“Bloody fucking hell, Captain,” Ghost comes through. He sounds rough, as panicked as Price has ever heard him. “Don’t care how you do it- just get here.”
“Use yer words, LT,” Soap snaps from behind, his accent thick. They’re almost there. Just a few more steps - a few more -
“She’s up on the ledge,” Ghost says, and Price feels the world drop out from under him. If his legs keep moving, he’s not aware of it. He dreads Ghost’s next words like he knows they’re coming. “She’s gonna jump.”
— warnings: explicit content minors dni (age gap, mxf, dirty talk) swearing, mention of death and injury
— a/n: i’m so in love with this man. oh my god.
“You wanted to see me, Captain?” You say through the door, knocking a few times.
“Come in.” He calls back, and you try to still your hand as it reaches for the doorknob. Every time he calls for you, you can’t predict what will happen. Some times he’s all work no play, giving you assignments like he does the rest of the 141 with a straight face and serious look in his eyes.
[Summary]: Jeon Jungkook is your University’s biggest rock-star-athlete-hot guy. It literally prides itself on his attendance at the school — walking around with his “big name” (captain of the lacrosse team), tattoos, and rude, jock-like personality. You hate him. You hate that he can’t apologize for being a complete asshole. But what you don’t hate is how he visits your office every day. You also don’t hate that your feelings for him are crawling back into your system…
[Theme]: Jock!Jk, LacrossePlayer!JK x TeacherIntern!Y/N, Friends(?)ToLovers!AU, EnimeisToLovers!AU
[Rating]: 18+, explicit content, lots of hickies, mentions of blowjob, consistent flirting, JK is an extreme asshole (he actually got on my nerves for some of it lol), insensitive JK, lots of passion, squirting, kissing, pining after one another (mainly JK)
[Word Count]: 10,332
[Author’s Note]: I didn’t plan on making Y/n an education major…? But then I was thinking of JK in a bomber jacket and jock x teacher!AU and…yeah no, it had to happen.
Jeon Jungkook.
The name makes you hurl a little in your mouth. Yesterday’s lunch makes its way to the back of your throat. But you swallow it down, telling yourself to be strong and that he will go away soon.
“So,” he banters a smile at you. That stupid yellow and blue lacrosse bomber jacket puffs out around his shoulders, the number “07” poking out in the ugliest school-sprit font you’ve ever seen on his sleeves. His elbows rest on your desk, arms delicately pushing some of your papers and trinkets out of his way. The action only fuels your anger.
“7 o’clock. You and me. Chipotle.”
“In your dreams, fuckboy,” you scoff. The audacity he has to ask you out. The audacity he has to find the school you intern at (literally on your universities campus, but still), interrupt your work, and ask you on a date for the nth time since the start of this week.
You think this might be the 5th time this week he’s asked you out on a date. And it’s only Wednesday.
The amount of explaining you still have to do to your coworkers, and even your kindergartner students, is exhausting. Everyone knows who he is. He’s the captain of your Universities lacrosse team, probably the most popular guy on campus…one of “the hottest” guys in the school (according to your coworker and roommate, Aecha)
You remember asking her a while back why he was always “the talk of the town”, and all she could say was: “Well, look at him. How could he not be?”
You get it. He is hot. But that doesn’t stop you from absolutely hating his guts. Not after he spilled his hot, black coffee all over your white shirt and pants a few weeks ago. Not after he stained all of your precious student’s artwork with his scorching hot Americano.
You were on your way to the school to hang them up in your classroom. Stopping at your University library’s coffee shop, you decided to start your day with a little bit of matcha before you decorated your space.
Your students had just completed a “what I love about me” project, and their responses literally made you cry. Maybe made you ugly cry. So innocent and honest in their responses, this project was probably the most precious to your heart. You had wished you did something like this back when you were so young. Maybe then you would have a reminder on your bad days what younger you always admired before nasty comments and puberty hit your system.
So, when Jeon Jungkook completely drenched them in his black coffee, your stained (and very expensive) white work shirt and pants didn’t even matter. The sopping-wet look of your student’s artwork made you fight to gulp back tears. But you couldn’t help the water that begged to break free from behind your eyelids.
“Oohh!” he laughs, the stupid jock in him making a scene. “Jeez! I’m sorry.” you can feel the antagonizing smirk on his lips as he looks at what he’s done to you. “Here, let me get a napkin,”
Jungkook exits your line of vision and you try to make your way out of the library before he comes back. But, ever the athlete he is, Jungkook is back before you can blink with a giant wad of the coffee shop’s crappy brown napkins.
You don’t even know who is talking to you until you take the napkins from his hands, recognizing those ugly, stupid, hot hand tattoos. Who couldn’t recognize them when the whole university makes Jungkook’s tattoos each and every one of its personality traits?
The realization of your perpetrator being Jeon Jungkook only makes you more upset. Had it been anyone else, the hurt in your heart from your damaged projects might have been less painful.
You immediately start wiping off your student’s projects, placing them on the nearest table and patting them dry, trying your best not to smear the Crayola marker on some of them.
“Woah, hey,” he chuckles to himself again. “Nice line work. Didchya draw those?”
“Please, stop talking.” you spit at him. Finally, you look up at his face, hoping he gets the point.
You think he does, because the minute he catches your gaze, his face freezes. The look adorning your features was angry, but that tear in your eye from what he did to your papers made you really upset. Which, for some reason, made Jungkook's heart clench. Hoping he can’t see the tears trying to break free from your eyelids, you look back down and continue your previous actions.
“I-I, um,” he stutters, his voice much meeker than what it antagonized you with just moments ago. “Look, is there anything I can do? A free drink? New clothes? A personal invitation to Min Yoongi’s New Year’s Party? An escort around the men’s lacrosse team's locker room? …During uniform change?”
“Thanks, but the best thing you can do is leave,” you reply. Just about done drying your projects up the best you can, you gather them in your arms and face the man once again. This time, you stare at his face for more than just a few seconds. You hate that he’s handsome; it only makes it harder to stop looking at the playful smirk forming on his lips from mentioning the men’s locker rooms.
“You sure? Heard this year’s party is supposed to be a banger.” he bribes, the mole under his bottom lip showing as he smiles.
“Min Yoongi is a close friend. I am invited to his parties every year. Now, I have to go—”
“No way?!” he exclaims, the permed dark curls over his eyes bouncing as he places a large hand on your shoulder. You shrug it off, but he acts like he did nothing wrong at all. “How come I haven’t seen you before? I’d totally recognize you. You’re smokin', by the way.”
Your lips and nose cringe at his statement.
“I don’t usually go,” you explain. “Now, please move before I push you out of my way myself.”
“Hah!” he laughs. “Like you could. Hey, are you an elementary teacher or just a shitty artist?”
“I’m not answering that,” you say. His comment hurts you. This is precious art to you. The fact that he has no regard—didn’t even say sorry meaningfully—for your papers that you are obviously upset about makes your heart sink. All you can see are the faces of your students.
“Okay, well, that offer for a free drink, or clothes, or uh—oh yeah. The men’s locker room deal,” he winks. “Is still on the table.”
“I’ll pass,” you flash a tight-lipped smile his way before brushing a shoulder past him and exiting the library.
The first tear makes its way down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it off before anyone has the chance to see it. You think Jungkook might have through the window of the shop, but you assume he is looking at his order number for a new coffee on the screen above it. It would appear more fitting. He clearly has no care in the world that he did something that made someone else upset. From his own actions. But are you really surprised that he wouldn’t care?
The rest of your walk to the elementary school is filled with blasting music in your headphones and a scowl on your face. What was once sadness is now anger. You’re angry. So fucking angry. Your blood is boiling.
“How could he?” you exclaim as you barge into the teacher’s lounge.
“Woah—” Aecha observes. “Is this a new print or something?” she asks, referring to your white-brown shirt and pants. “Please don’t tell me this is a new ‘thing’? No offense, but it’s kind of ug—”
“No, it’s that stupid Jungkook-jock-fuckboy-asshole-bitch—”
You silently thank an existing god that the kids have off today.
“Jeon Jungkook?” Aecha’s jaw drops.
“Don’t even start. I hate that man. Look what he did,” you seethe, slapping your student’s projects on the table.
“Awww,” Aecha’s eyes go beady, her fingers delicately shifting through the precious artwork. “Did he ruin them?”
“Yes,” you fight the urge to swipe all the shit on the coffee bar onto the floor. “Yes, he did. And now I have to give these back to the kids, hoping that when they’re 15 years older they can actually make out what it's saying.”
“I’m sorry,” she pouts. “That’s really shitty. Did he apologize?” she asks, sorting through the damp papers. “They don’t look too distraught. I can still read them,” she assures you.
“He apologized as the third phrase he said to me. The first was an ‘Oohh!’ accompanied by a mocking laugh and then a ‘jeez!’ Didn’t even realize I didn’t care about my damn shirt until he pointed out how ‘shitty my artwork was’.”
“Wow,” she gapes. “That’s totally Jungkook, that’s for sure,” she nods in agreement, thinking upwards. “You know, now that I’m imagining the scenario, it’s kinda hot.”
“Aecha!”
“Okay listen,”
“No, I won’t.”
“Okay, fine,” she gives up. You dig underneath the coffee cabinet, pulling out a spare hairdryer and plugging it into the wall. Your school is filled with mostly women teachers, so finding something like this in a coffee room is not that unordinary here. The room is soon loud with the sound of the machine as your try to dry them completely. “You going to Yoongi’s party, by the way?” she asks you.
You remember Jungkook’s offer to invite you to said party. You scoff at the memory. What was once a plan to tell Yoongi that you were, in fact, going to attend...is now a “no” from you. Not when you know Jungkook will be there. He is always there, just too drunk to remember you, probably. He even danced with you a few times, grinding on your ass with a beer in his hand and his other on your waist.
You remember it all too well. That was back when you had positive thoughts about the man. But then he became the captain of the lacrosse team. And then he became obsessed with the amount of “get out of jail free” cards he suddenly obtained from his popularity, hotness, and good standing on the school board. Sad, but you washed away any hint of a crush you might've had on him after then.
When you heard about what he was like from Aecha, your friends, the school news, YouTube, etc., you stopped finding him fancy. You couldn’t see the same man you saw that night. Especially not with how he treated you just an hour ago.
“No, not anymore,” you reply, loudly speaking over the blow dryer. It is loud enough to where you don’t need to yell, but you wouldn’t be able to hear her response if you both talked normally.
“What?!” she drops her shoulders in disappointment. “But Hoseok is going to be there…you told me you’d go with me if he was!”
You know Aecha has been chasing after Hoseok since she first talked with him at last year's party. She doesn’t know anyone else who is going besides Yoongi and Hoseok. Being they’re both men, she doesn’t know if she feels 100% comfortable going alone, even though you and her both know they would never dare to hurt her or make her feel unsafe. It is more of a girl code—arriving and leaving together—than it is anything else. So you understand.
You had forgotten about said agreement, and you groan in frustration. Now, you have no other choice.
“Y/n, I need to bag this man. I need to,” her voice is laced with determination. “I am like—I am tired of waiting and this is my one last chance and—”
“Okay!” you hush her. “Fine, I’ll go.
She claps her hands and does a happy dance. You wish you could find her reaction endearing, but now you’re dreading the upcoming events of this party.
----
The week is going by fine until you get unexpected amounts of bouquets and Edible Arrangements all addressed to you from…Jungkook. You send them all back, just to get an angered Jungkook storming into your office a few days later.
“You know how expensive those were?!” he half-shouts at you. He quiets his voice, noticing the quiet setting he is in. However, he doesn’t seem to care that he has intruded on your space during your work time. He closes the door to your office anyways, trapping you in it with him.
“How did you get this address…and how do you know I work here?” you interrogate, going back to typing on your computer. The things you type are a mix of keyboard slam and words you’re thinking, faking work at its finest because some abnormally hot jock-asshole needs to make it known that his gifts are not to be returned.
“Min Yoongi is a man of many talents,” he responds. Taking a seat in one of the chairs across from your desk, you watch him as he plays with your nameplate on your desk. “Ms. Y/n L/n. Cute.”
You snatch the gold engraved tag out of his hands and place it back on the desk where it was before. “Please don’t touch my thi—”
“So, you are a teacher, then, I suppose?” he interrupts you. You don’t know it, but Jungkook is really trying here. It took a lot and nothing at all for him to walk in here. Truthfully, he has no idea how to apologize to you. A simple, sincere, “sorry” would probably do it. But he even practiced it in the mirror. Literally impossible. It’s like his mouth was forbidden to say the word without gagging at himself.
Apologizing was never his strong suit. Before coming to college, he was a good boy. Sweet and kind, never once a popular kid until he hit puberty and was suddenly his high school’s prom king. That’s when he started doing things he is not that proud of. It became a habit, but the good boy in him has a hard time practicing apologizing. Mainly because... he never really had to do it before becoming a total high school popular kid and a university super-star player.
But he really fucked up this time. And, he was hoping you would just let it go like people always seem to do when he can’t admit things correctly. But after seeing that tear fall down your face after you left the shop, that clench in his heart followed as you walked away. He couldn't stop thinking about how bad he felt all week. Those really meant something to you and he knew it. He just didn’t know how to admit he was being an asshole.
“I am,” you reply. “You here for some lessons? Clearly, you need some on how to be a decent human being.”
“Stop,” he grins. “Teacher—student sex has always been a fantasy of mine.”
“Please,” you scoff at him. The audacity. “As if I’d fulfill that for you.”
“A man can only dream,” he shrugs.
“Yeah, well keep doing that. What do you want, Jungkook?”
“I want to know why you sent back my flowers. And my Edible Arrangement! I was fighting the urge not to just eat it when I picked it out for you.”
Truthfully, you were too. You love Edible Arrangements.
“Because I don’t want your sympathy because you realized you were an asshole,”
“Why not?”
“Because none of that matters to me. I’m not an ex-girlfriend who caught you cheating on me. I’m just a stranger you met last week. I want an apology. An honest apology from you. And that’s it.” you explain.
Jungkook puffs his cheeks out.
“You’re difficult,” he raises his eyebrows. “I like that,” he smirks at you.
“I don’t have time for your flirting, Jungkook,” you roll your eyes at him, focusing back on your screen. “Please go home.”
The next time he comes in is around 3pm the next day. The kids are out of school by then, but all your coworkers are still here. So is Jungkook, apparently. Aecha tells you he’s been talking it up with the principal since he got here.
You groan, hoping he is just here to speak with the principal and not you. It is a farfetched hope, though. You don’t know what business he has with the principal, or anyone else here besides you, for that matter.
It is around 5 when he barges into your office again. You’re packing up your things, dreams crushed when you thought you could exit work without running into the alleged lacrosse star.
“Hey, sexy,” he flirts, eyeing your flowy, loose, figure-hiding, ugly, dark-brown art dress. You roll your eyes again, knowing he’s making fun of you. It was art day, and you had to wear your paint-stained art-apron dress. It’s the only one you don’t care about other than the shirt he ruined just a week ago.
You ignore his comment, zipping your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.
“Reconsidering tutoring?” you mock. Jungkook laughs at you, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. You’re really cute when you mock him. It kinda gets him going.
“How’s about 9:00pm next Saturday at Min Yoongi’s?” he asks, trying to get you to go to the party again. Little does he know that you’re going. But you don’t want to amuse him too much.
“Funny,” you banter, making your way to the door. But he blocks your path, his arms resting against the door frame as he stares down at you with those white teeth and bunny eyes. You want to squish his cheek between your forefinger and thumb for reasons you don’t understand. All he has done is make fun of, flirt, and banter at you since you two met. Why do you feel the heat in your cheeks when he slips a finger underneath your chin, dark eyes staring into your soul? Why does your heartbeat in your throat when you look at the glossiness of his lips so close to your own?
You back away, releasing yourself from his flirtatious actions.
“What if I begged on my knees?” he blurts out.
You snort out in laughter at that. The thought of Jungkook: the tall, big guy with tattoos and an award-winning lacrosse scholarship? On his knees in front of you? Begging you to go to some party? That’s rich.
Jungkook blushes harder at your laughs. Fuck, your laugh is so cute. He wants to make you laugh like this a lot. Maybe forever, even. You’re music to his ears.
“What’s so funny?” he chuckles with you. “Think I can’t?”
“Please,” you smile wide, a hand covering your mouth, trying not to muster up any more laughs. “That would be too much. You sure you want to pleasure me?”
That sentence has Jungkook’s mouth growing dry. Um…yes?? He would, in fact, like to pleasure you. Maybe not in that way, but he’d do it if it meant you were pleased with him. Fuck! If only he could admit things properly.
“Um, no, never mind” he goes against his wish. “I don’t think I could stand the content look on your face.” He totally could??? What the hell is he saying?!?
Jungkook runs a hand through his thick, brown locks, looking at you as you die down in laughter. If only you knew he’s been after you since two New Year’s parties ago. You think he doesn’t remember, but he totally does. The way your hips swayed against his, pressing your ass into his growing boner. He remembers how soft your skin felt underneath his tattooed hand; like a baby’s bottom, it was so smooth. All he remembered is how he wanted to mark it all up, kiss the skin of your lips, neck, and shoulders and claim it as his own. But he had one too many drinks that night, and he found himself passed out on Min Yoongi’s couch the next morning. Jungkook started off the New Year with clothes on, cheeks flushed, a terrible hangover, and no sight of you anywhere.
He had been trying to find you for a while on campus, but little did he know you were all the way on the opposite side of it in the Education sector. When you didn’t show up to Yoongi’s New Year’s Party the following year, he realized he may never see you again. Until he ruined your clothes. And your valuables. And your heart. And god-knows-what else. If only apologizing didn’t completely break his fragile ego, maybe he would be kissing you right now. Maybe he could have been spending all his time kissing you and holding you every day since the incident.
“Whatever you say, fuckboy,” you smile at him. “Now let me go — and stop coming into my office. It’s annoying.”
“Principle Green is actually so rad, though. I might come back just for him,” he comments, moving out of your way.
“I don’t care who is rad, I don’t want you interrupting my work.”
“Oh, so I’m a distraction?”
“No, you’re a nuisance,”
“Ouch,”
“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you flash him a grin, turning off the lights in your office. You look at Aecha in the teacher's lounge where you exit. She is completely baffled, eyes wide, her mouth dropped, and her bagel falling out of her hands and onto the table. Cream-cheese side down. She heard everything, and you know what she’s thinking.
Luckily, you can leave without either of them making conversation with you. Entering your car, you let out a huge breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in. You look at yourself in your sun blocker's mirror. Cheeks red and lips cracked from all the laughing, you’re a total mess! As if your crush on Jungkook is coming back. It can’t be. He’s a total asshole now.
But a charming asshole.
Fuck! Stop it, y/n. You can’t do this to yourself.
And so, you don’t. You blast your music and drive away, pretending you don’t see a waving, smiling Jungkook from the school’s entrance in your rearview mirror.
----
3 knocks on your door and an uninvited Jungkook makes his way into your office. Again.
Jeon Jungkook.
The name makes you hurl a little in your mouth. Yesterday’s lunch makes its way to the back of your throat. But you swallow it down, telling yourself to be strong and that he will go away soon.
Last night, after Jungkook’s daily visit to your office (one that ended up with a 3-hour conversation about how Thor is the best Avenger next to Spider-Man), you realized that it’s been almost two weeks since you met him in the coffee shop. Almost two weeks and you have yet to receive a proper apology like you had asked him to give you the first time he visited you at work.
This is the 7th visit since two weeks ago, and still no apology. Despite his charm and how easily you were almost tricked into letting it all go, you remembered you were still supposed to be mad at him. And that you should still be mad at him no matter how many bunny-smiles, flirtatious comments, and talks about the Avengers and Principle Green that shoots straight to your heart. And to other places…
“So,” he banters a smile at you. That stupid yellow and blue lacrosse bomber jacket puffs out around his shoulders, the number “07” poking out in the ugliest school-spirit font you’ve ever seen on his sleeves. His elbows rest on your desk, arms delicately pushing some of your papers and trinkets out of his way. The action only fuels your anger.
“7 o’clock. You and me. Chipotle.”
“In your dreams, fuckboy,” you scoff. The audacity he has to ask you out. The audacity he has to find the school you intern at (literally on your universities campus, but still), interrupt your work, and ask you on a date for the nth time since the start of this week.
You think this might be the 5th time since Sunday he’s asked you out on a date. And it’s only Wednesday.
“Woah, why the ‘tude?” he defends, putting his palms up as he slides back into his “designated” chair in your office.
“There is no ‘tude.”
“There totally is ‘tude!”
You glare at him from over your laptop screen. "See!” he points at your scowl.
“Jungkook, get out please,” you sigh. You really don’t want to deal with his antics today.
“What? Why?” he asks you. His voice is defensive like you just told him his dick is short and thin. Which, it totally is not by the way. He’d tell you about it, but it doesn’t appear like you’re up for that conversation.
“Because, Jungkook, I’m done with this.”
“With what?" he scoffs. "We’re not even a ‘this’,” he says the last part with finger air quotes.
“Exactly, so please stop visiting me. I don’t want your distractions to make me forget about the fact that you still haven’t apologized.”
“Oh, please, y/n,” he drags out a laugh, slouching on your chair. “I don’t even need to apologize. They were just some shitty drawings. I can assure you that if you go back into that classroom and call an ‘art sesh’ they’d make up a bunch of equally as shitty pieces for you.”
You can feel your fingers nearly breaking the screen of your laptop before shutting it close. You stand up in your seat, motioning your finger toward the door. “Get out.”
Jungkook knows he stepped over the line with that one. He really doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying. He knows those meant something to you! Why is he acting like he doesn’t? Why does he choose to say words that hurt you? It only hurts him, knowing that even though he wants so badly to be the person that comforts you and who tells you you’re okay; saying the opposite is only going to make it worse.
Duh!
Right now, he wants to beat himself up so badly that he’s lost the ability to speak another word.
That clenching feeling he has in his chest is back. He can see the anger in your heart, reaching out to protect the innocence of your students. It’s endearing, really. But he’s in the crossfire. And he’s on the side of your wrath he doesn’t want to be on. He’s the reason you’re protecting your students in their absence. He is the reason why you might never forgive him for this one.
“Y/n, I,” he stutters, standing up. He really thinks he’s about to apologize until something within himself blocks him from doing so again. His heart wants to say it, but his egotistical brain isn’t allowing him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then what did you mean it as?” you ask him. Hands running through your hair, you laugh at yourself in disbelief. “You know, I don’t even know why I’m asking you that. I don’t even know why I expect anything from you at all. All you’ve been doing since you got your damn scholarship and your damn popularity has been treating others like how you are treating me right now. Like their feelings don’t matter, like no one else exists in this world besides Jeon Jungkook. Maybe if you had a project like the one I assigned to my students, then maybe you’d have a reason to look back on what it means to be kind to others. Maybe you’d realize that people get hurt because of people like you and lose sight of themselves. Me included. So please, leave my office and don’t show your face in this school ever again.”
Jungkook is at a loss for words. What can he say? You called his bluff. He taught himself how to block out others as a defense mechanism a long time ago. Its consequence: confidence as a new defense mechanism. Confidence is always good, right? So why it felt wrong when he started showing that side of him 100% more than it was before was beyond him. And, well, this is why it felt so wrong. He's lost the ability to humble himself down. And he hurt you because of it. He’s hurt a lot of people because of it. If only he knew how to balance himself properly.
Jungkook leaves your office, not batting an eye at you, feeling like a student who just got expelled. The jock in him would say it was hot, but that part of him is not there. Nothing but shame fills his body. He feels ashamed of himself. Especially as he catches light of one of the coffee-stained projects on the lounge-room walls.
[I love my _______ because it makes me feel ________] is the prompt. This one had the most outrageous spelling he thinks he’s ever seen. Backward “e”’s and random capitalization and sizing and all. But he makes out “heart’ and “wanted”.
[I love my heart because it makes me feel wanted .]
Something in him pulls on his heartstrings again. He can see why those projects meant so much to you. Just that one simple response was enough to feel regret all the way from the follicles of his scalp to his big toe. How he is going to make it up to you? He has no idea. But he can’t lose sight of you, even when he knows he's pissed you off and hurt you. He has to find a way to make it right.
He has to apologize. Sincerely. Like he’s been practicing in the mirror and with his roommates, Taehyung and Jin, for the past two weeks. It’s easier with them. They don’t make his heart beat abnormally fast. They don’t send smiles (other than teasing, antagonizing ones that make him feel embarrassed and give up) that make him want to kiss you until you’re breathless beneath him.
But he needs to. And it needs to happen soon.
----
“So,” you smile at Aecha across your kitchen counter. She’s wearing the skimpiest hot pink dress you have ever seen. No doubt trying to be a tease for Hoseok. No one would guess she’s a preschool teacher with the way she’s dressed. “What’s the plan?”
She turns around, pinning the last bobby pin in her stiff, hair-sprayed-bobby-pinned high bun.
“Okay,” she smiles. “We go in, right? Then I see Hoseok. Then I dance. Then I dance on his dick. Then I dance on it on the couch. Then I dance on it in his bedroom. Then my clothes are off. Then—”
“Okay!” you stop her, laughing. “I get it. Go in, dance, fuck. What do I do?”
“Hmmm,” she thinks. “Drink?? Get high? Maybe mock my actions on a certain captain of the lacrosse team…?”
You give her a knowing look.
“I know!” she puts her hands up. “Was just a thought.”
A great thought, at that. You’ve been wanting to jump his bones since three New Year's parties ago. But you’ve long accepted that’s no longer on your agenda. Jungkook has proven to you that he is a lost cause. You can’t expect anything from him, no matter how charming his smile is, no matter how well he dances, or how his touch makes your butterflies flow through every vein in your body.
You have to put him in the back of your mind and move on. Maybe tonight you can find someone to do that with.
“You know that guy from Bread Club?” you ask her, fingers pinching the skin between your eyebrows in thought.
“Which one? That club was full of male nerd—oh! The hot one? Park Jimin?” she recalls.
“Yes!” you exclaim. “Him! Do you know if he is coming?”
“Oooooo,” she coos at you. “Does y/n see a potential crush on bread-boy Jimin?”
“Not a crush. Although, he is really handsome.” you blush. “I just never gave him a proper chance.”
“You’re right. I did suspect an underlying mutual attraction. My guess would be that he is going. I’m pretty sure he’s with that whole group. If I’m not mistaken, I want to say he’s Taehyung’s brother. Tae rooms with Jungkook and Jin.”
“Ah,” you nod, understanding the explanation. Although, all you hear is Jungkook. You hate that even his name in a conversation not even about him puts a sad feeling in your heart. You really do pity him. You also really want to forgive him. But after what he said back in your office, you don’t think you have the means to. His words hurt. They always do. But, he doesn’t know how to apologize. At least not to you. You remember how Aecha was surprised when you told her that he still hasn’t apologized since the incident. It made you wonder if you were the only person he refuses to apologize to.
“Okay, I’m ready. We both look hot. Let’s go,” Aecha says, matter-of-fact as she slaps her pocket mirror closed and shoves it into her purse.
----
You arrive at the sickest party Min Yoongi has ever hosted. Jungkook was right, this year’s party is a banger. Endless drinks, endless space for dancing, endless games, and endless men…boy you have many options tonight.
Aecha claps your shoulder in excitement, telling you that she sees her prey. You understand, letting her make her progress towards bagging Hoseok.
You continue smiling until your eyes land on Jungkook’s. He’s at the beer pong table, a beer in one hand and a pong in the other, ready to throw his next shot. Although, his progress towards throwing it stops when he sees you.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to keep looking at him. Dressed in all black with silver accents accompanying his wrists, ears, eyebrows, and lips, one could say he completely matched your own outfit.
The fact only makes your heart hurt more. Why? You don’t know. You dropped him. He’s done. Wasn’t even a crush for longer than a day three years ago. Why you’re so hung up on him, you don’t know. The realization has you tearing your eyes away from his man-bun that looks too perfect framing his face, and onto the drinks in the room next to you.
You grab a shot or two. Or three. Or four. But who’s counting? It’s New Year’s Eve, you’re single, have nothing to lose, and have strange feelings toward a man you want to forget. Tonight is the night to get so wasted that you end up achieving that goal.
You think you will be successful until a familiar voice calls your name. Turning around, your eyes meet with Park Jimin’s. The bread-boy. Just the man you wanted to see tonight.
“Jimin!” you hug him. “No way! How long has it been since we baked banana nut bread together?!”
Jimin laughs out loud, hugging you back. “About a year, I’d say,” he smiles. His smile is really cute, reaching from cheek to cheek with that insanely addicting voice of liquid he uses to coat his words. “You’re looking really good tonight, Y/n.” Maybe he will be your saving grace tonight, after all.
“Thanks,” you smile. “You’re not looking too bad yourself. Dark blue and gold are one of my favorite color combinations.”
“Glad to know you’re pleased.”
“I am,” you smirk. “Somewhat.”
“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow.
“Come,” you change the subject. For some reason, flirting with Jimin feels wrong. Even though you want sex with him, even though you want to be able to flirt with him, something about it just doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s the intense eyes you feel at the back of your head when you dance on Jimin in the middle of the dance floor. Maybe it’s when you kiss Jimin that you feel as if you’re imagining it’s Jungkook who you’re pressing your lips to.
It’s all wrong. Everything is wrong.
But Jimin touches you like it is right, and you feel somewhat assured until an extra hand is pulling you away from him. Suddenly, you’re drunken vision sees Jimin standing on the dance floor moving farther and farther away from you as this mystery person takes you away from him. Stumbling to keep up with this person’s pace, you turn around and attempt to pry off the strong arm that wraps around your wrist.
“Wha-What do you—who are you?” you ask this person. It isn’t until you realize that this person’s arm is tattooed. It isn’t until you realize that these tattoos are familiar and that they belong to Jeon Jungkook. “Jungkook, let go!”
To which he does, but only when he’s pulled you out of the house and into the alleyway between another house and Yoongi’s. Jungkook pins you against the wall, his forearms pressing against the brick next to your ears.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, voice low and eyes foreboding. Those eyes you’ve never seen before. They’re dark and angry; far, far away from his playful innocent-looking ones. They scare you a little, but you’re good at facing your fears.
“I’m having fun,” you respond, not a smidge of the jitters you're feeling consuming your voice. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t make any mistakes,” he responds.
“Hah!” you laugh, the alcohol causing you to tilt your head back harshly. You forget there’s brick there, and you’re thankful Jungkook’s reflexes are fast enough to slide his hand beneath your head before it smacked against the brick. “You’re so funny, Kookie. You know, that’s actually a good idea. Because the last time I danced on someone like that was with you. And I really regret that.”
Jungkook’s heart pangs in his chest, showing how your words affected him so by closing in on you. His face towers over yours, even though he’s been trying to keep his height as level with you as he can by bending his body at his hips to match your own height. But the closer he gets, the taller he becomes, and the more you have to look up in order to look into his eyes.
You can smell the cologne on his body along with the faint smell of booze on his breath. You hate how his scent makes you fawn over him. All you want to do is kiss him silly. But you’re still mad at him. You're still arguing with him right now.
“You don’t,” he scowls, more so at himself for letting it get this far. The sight of Jimin holding you like that when it was supposed to be him made his blood boil. Fury grew in his veins as he realized he needed to make this right. Right now. Before it’s too late and you’re truly moving on.
“And what if I do, Jungkook?” you lower your voice, still slurring your words slightly. “What if I regret letting my feelings continuously be hurt by you?”
“And what if I told you that I regret it,” he holds your chin in his fingers. “Saying those things to you. I do, y/n. I regret it, and I don’t know why I kept saying those things. And I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you.”
You pause at his apology. Are you hearing this right? Did Jeon Jungkook just apologize to you? Twice??
“W-Well,” you stutter. Tears start to brim your eyes again for reasons you don’t understand. Maybe because you’re a crybaby. Maybe because this was your reason for not chasing after the man you liked so much. Maybe because his apology gives you the ‘go’ for smashing your lips onto his, feeling his honey lips collide with yours.
They’re just as soft as you imagined they would be. And god, is he a good kisser. His lips alone make a pool in your panties. Your hands slide around his neck, fingertips intertwining in his tied-up locks.
Jungkook’s body nearly stutters when you kiss him. Out of all things, this was the last he expected. Maybe a well-deserved slap or a kick on the shin, but never the feeling of your embrace.
Nevertheless, he doesn’t complain one bit. He’s been dying to feel you again. Your lips on his was an imagery he thought he would never have the chance to live out. But, here you are, holding his body close and kissing him like he is the last person you will ever have the chance to kiss in your life.
Desperation crawls into his veins, lifting you up around his waist, and pressing you against the wall.
He’s been craving this for far too long. Craving you for too long. Jungkook can’t stop touching you, your body is just as soft as he remembered. His curiosity begs him to explore more and more of you. But he’s done enough without your permission. So he waits, continuing to kiss you until you take control.
“I’ve been dying to have you like this,” you say between trailing kisses down to his neck. Jungkook moans as you find his sweet spot, and you think it was the prettiest thing you have ever heard in your lifetime. Sucking on the spot, he raises his chest, trying to control his pleasure but nonetheless fails when you bite down on him.
“Y-Y/n,” he calls out your name, just loud enough for you to hear. His breath tickles your name on the shell of your ear, and you think you might have gushed arousal out of your cunt. “Not here,” he pants, trapping your chin between his fingers again. He motions your jaw up to you, tempting himself with light scrapes of his lips touching yours. “I don’t want anyone else to see you.”
“Then where?” you whisper back at him. It is so hard not to smash your lips onto his again, but you want this to continue. And if Jungkook wants you where no one but himself can see you, then you’re bound to be wherever that is.
“My place,” he brushes his nose against your cheek before returning your trail of kisses on his neck back to yours. “No one’s home. I brought a car.” He sucks your neck, leaving bruises all over. He's determined to find not just one sweet spot of yours, but to find them all.
“Wh-Why not the car?” you ask between moans. Jungkook is so good at this. He’s suede and smooth with his touches, hot and passionate with his kisses. He knows how to make you puddy in his hands.
Jungkook chuckles in your ear. “Not with the things I want to do to you,” he bites down on your neck, eliciting a sweet panted moan from your throat. “That won’t work.”
“Then let’s go,” you hold his neck firmly in your palms, stopping him from his parade of kisses. “I don’t want to waste more time.”
“Someone’s eager,” Jungkook smirks, kissing you once before setting you down and taking his keys out of his pocket.
“You have no idea.”
----
The ride over to Jungkook’s is spent palming him in the driver’s seat and Jungkook struggling to focus on the road. He’s not as consumed with alcohol as you might be, even though the effects of it on you stopped midway through making out with Jungkook back at Yoongi’s.
You know you’re doomed when the car abruptly stops. His fist pushes the stick into park, and he rips open the car door, walking around the front of it to come over to you.
You’re still tipsy, however. So, when you’re met with Jungkook’s erection right in your face you can’t help but laugh a little.
“What’s so funny?” he asks you, a little pissed off at your laughter. It’s hot.
Trailing a finger on the zipper to his black jeans, you outline the length of his cock slowly, admiring its size right in front of you. You dream of it fucking you, as if the man in front of you wasn’t on a mission to check that off your list right now.
“You’re so big,” you sigh like a teenage girl. “I want you inside of me, Jungkook,” you smirk, looking up at him from the passenger seat. Jungkook swears his heart leaps out of his chest. He thinks his voice might crack if he says another word, so he clears his throat, dick twitching simultaneously, before he responds.
“Then, c’mon,” he takes your hand, pulling you up and out of the car. “We’re here.” Jungkook smiles at you sweetly. He almost thinks that he should just wait until the morning to fuck you because of your tipsy-drunk moment until you’re kissing and palming him again. Jungkook moans into your mouth, stumbling with you toward his townhome’s entrance. Key fob in hand, Jungkook presses it underneath the door nob, hearing a sound of approval from the security system not long after.
“Teasing me in the car,” he growls against your ear, pushing you against the nearest wall once the door to his home shuts. “You think you weren’t going to get punished for that?”
All you can do is moan. Jungkook’s hands waste no time ripping off every piece of clothing you have on, dying to see you in all your glory.
“Holy fuck,” he pants. It’s almost as if he’s cumming his pants right now at the sight of you. “You’re gorgeous, Y/n,”
You can’t help but blush a little, his glare on you makes you think that he’s not actually saying these things about your body. Not this man. Not the ripped, 6-packed athlete with incredible strength and muscles that could pop you with one headlock around the neck. Maybe it's the booze.
“Take your clothes off, fuckboy,” you demand.
Jungkook shimmies off his black blazer, eyes still on your tits. He wants to suck them and leave marks all over the softness of them. He wants you to be completely covered in him tomorrow morning.
“Don’t call me that,” he walks closer to you, trapping your naked body between his half-clothed one. “I’m not a fuckboy.” he replies, taking off his mock-turtle neck tanktop. You thought it was tight enough on him before, but the sight of his muscles underneath the shirt makes you realize that the shirt did not do him enough justice. Never in a million years did you think Jungkook was this ripped. He basically has boobs. He could probably fit into your bra…
“Then what are you?” you ghost against his lips.
He would like to say “yours”, but he remembers that you’re still tipsy. Would you agree to that? Do you still hate him? He'd like to think 'no' considering how you two are both eager to have each other right now, but he's got a lot of things to ask and make up to you before any titles are made. So he holds off.
“We can decide that in the morning,” he settles on, flashing you a small smile before delving into your lips. His chest is firm against yours, his back so wide, you struggle to wrap your arms around it as he leads you to what you assume is his bedroom.
His room is just as you expected it would be. Covered in trophies and pictures, as neat and organized as you expected. But what really catches you off guard is how comfortable his bed is. The smell of him engulfs you as he gently places you on his bed. You think about how this night would be if you decided to fuck in the car. How you wouldn't be able to see this view on top of you so clearly if you did. You’re thankful Jungkook insisted on his bedroom. Now, you can see his handsome face clearly in the lighting of his room as he pulls his pants down to his ankles, leaving himself in a pair of white Calvins. They do nothing to hide the length and girth of his cock, and you shutter knowing that he’s going to completely rip you open.
“Don’t worry, I’ll prep you,” he whispers in your ear, sensing your worry. Jungkook’s lips find your neck again, gently kissing his previously left bruises before leaving more of them on the areas of your clavicle and chest.
“What if I don’t want to be prepped?” you whimper, back arching into his chest when his mouth engulfs your nipple, sucking on it hard. “W-What if I want you ri-right now?”
Jungkook laughs deeply as he twirls your nipple around with his tongue. He releases you with a quick “pop”, which makes your head fall back in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook’s body moving up to come face-to-face with yours. “Patience,” he gives you a quick kiss. “I refuse to hurt you any more than I have already.”
“Jungkook,” you coo, holding his jaw in your palm. He looks ashamed of himself. You’ve never seen this side of him, and it feels good knowing that he does harbor those kinds of feelings. Especially since he is comfortable with you seeing him display them. “I forgive you, Kook.”
“You shouldn’t,” he burry’s his face in your neck again, kissing you lightly as his hand trails down to your wet cunt. His fingers find your clit. You moan when he starts circling slow infinities on the sensitive bud.
“But I do, Jungkook,” you pant, hand coming up to drag your fingers through his hair. You pull out his bun, watching as his hair falls over the crown of his head and onto your skin. It smells like coconut, and you can’t help but bury your nose in it as he continues to gather your juices on his fingertips.
“I was bad to you,” he grumbles against your neck. This time, his fingers circle your entrance. Legs wrapping around his hips, you invite his fingers inside, to which he obliges. Just his index finger feels you first. Jungkook ruts against the mattress at the feeling, imagining the walls that squeeze his finger so tight around his cock. Yeah, you definitely need prepping.
“But, you apologized,” you whisper to him, massaging his scalp. Your hips twitch when he adds another finger. You can’t imagine the size of him in you like this. Two of his massive fingers are enough to make you feel close to cumming around them. He’s going to be the death of you.
Pumping in and out of you, Jungkook moves his head to face yours, his nose kissing your own.
“I’m sorry,” he says once again. “I’m sorry for spilling coffee on you, and being an asshole, and making fun of your student’s art, and showing up at your work, and pissing you off, and making you hate me so much you—”
“J-Jungkook,” you stop him. It’s hard to concentrate on a response when his pace quickens with every mention of something he did wrong, as if he was getting angrier the more he realized how much he did to hurt you.
“All I wanted to do was the opposite of what I did,” he kisses your cheek. “B-But it’s hard for me to face negativity without being cocky and stupid about it. I thought that by making it worse, I could make it better.”
“What a strange tactic,” you chuckle against his cheek. Your heart thumps when he flashes you a smile, telling you with his eyes that he’d never do something like that to you ever again. “I’m proud of you.” You smile.
“S-Stop,” Jungkook adds his thumb to your clit as his fingers continue to fuck you slowly. The addition causes you to arch your back into him. Jungkook takes the opportunity to wrap his arm underneath your spine, holding you secure against his body. “You’re going to make me want to claim you if you say that kind of shit to me.”
“What if I want you to claim me?” you challenge.
Jungkook nearly growls into your neck, fighting the urge to just flip you over and ravage you. “Stop doing that to me, y/n,”
He feels your fingers start to tug at the rim of his boxers, and Jungkook can’t be any more excited to feel you around him. He presses one more finger into you before allowing you to shove his boxers halfway down his thighs.
Jungkook moans at the feeling of your soft fingers around his cock, head falling into the crevice of your neck again. His dick is red and angry and begging to fuck you hard and deep. You swirl the precum that leaks from him and circle it around his cockhead, eliciting a strained moan into the skin by your ear from the man above you. His hips jerk at the sudden movement, preparing themselves to fuck you hard and fast.
“I think I’m ready, Kook,” you whisper into his hair.
Jungkook detaches himself from your neck, standing up to quickly knock off his boxers onto the floor. He takes your calves in his hands, spreading you before his fingertips spread your pussy open slowly. Jungkook takes a long look at you. You're the prettiest he’s seen, by far. You're basically drooling from your cunt, the slick creating shiny lines off his fingers as he moves them up and off your pussy. Glistening and pulsing for him to fill you up, he knows you’re going to be a tight fit. The fact only excites him further.
He pulls himself onto the bed, pushing your thighs up with his body. Pumping his cock a few times, he lines you up with his dick, pressing his cockhead against your slick.
“You sure you want this?” he leans down to your face. Your thighs are trapped against your torso, Jungkook folding you up for him nice and good. You appreciate that he doesn’t do a thing without your consent, that he doesn’t dare to do anything unless you’re comfortable. A complete 180 from the emotionally constipated Jungkook you’ve been experiencing for the past two weeks.
You nod to him, looking into his eyes. But this doesn’t satisfy him.
“I need a verbal answer, y/n,” he kisses your cheek, dick rubbing up and down your warm entrance.
“Yes, Jungkook. I want you,” you lean into his cheek. The feeling of his girth stretching you open is enough for you to dig your nails into the smooth skin of his back. Never in a million years did you think you’d be stretched this good.
He doesn’t go in all the way, letting you adjust to his girth before slipping his length all the way into you.
You swear his tip kisses your cervix. When he pulls out and slams back into you, you can confirm that he did, in fact, kiss it. Jungkook moans against you, gripping your hands in his own and pinning them above your head. His hips are strong, slamming into you with everything he has left in him. You’re a goddess below him, legs around his shoulders, fingers digging into the upper side of his palm, tears streaming down your cheeks as you feel all he is giving you.
“F-Faster,” you beg. Jungkook is happy to obey.
He takes your hips and flips you over, his hands pressing against the upper of your back, pushing your chest down into his sheets. Once satisfied, Jungkook firmly grabs your hips and pistons into you faster, just like you wanted. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, fingers gripping the sheets, legs twitching in resistance as he fucks into you like a madman. His nose is crunched, lip bleeding between his teeth as he tries to hold back his orgasm. Usually, he never feels ready to release this early. But, you’re the girl he’s always wanted. And now you’re in his bed, begging him to fuck you without prepping you and go faster and claim you, and—god, it's all too perfect. You’re too perfect.
Your moans are like honey in his ears, the sweetest music he’s ever heard. He slaps your ass hard—once, twice, so many times. You scream to it all, each one pushing you over the edge.
“This is mine, you hear?” he growls from behind you, gripping your ass in his hand before slapping it again. “You hear me?” he asks again, gripping your hips tighter and forcibly slapping them against his own hips. The impact makes you gush around him, your high following his forcefulness in squirts of your release. You don’t see it, but Jungkook’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sight. No way did you just squirt all over his cock. Can this night get any better?
Maybe it can, because he feels his own release closely following. But he edges himself, pulling out of you to look at the mess you made instead of chasing his high.
You’re so embarrassed, digging your face into your hands as you hear him press his hand into his sopping wet duvet cover.
“I-I’m so sorry,” you whimper. You refuse to meet his eyes, even when he flips you over and sits next to your face.
“C’mere,” he pats his lap.
“Jungkook,” you whine, absolutely mortified. Is he mad? You can’t tell. He hasn’t mentioned anything about your release.
“Baby, come here,” he speaks to you with honey laced in his voice. Your heart thumps at the fact that he called you “baby”. Were your dreams coming true?
You gather yourself and weakly climb onto his lap, immediately digging your face into his shoulder.
“Was that bad? You didn’t cum,” you ask him, voice trembling into his neck. God, this is so mortifying. “I won’t do it again, I pro—”
“Like fucking hell you won’t,” he holds your waist firmly again. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen y/n,” he bites your ear. “It’s taking everything in me not to be gentle with you right now.”
Your eyes meet his hungered ones. You were wrong, and you know it not only from him saying so but also from his pulsating cock below. It is twitching and leaking with so much precum, you almost think that it is his cum itself if it weren’t for the clearness of it. And then you realize that he’s edging himself.
“I-I want this to last longer, but I don’t want to hurt you cause I—” his head falls back in a strained moan when you press a finger to his tip, playing with the precum leaking down himself. “Cause I know I will if you don’t take control of me right now…so, ride me,” he demands.
You kiss his neck, feeling lighter that you made him feel strong enough to nearly lose his control just from your orgasm. With power in your hands, you lift your hips just enough to hover your pussy over his twitching cock, sliding down slowly.
Jungkook’s hands come to your hips again, completely out of breath. “H-Holy shit, y/n,” he gasps when he stares down at his dick disappearing and reappearing as you bounce on his cock. “God, you’re going to murder me, aren’t you?”
You laugh at his comment. Although, he’s far from laughing, focusing all his energy on controlling his orgasm. Face falling into your neck, he’s mumbling things you don’t understand as you massage his sweaty scalp again. He moans at your touch, feeling overly sensitive and extremely, beyond-belief, horny. He wants to cum so bad, but he also wants this to last.
“You can cum, Kook,” you whisper into his scalp. You don’t know if you have it in you to cum again. Squirting is so powerful, and it usually takes everything out of you. But you might, considering you have the strength to ride him to no tomorrow. “It’s okay.”
“N-No,” he breathes against your neck, panting. “Can’t. Want it to last.”
“Don’t worry,” you laugh against his cheek. “I don’t plan on making you a one-night, Jungkook.”
“A-Ah,” his hips twitch into you. “I-um, ffuccck, y/n!” he sways your hips back and forth on his cock rapidly. “Y-You sure? It’s going to be a lot.”
“Mhm,” you smile down at him.
“Fuck, o-okay,” he breathes out shakily. Jungkook then bucks his hips fast into yours from underneath you, unrelenting and ruthless. You feel his hot ropes fill you up just seconds later. For what feels like a full minute of him pumping his cum into you, his face resting against your breasts in fucked-out glory.
You two rest there, letting his cum pool at the connection of your bodies while you rest against each other. What finally breaks you out of your own daze is the sound of fireworks just outside Jungkook's bedroom window.
You can see the array of colors lighting up the sky, his digital clock on his nightstand reading 12:00am.
“Hey,” you whisper into his hair, kissing his sweaty scalp. “Happy New Year.”
Jungkook detaches his cheek from your chest, bringing his face up to graze his nose against yours. Smiling into your lips he whispers,
“I’m gonna make it right, y/n. This will be our year.”
---
[Bonus]
[Aecha]: Hope you got home okay.
[Aecha]: Ended up a little stuck between Hoseok’s thighs.
Summary: You're determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he's just some guy that's taller than most people right? He's probably harmless! Well, he's a little scary, but you still like him anyway.
(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)
Part 2
-☠️-
There was one thing that was a given when it came to the KorTac guys - stay the fuck away from König. It wasn’t a spoken rule or anything, but everyone tended to avoid him whenever he was around. He would loom in corners and sit silently like a mountain at tables, sending people running off whenever he so much as looked in their direction with his shadowy crystalline eyes.
It made you curious eventually, how could it not? Why was everyone so afraid of him? Was it his sheer size alone or was it the dubious nature of KorTac combined with his blank crocodilian stares? Perhaps a combination of all of those, you'd figured.
Though, one day you finally decided to settle your curiosity, you’d thought he looked harmless enough - you caught him cleaning his gun and humming an unfamiliar tune in the kitchen. There was no one else around, just König and the meticulously laid out pieces of his weapon laying on the table.
You supposed he was probably unaware of any observers, you were nicknamed Sneak for a reason after all (much to your chagrin, what kind of a name was that? It didn’t exactly inspire awe or fear like the other guys in your unit). So you stopped in your tracks, deciding to join him instead of carrying on down the hall. He couldn’t be as bad as people made him out to be, right?
“Just back from a mission?” You asked, making your way into the kitchen.
Most people shit themselves when you did that - when you’d stroll in and break the silence out of nowhere. Though König merely looked up from the piece he’d been focusing on polishing and fixed his eyes on you. It was as if he’d known you’d been there all along.
“Yes,” he finally said, quiet voice muffled through his hood.
He sounded strained, as if he might have said more, but thought better of it. You smiled and fetched a mug from one of the creaky cabinets and set it silently on the counter, pausing as you were about to reach for the kettle.
“Would you like some tea?” You offered.
He tilted his head to the side for a moment, considering your question as if it merited more brain power than it did. He let the silence brew a little before he shook his head, the heavy material of his sniper hood accentuating his answer.
“No thank you,” he said briskly.
You shrugged and offered another smile for good measure. This was probably the most anyone from around the base had talked to the big guy, you wanted to set a good impression. You wanted to show him there was someone around that wasn’t so afraid - like the comms guys - or merely indifferent - as was the case with guys like your lieutenant.
The room was rumbling with the noise of the kettle as you set the water to boil, though after a few seconds you realised that the humming that had been there before had stopped. König had gone back to his work, but he was silent this time. You missed the sound of the old fashioned tune that had been bouncing through the corridors before.
“What was the song you were humming?”
You’d waited to ask your question once the water was finished boiling. You had your back to him as you poured it generously into your cup and set the kettle back down again, turning to see Königs measured stare toward you. He didn’t look very pleased, his eyes were narrowing and his gloved grip on the cloth he was holding looked tight. The steam that was billowing out of your cup could very well be pouring out of his ears under that hood for all you'd known.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything, I just heard it when I was coming into the room,” you explained, holding your hands up in appeasement.
König continued to stare at you with that shark-like gaze, as if you were a silly warbling seal swimming up to him. You tilted your head, wondering if he was going to get angry, but instead he looked back toward the doorway and peered around as if someone were waiting there, ready to strike.
“Something wrong?” You asked, following his gaze and trying to find what he was searching for.
“You ask a lot of questions.”
Königs eyes returned to you and you stared dumbly back at him. What could you say to that?
“Just making conversation,” you laughed, stirring the darkening water in your cup. “But I guess you’re the quiet type? I’ll leave you alone soon, I’m almost done.”
You were just about to dispose of your teabag and be on your way when the silence was broken by his gravelly voice again. He probably could’ve done with taking you up on your offer, his mouth was clearly dry from disuse.
“No one ever talks to me when I’m here...”
He trailed off as if in thought, considering his next words carefully. You tilted your head this time and felt your heartbeat pattering in your chest, thudding faster as you thought about what he said. It must be crappy to be ignored all the time.
“Did someone put you up to this?” He finally asked, eyes narrowing again.
“What? God no, I just didn’t want to do that thing I always do where I walk into a room like a silent assassin and scare the crap outta you when I finally make a noise,” you babbled, “plus It’s kinda rude to ignore people, yknow? And doubly rude to make a drink and not offer to someone else that’s sitting right there.”
Your voice pitched probably three times higher than it normally did, you sounded like a squeaky toy. Finally, you were beginning to understand why most people kept out of his way. That calculating glare could freeze the devil himself - you felt like you were walking along the edge of the Andes.
“Oh.”
That was all he said. Oh. He sounded light, his tone had shifted once again. Well that was better than, I don’t believe you and you’re a minute away from being at the end of this reassembled rifle. However, you’d wished he’d said more.
Instead, he went back to his work and kept his head down. His eyes were completely hidden from your view now.
End of interaction. Peace out.
You frowned, but decided not to pester him anymore. Instead, you walked out of the room with your cup in hand, ducking out like a shadow and sticking to the walls.
Note to self - stay the fuck away from König.
-☠️-
The next time you encountered him, König was once again alone in the kitchen, and this time you weren’t looking to disturb his peace. However, you did really want to make a cup of tea. You paused from your spot by the doorway, angling yourself so that you couldn’t be seen, and considered your next move, wondering if it was worth being in there alone with him again after your last not so friendly encounter.
Don’t be ridiculous, you thought to yourself. It wasn’t like he could actually do anything to you, you’d just go in and get your tea and leave again. In and out, nice and quiet. You’d be fine.
Though, when you finally crept into the kitchen you were faced immediately with his blank stare as he stood by the freshly boiled kettle. Finally someone had given you a taste of your own medicine and scared the shit out of you. You jumped and clutched at your heart, glaring over at him when you inevitably recovered.
“Tea, yeah?”
You frowned, looking confusedly at the hooded man. What?
“Tea?” you repeated, feeling like you were in some kind of sketch show.
“Would you like me to make you a cup?” he asked, voice lilting with amusement.
Oh!
He’d practically chased you out the room last time for asking that very same question and now he was playing house for you? You felt your lip curve into a smile and nodded your head. This was a welcome change to being accused of toying with him.
You were about to tell him to get one of the herbal teas you kept shoved to the back, the ones no one else ever touched because they’d be too afraid of the mockery, but you were stopped before you could open your mouth. König selected one of the flowery bags without being told and plopped it in a fresh cup of boiled water before he tended to his own cup, stirring in a dark instant coffee.
“What have you been doing today?” he asked cheerfully, hood shifting as he motioned his head.
Had you emerged into another universe? Was this a different König you were speaking to? You smirked to yourself seeing as he couldn’t catch you with his back turned and took a second to think about your answer. It’s not like you'd had an exciting day, but him being chatty all of a sudden really had you second guessing yourself.
“Uh, did some training, hung out with some of the guys for a bit. I was actually just watching a movie there, but I got thirsty…soooo here I am,” you said finally, watching as he stirred up the drinks. “What about you?”
“I was here for a debriefing, but I was dismissed before it ended and now I seem to be at a loose end,” he answered, finally handing you your tea.
“Huh, that’s annoying.”
You both sat in silence for a moment after that, you sipped on your hot tea and watched with amusement as König took to looking at his coffee, stuck in a dilemma. He couldn’t very well drink his coffee with his hood on, so either he would have to remove it, or he’d have to remove himself from the room.
Oh, this should be interesting.
Your eyes widened as he made up his mind and lifted the bottom of his hood, revealing his stubbly golden chin and soft pink lips. He was hiding a pretty face under there, a little bruised, but very defined. From what you could make out of his jaw at least, he seemed like a good looking man.
You briefly thought of Ghost, remembering back to all the times Soap teased the Lieutenant for probably being a “big ugly bastard under that mask” and realised you assumed the same of König. Well there was that theory out the window.
Once König finished taking a drink his eyes wandered over to yours and you panicked, feeling your heart leap into your throat as you raced to cover up your staring. You’d made headway with him, and you didn’t want to set him back by making him feel like a museum exhibit. Not to mention, you’d flustered yourself thinking about how soft his lips looked.
“You wanna watch the rest of my movie with me?” you asked hurriedly, hoping to distract him from your mini freak out.
When you finally met his gaze again, König looked surprised. His eyes were widened into crystal saucers, but he soon seemed to recover and tilted his head at you, considering his answer.
“What are you watching?”
“Uh, I only have a few movies downloaded on my tablet, but I was just starting to watch Rocky if you like that? We can always put something else on though, I’ve seen it a million times…”
König paused in thought, then looked back at you.
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Never seen- What? I don’t understand?”
“I believe that was the correct way to say I’ve never watched Rocky, no?” He laughed.
His voice sounded light and airy, nothing like it had the last time you’d encountered one another. It almost felt like you were just two normal people conversing, instead of you talking to the scariest man on the base. Well, neck and neck for the scariest man on the base - Ghost was top dog in that area most of the time.
“No, like grammatically sure, but I just don’t think those are words that should be said. Rocky is a classic,” you explained, looking at him as seriously as if he’d just said he liked to kick old people in his down time. “We gotta fix this!”
“We do?”
“Yes! Just- trust me, this is happening. Stay there, ok?”
“Is that an order?” he asked, amusement snaking around his words.
“Yes, soldier,” you grinned,
With that you raced off to get your tablet and found yourself back in the kitchen quicker than light speed, practically hearing the whoosh of air that fell behind you as it feathered through your hair. You were so caught up in the euphoria of showing someone one of your favourite films, you didn’t even blink at the fact you’d ordered König to sit and watch it with you.
Though, despite being all too capable of moving away because he wasn’t taking any of your shit, König remained in place and continued to sip at his coffee. You walked in just as he was taking another drink, letting you confirm for a fact that your original thoughts were indeed correct. There was a good looking guy hidden under all those layers somewhere.
Focus!
You pulled yourself out of your thoughts and motioned for him to join you on the ratty couch in the corner - if you were going to be providing him with a cinematic education, you resolved that you weren’t going to have a sore ass afterwards. So, with that, he silently got up and joined you, sitting his massive frame down on the other end of the small leather couch. The seat was cosy at the best of times, but it was especially cramped with the giant you had next to you.
You decided not to think about it too much. Instead, you set the scrubber back to its starting position on your tablet and held it at the edge of your lap, making sure that König could see. Then, without further ado you hit play, and watched giddily for his reactions, excited to see what he thought of the movie.
While it played, there were a few people that came into the kitchen. They clearly hadn’t spotted you two in the corner to begin with, but once they had they set about getting what they wanted and left like there was a great migration. Even with you there, it wasn’t enough to offset the fear of König, people that usually smiled when they saw you were turning away like you were sat there licking a leper.
You paid them no mind, instead you bounced between watching Rocky and watching König, grinning to yourself when he smiled at parts or gasped softly to himself. He was a very kinetic movie watcher, he fidgeted and raced his knees, but despite that he stayed next to you watching the whole thing.
It was priceless. You’d not only broken down König’s barriers enough that he was actually talking to you, but you had him watching one of your favourite films and he was enjoying it!
“So, what’d you think?” you asked as soon as the credits played.
You weren’t letting him think about it - you wanted his honest answer.
“I liked it, it wasn’t what I expected, actually…”
“Oh?”
“I thought it was just going to be a dumb boxing movie, but it wasn’t,” he shrugged. “His character was pretty interesting too. He kinda comes off as someone that would be a big two dimensional aggressive guy, but he was actually pretty nice.”
Like someone else you know…
You smiled to yourself. You’d both succeeded in befriending König and getting him to watch Rocky, so your mission for the day had been achieved and you could go to bed happy. No doubt, you’d be thinking of what you’d seen under that hood in your last conscious thoughts, but that was for later.
“Well, thank you for watching the movie with me. I suppose I better go find my team now,” König murmured politely, shifting from his position.
During the movie he’d drawn closer to you, you supposed to see better, but couldn’t help noticing that he’d been touching you for half the run time. His big bulky thighs were pressed up against yours and he leaned into you more and more over time, almost stifling you with his warmth. Though, you felt like you missed his body heat now as he stood up and walked over to the door.
Though, he didn’t leave without acknowledging you again.
“I’ll see you another time, yeah?”
“Course! Thanks for the tea as well, you brewed it just right,” you complimented, lifting your now empty cup.
He didn’t answer, he just nodded and you could’ve sworn you caught a twinkle in his eyes before he walked off out of sight. Well that just happened.
You sat almost giggling as you thought about how close you’d been to him, and how many glances you’d gotten of that chiselled jawline. If you weren’t certain before, you were sure now. You had a crush on König - The resident scarecrow. You knew you had a thing for big guys and accents, but for a time you’d managed to suppress your interest in König given his reputation. Though, now that had all changed apparently.
Just as you were getting up to get a bottle of water, you froze as you heard Ghost’s rasp from down the hallway and shook yourself off. You couldn’t walk around with your head in the stars while he was around. He’d ask questions, and you hardly wanted to talk to him about your new found crush.
“Oh, well look who it is, Johnny, little Sneak.”
You bit your lip and squeezed the water bottle in your hand, hoping to relieve the pressure that had creeped down your spine. They were onto you already.
“Two cups o’ tea was it?” Soap teased, eyeing up the mugs you’d just placed in the sink.
“No, just one,” you said through a strained smile. “Can I make you both some?”
“You know I prefer the normal stuff,” Ghost said, emphasising exactly what he thought of your fruity herbal tea, “but I hear you had someone joining you, and like Johnny so observantly pointed out - you got two cups there, sweetheart.”
Fuck. Clearly gossip had got round and now you were in an interrogation with the only two men that could put most old biddies to shame. You weren’t ready for their teasing, if they got wind of your feelings for König it was over for you. It would be all there was to talk about.
“I did have someone join me,” you answered nonchalantly. “You know I hardly ever sit by myself.”
“Hmm, usually don’t take up König’s company though, do you?”
You felt your body go rigid and licked your lips, uncomfortably standing there as Ghost kept perfect eye contact with you while he poured water into the kettle. He fetched a pot noodle from one of the cupboards and you found your breath again when he finally looked away. Your nerve was somewhere outside the field of his vision.
“I was just watching a movie with him.”
“You were watching Rocky with him,” Soap noted. “That’s your favourite, right?”
“Well, yeah…I always watch it.”
“Sharing your favourite movie with your favourite KorTac operator, sounds cosy,” Ghost chuckled, pouring the boiled water into his instant noodles.
You swore your legs were going as soft as the contents of that black plastic pot. You could only dream that the ground swallowed you up in a whirlpool of water and took you away. Though, unfortunately, you remained stuck in place.
“He’s hardly my favourite, I just started talking to the guy,” you frowned.
“So you’ll be talking more with him then?” Ghost asked, stirring the boiling cup with a fork.
You had half a mind to knock the pot noodle all over him, and if he weren’t leagues above you in rank and stature, you actually might have. You’d pity the poor person that would do that to Ghost though. Instead, you shrugged and got on with washing the mugs and made a move to leave, but you were blocked by Soap, who’s bulging arm was hardly an easy obstacle to overcome.
“The Lieutenant asked you a question,” Soap grinned.
You sighed.
“It’s polite to make conversation,” you said simply, tilting your chin up to meet Ghost’s gaze. “So, I suppose I will, yes.”
“Well, as long as it's all just polite conversation, Sneaky.” Ghost said, tilting his shoulders up teasingly.
You frowned at the two men in front of you and looked between them, catching the hard look that was in both their faces - or rather in Ghost's eyes. Despite the fact they were above you, it hardly concerned them who you spend your time talking to. Especially when it was someone that wasn’t even in your squad. It’s not like he was a superior or anything…
“I hardly see why it concerns the two of you.”
Soap raised his eyebrows, surprised you had the balls to come back at Ghost like that. And soon enough you were doing the same as you realised what you’d actually said.
“It doesn’t concern us, it concerns Price,” Ghost shrugged, “He said, and you can go confirm with the Captain if you like ‘I catch Sneaky and that psychotic mammoth cunt together, they’re going to be scrubbing toilets well into retirement’.”
“Price didn’t call him a cunt to be fair,” Soap corrected, smiling as he caught your gaping mouth. “But yeah, that was the long and short of it.”
How the fuck did word get all the way to Price? You hardly had to ask, it was definitely the gossips in front of you that had told him. And even so, to your earlier point, why did it matter to Price who you ‘got together’ with? And scrubbing toilets? Really?
“You two are fucking with me aren’t you?” you smiled, tilting your head in hopes the captain wasn’t seriously putting the order out for you to stay away from König.
Ghost and Soap both looked at each other and laughed, tipping their heads back like they were in a cartoon. For a brief second you had hope that you were right, and that would be the end of it, but soon enough Ghost was staring you dead in the eyes again with that ghoulish look of his and killed your moment of peace dead.
“Oh no, he was absolutely serious, love. He doesn’t like König one bit.”
You gulped and begun to reconsider your crush. Was a handsome jawline worth the risk of being knee deep in piss?
“If you ask us though, you make a real sharp couple o’ coconuts,” Soap laughed, recalling a line from the aforementioned film.
Oh now it was going to get childish. That was your queue to leave.
“Oh really?” you replied sarcastically, moving around him finally and heading toward the doorway.
You were ready to escape from their scrutinising looks and dumb comments.
“You’re right, Johnny. It’s just like the movie - they’re dumb and he’s shy! Wait - it’s the other way around innit?”
You growl out in frustration and traipse down the hall, listening to their hyena like laughter die out as you escape from them. Being stuck with them on the next mission was going to be hell. As was another encounter with a certain forbidden KorTac operator…
Quick summary: God, all of this is basically just the reader (female; sorry, I’ll make the reader gender-neutral next time) pining for and kind of hating Ethan Hunt. They used to be partners, but he seems not to remember her when they’re reintroduced on a mission together.
Word count: 22.1K
Warnings: Many, many swear words; a lot of angst and pining; honestly, not much else, this chapter is a much more PG version of what’s to come (ahem, sMUT).
A/N: Bite me, seriously. Why did I do this to myself? I wrote 22K for a sixty year-old. I literally have no idea where this story slots into the Mission Impossible universe, so let’s just pretend it’s a standalone. Also, I was bullshitting my entire way through this, so, any super-agents out there, I’m sorry in advance for the many, many inaccuracies. Uh, I’d like to thank myself for being a slut for Tom Cruise. That’s all. Please, give feedback if possible. :D
Chapters: Part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine.
Maverick never thought he would have children. Then he finds out he has a daughter, and he has to decide whether or not he wants to be a part of her life. But first, he has to get her out of enemy territory with the help of the man who will fall for her.
*****
I was writing another WIP when I got this idea so that one will have to wait haha. I'm back at school so I'm a little busy. As always let me know what you think! (Also Ice is still alive in this because I say so oops.)
*****
Maverick’s bike idled through the gate, the guard posted there didn’t need to check his ID to know who he was. Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was probably the most well known man in the Navy, if not one of the top five. Of course, Iceman was up there as well.
Speaking of the Admiral, Maverick had been visiting his old friend when he had received a call from a Major General in the Air Force, who was stationed in Virginia. Mav had looked at Ice for an explanation, but the man who usually had all the answers had shrugged his shoulders. Then he had checked his work email, and insisted Maverick attend whatever meeting was awaiting him in Oceana. The admiral had turned pale, and he had poorly tried to hide the shock in his expression. He refused to answer Maverick when he inquired what was wrong. If Maverick wasn’t being given orders, his curiosity surely would have won out anyway. Ice had managed to get the load master manning the C-17 to clear a little space for his bike, which Maverick was thankful for. He could tell that he would be here for a while it seemed. Clearly, whatever waited for him must be of the utmost importance; but he couldn’t shake the look on Ice’s face from his mind.
Upon Maverick’s arrival, a Lieutenant saluted him, asking him to ‘follow me, sir.’ He opened the door for the Captain, and began leading him down a hallway, with nothing but government owned stark white walls, and an occasional newsletter taped up in random places. The Lieutenant stopped next to a door, which was opened, and Maverick thanked him, entering the conference room.
The blinds were closed, but the daylight crept through like sharp fingers, desperate to reach into the privacy of the dark. At the table were three individuals, two men and one woman.
The first of the men was Admiral Alexander “Beegee” Williams. Maverick had served under him briefly when he was sent to Bosnia after pissing off a different Admiral. Beegee had made sure to keep an eye on him for Iceman. He was younger than Mav and Ice, but a wise man all the same.
The latter of the men being Major General Leonard “Scythe” McConner. Maverick had heard of him, and he had clearly heard of Maverick. His face was stern and his hair was practically white, the lines on his face were twisted in a sour expression. Although Mav still had no idea what was going on, it was clearly bigger than he thought if the Air Force was being pulled into it.
It took him a moment to recognize the woman sitting in front of him, mostly because she wasn’t in uniform and their previous encounter had been a drunken one. She was much older now, as was he, but she was still very pretty. She gave him a weak smile, and he returned it although he was even more confused now. Hopefully he could get an explanation.
“Captain,” Scythe greeted him, and Maverick flashed his teeth in his signature movie star grin, nodding his head in salutation.
“Sir.”
“There is a situation abroad which you have been brought in to evaluate. Two F-22 pilots were shot down in enemy territory by 5th generation fighters. They are asking for a prisoner exchange, but their demands are higher than we’re willing to go. That being said, these pilots have top secret clearance and know information that we cannot allow to be… extracted from them. We need air support for the mission, and you have been requested specifically,” Beegee finished off his speech with the press of a button, which illuminated the screen behind Maverick.
Three images faced him, one of a young man, he was sturdy looking, built and had a strong face. He reminded Maverick of a pitbull. The picture next to him was of a young woman, she was about Rooster’s age, if not slightly younger. She had a confidence that only came natural to certain people, and he could practically feel charisma oozing from her. But he could tell she wasn’t cocky about it just from looking at her picture. He’d imagine that they might get along if he had the pleasure to meet her. Perhaps he could introduce her to Hangman.
On the screen below the two ID images was a slightly grainy picture, but it was horrifying all the same. Both of the pilots were held by the back of their shirts, and they were beaten to a pulp. Despite the perceived durability of the young man in the photo above, he looked absolutely terrified in the one below. The young woman seemed to remain strong despite the damage done to her body and her face; in fact, her expression was hard, twisted with the will to endure her circumstances. The photo reminded him of a seller’s listing, for an item. They were not items, these were human beings. It took Maverick a minute to tear his eyes away from the gruesome image.
“Where are they?” he asked, voice quiet from the shock. The images were replaced with a map, highlighting the enemy base involved.
“Boxer and Mayhem are right about here, we believe. The base is heavily monitored by 5th generation fighters. We would like you and the reassembled Dagger Squadron to take on the task of air support, most likely in the form of air to air combat, while a hostage retrieval takes place on the ground,” Scythe cut into the presentation, despite the vibe the old man gave, Maverick could see the worry beneath his face. These were his pilots, then?
“That’s possible, but I… I have to ask,” Maverick hesitated, his mind reeling, “why us? Why me? I’m in the Navy not the Air Force…”
That’s when the woman, who Mav believed was named Emily, burst into tears. When she stood to leave the room, his bewilderment must have shown, because Scythe pursed his lips together; eventually and reluctantly, he spoke.
“You’ve been called in with the expectation that you will complete this mission because you have motivation that no other team leader could have here,” he stated firmly, but Maverick was still so lost.
“Maverick,” Beegee spoke up, his voice was delicate; like if he spoke too harshly the man in front of him would turn to dust, “You’ve been called in because Mayhem is your daughter.”
Maverick blinked, then he blinked again, and once more before opening his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.
I have a daughter? How is that possible? She’s Emily’s daughter? Does she know? How could I have not known? Why wasn’t I told? I’m a father?
“Maverick!” Beegee called him back to reality, worry written all over his face. When the Captain made eye contact with him he continued, “I know this is a shock, and I would like you to be able to work through it, but we simply do not have the time, I’m so sorry. We need you to reassemble the squadron immediately.”
All he could do was nod, and when he was dismissed he stepped out into the hallway. Lifting his eyes, he saw Emily sobbing in the middle of the hall. He pointed a weak, accusatory finger at her.
“You– she– Why didn’t you tell me?” Despite his shock, his voice was stern. She went to speak, but he held up his hand, “No– no let’s not do this right now… I have to– I have to go assemble the squadron.” He brushed past her, and she only cried harder, and he could hear her mumbling something. He needed some air, and he needed to call someone.
*****
“I have a daughter.”
“WHat?!” Rooster choked on whatever he was drinking, and coughing filled the other end of the phone line. Maverick had no idea what to do, and the only person he could call about this was Bradley. He nodded, despite the Lieutenant not being able to see him through the cell phone.
“I know,” was all he could squeak out.
“Listen Mav, if you want to be a part of her life you can do that. I’m sure she’d be happy to have you as a dad,” he reassured. Mav took a shaky breath.
“That’s the problem. I have to call the Daggers back together for a mission. She’s a POW in enemy territory right now, and the Navy and the Air Force want air support on this mission,” he explained, and Rooster inhaled sharply, “I feel like the room’s spinning, Bradley.”
“Okay, well sit down, don’t pass out!” he demanded, and Mav did as he was told. “Okay, look, the fact is the mission needs to be completed first. Her safety comes first. You can’t be a part of her life if there’s no life to be a part of,” Maverick grimaced at Bradley’s words, but they were true, “so do what you need to do, and you can worry about it later, Mav.”
“Yeah… Yeah that is true.”
“I’ve got to pack. I’ll see you tomorrow and we can figure it out,” he sighed, and Maverick slumped against the wall, closing his eyes for some semblance of peace.
“Alright, talk to you later, Rooster.”
Maverick looked up and stared into the fluorescent light, he had no idea how someone’s life could change so drastically in a matter of hours. Not only did he have a daughter, but if this mission wasn’t successful, he would never get to meet her. He was not only confused, but he was starting to get angry. Maverick was a flight risk, pun not intended, and he had commitment issues, that was pretty much a fact. But never, ever, would he have neglected a child who needed care and love. Never. Especially if it was his own child. He knew what it was like to grow up without parents, he never wanted that for any other child. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t kick himself for putting Bradley through that. Did she even know who he was? Did her mother spend her entire life telling her he was a deadbeat? Would she even want him in her life? His head hurt. Why couldn’t he have been there?
Rooster was right. He couldn’t figure anything else out unless he could speak to her face to face. He had to focus on the mission first and foremost, then he could worry about it all later. He had a job to do.
He had to get his daughter and her wingman home safely.
pairing ➤ robert “bob” floyd x fem!mitchell!reader
genre ➤ fluff, allusions to smut
summary ➤ an unlikely candidate has you breaking your dad (and brother’s) “no pilots” policy
———
Your entrance to the Hard Deck was announced with a wave of cheers from the squadron of naval aviators tucked against the far wall. You laughed and gave a show of waving at them before scurrying over. You passed out hellos and high fives to them all before reaching your—in every way except by blood—brother.
“Hey, short stack,” Rooster greeted you when you gave him a side hug.
“Hey, beanpole,” you returned.
“What’s going on, Miss Mitchell?” Fanboy said.
“It’s a pleasure to see you as always,” Payback told you with a grin.
“God, don’t I know it.”
“Looking good, Y/N,” Hangman said, taking a step away from the pool game to greet you with his usual line.
“I’m sure you say that to all the pretty girls you meet,” you recited back at him.
“You know I only have eyes for you, baby.”
You laughed when he winked at you and shoved him back toward the pool table. “Piss off.”
This was the usual greeting you got from your father’s students. It all started back on that first day they all had landed on North Island and took to the Hard Deck to meet each other prior to training. You’d grown up on navy bases and eventually found your way to working a job near Top Gun, often putting you in the path of your father and brother on their numerous orders.
You’d been out with your dad that night when Hangman approached you. Maverick, your father, had quickly cut in and Hangman took to taking the piss out on him for the rest of the night, a decision he regretted almost immediately as he learned who your dad was the next day for training.
Once the trainees all got more comfortable with your dad, and got to know you in turn, the flirting from them all became a running joke to ruffle your dad’s feathers. No matter how well he knew that it was all a big joke to get him riled up, it still worked. Sometimes even Rooster butted in to draw a line, but you just found it hilarious and started giving your own flirty remarks back.
“How long is this going to go on for?” your dad asked, coming up behind you to pass out drinks to the crew. He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Hi, sweetie.”
“Hi, dad.”
“You know we’re just playing, Maverick,” Fanboy said.
“Do I know that, Fanboy? Do I?” your dad sighed.
“Mav, trust me, if any of them actually tried anything, I’d cut their dick off before you even heard about it,” Rooster spoke up.
Several of the men winced at that. Fanboy took a long drink from his cup.
“What if I want a shot with Miss Mitchell, here?” Phoenix spoke up, sending you an award winning smile.
“You may be the one I approve of the most, but it still is not going to happen,” Maverick said. “No Navy fighter pilots. It’s my one dating rule I’ve ever given Y/N.”
“Who do you approve of the least?” Phoenix asked.
“Hangman, obviously,” Rooster answered for him.
Maverick gave a small look of agreement but said nothing.
The table laughed.
You found a seat beside Fanboy. To your other side, Bob. Your heart beat a little faster as you sent him a small smile. He and Phoenix had been deployed on a mission that had them away for a few weeks. Their safe arrival back home was the reason you all were out drinking tonight.
The night went on and the flirting only reared its head a sparse few times. No one noticed how your and Bob’s hands were intertwined under the table, or how his grip tightened anytime one of the others made a flirtatious comment toward you.
———
“I can tell them to stop, you know,” you told Bob later, tucked against each other in the afterglow.
He tilted his head to look up at you, resting on your chest. You ran a hand through his hair and he closed his eyes, almost purring with the small, blissful sound he made.
“I can tell them to stop the flirting and the jokes if it bothers you,” you said. “Tell them I’m getting tired of it, or whatever.”
“No, it’s fine,” he said.
You gave him a look.
“I’m serious,” he laughed.
“Right. And that wasn’t jealous sex.”
“That was I haven’t seen you in three weeks because of a mission and I missed you very very much sex.”
“Hm.”
“I’m serious!”
“You’d tell me if it bothered you, right?”
“Yes,” he answered quickly. “I promise.”
He kissed your collarbone to assure you. You leaned down to kiss his forehead and fell into quiet again, holding each other as you settled down from the high you’d given one another. You ran your fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp. He smoothed his palms over your body, tracing small shapes into your skin.
You didn’t think you could ever need anything more than this. You wished you could freeze this moment and stay in it forever.
You drifted off to sleep and woke up still tangled together. It felt like you were unable to get enough of him on a normal day when he came home to you every night; he’d been away for three weeks and you felt insatiable, not even able to whine about missing him to anyone lest your dad or brother found out about you two.
If you had to guess, you’d say Bob felt the same way based on how he rolled on top of you the moment he woke up. The kiss was slow and messy and left you panting, desperate for more. You could do little more than steady your breathing as he disappeared under the blankets and wrapped his strong arms around your thighs to keep you in place.
Your head had just started to cloud over when you were abruptly snapped out of your lust-filled haze.
“Y/N! Ever heard of checking your phone?”
You inhaled sharply. “Bradley.”
You grabbed Bob’s shoulders and wrenched him out from under the covers.
“What? Are you okay?” he asked.
You slapped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. “My brother’s here.”
Bob’s eyes widened and he repeated back what you said into the muffle of your hand.
“Y/N? Hello?” Rooster called.
You and Bob stared at each other as you tried to come up with what to do or something to say. Eventually, you managed out, “Hang on, I’m getting dressed!” and practically shoved Bob out of bed, both of you scrambling to find clothes to put on.
“Mav and I texted you last night about breakfast today. Are you coming?”
“Uh, sure!” you said, hopping around to pull your pants on.
“Did you not see our texts? In the group chat.”
You chucked Bob’s shirt at him. “No, I didn’t.”
“Did you pass out after getting home last night? Couldn’t bother checking your phone?”
You glanced at Bob, flushing as you remembered last night. “Something like that.”
Bob turned to look at you helplessly, fully dressed despite his shirt being on backwards. You scanned the room then zeroed in on the windows.
“We are going to tell them about us eventually, right?” Bob asked in a whisper as you pushed him across the room.
“Yes, eventually,” you said, wrenching the window open.
“Why not just tell him now?”
You looked at him like he was insane. “This is not the introduction you want to have with my brother as my boyfriend. Eventually, yes, we’ll tell him and my dad but not like this, and not right now.”
You started hitting him to get him to climb out the window. “Okay, okay!”
You reminded yourself not get distracted by the way his muscles moved in his arms as he maneuvered himself out the window. You glanced back at the door to your bedroom but it had remained safely shut during the whole endeavor.
“Rooster won’t actually cut my dick off when we tell him we’re dating, right?” Bob asked, hanging onto the windowsill.
You blinked at him. “I’ll see you later.”
“Y/N—“
You leaned down to kiss him. “Go, or I close the window on your fingers.”
“Alright.” He pulled himself enough to kiss you once more. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
He dropped down from your window and you shut it quickly after him.
———
BONUS!
“Hey, Bob!” Hangman called out. “I’ve got a question for ya.”
Bob had his hands busy in the underbelly of one of the jets he and a few others were working on. Neck craned to see what he was doing, he looked around one of his extended arms to spot Hangman coming over to him. Phoenix trailed after him, looking mildly irritated by his existence as usual.
“Uh, yeah?” Bob said, keeping his hand aloft in the jet he was working on.
“Who gave you the hickey?”
Something clunked inside the plane as Bob lost hold of it. “W—what?”
Hangman gestured to Bob’s neck where a bruise was on full display. “That little thing. Where’d you get it?”
“I—I didn’t— it’s nothing.”
Bob’s hands were still caught up and busy when Hangman spotted something else incriminating. He tugged the neck of Bob’s shirt down just enough to reveal the bruise that had blossomed on his collarbone.
“Hey!” Bob protested, shouldering Hangman’s hand away as best he could.
“That seems like a little more than nothing,” Hangman said with a shit-eating grin.
“Leave him alone,” Phoenix spoke up, elbowing Hangman back to put herself between him and her WSO.
“What? You can’t tell me you’re not curious, too.”
“Yeah, but I’m not gonna harass him about it.”
“Who was it, Bob? I mean, the only girls you ever talk to are Phoenix, Halo, and Y/N.”
Maybe he was reading too far into it, or maybe the way Bob swallowed at the sound of your name and glanced around the hangar wasn’t just a coincidence.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Hangman said slowly. “Would you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bob said, too quickly.
“I’m not,” Bob argued, trying to force out a laugh.
“You actually are,” Hangman said, and he sounded almost genuinely impressed. “You’re fucking the captain’s daughter.”
“Okay, no,” Bob argued, finally getting his hands free from the jet. “I’m not… seeing Y/N. I’m not. I don’t know where you got that from, but we are just friends. Hardly that. Acquaintances, really.”
“I’m starting to think you might be right, Hangman,” Phoenix said.
Hangman looked at her in shock.
“Don’t get used to hearing that.”
“You’re siding with him?” Bob said incredulously. “Because I… hit myself in the neck. With a book. Hard.”
“You talk too much when you’re trying to lie,” Phoenix told him. “It’s your tell.”
“I am not dating Y/N, okay?” Bob said, forcing out laughter that just sounded pained.
“Tell Y/N to film it when you two finally decide to tell Rooster and Mav,” Hangman said. “I would pay to see their reactions. And what they do to you afterward.”
Sure of himself, Hangman gave a laugh and walked away. Phoenix hung back for a moment and patted her back seater on the arm.
“Good for you, Floyd,” she said. “Just try to keep your dick attached to the rest of you.”
Flyboy | Mini-series | Masterlist
Top Gun: Maverick - Jake Seresin x Reader
Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader
Genre: romance; fluff; angst; best friends to lovers
Warnings: general hangman being hangman; sexual tension; general cursing; will contain mentions of a break up / previous relationship; general use of pet names; fem!reader; pining; general naval / flying inaccuracies.
Length: Mini-series (see chapter list below)
Jake Seresin Masterlist
STATUS:
Series - complete
Flyboy universe burbs / one-shots / asks - ongoing (you can follow the tag “flyboy” for related content)
Summary: Jake gets called back to TOPGUN the same time you’ve been granted a sabbatical from work. He invites you, his purely platonic best friend of years, to live with him for 6 months and you accept. Just two best friends kicking it back for 6 months in San Diego, Fightertown USA, right?
Jake bringing you breakfast in the morning / Jake dirty dancing with you in the kitchen - NSFW; minors DNI
You and Jake visit Grandma Doris and Grace Seresin at Grandma Doris’ home where they dote on you
Jake comes home to a dance party of you, his mom, grandma, sisters and nieces and nephews outside around the fire pit of their Texan mansion
Lazy morning snuggles (with little clothing on) + a Grace Seresin and Grandma Doris sanctioned attack of the nieces and nephews
Jake sulks because travel for work without him (and choose to fly instead of taking the train) and Jake picks you up (a 5 sentence baby blurb)
Baking shenanigans with Jake
Non-asks
Heat Waves - Where you aren’t teenagers anymore, but Jake still has to sneak into your room through the window at night.
A bigger shower? - Where Jake wants to know if a wall to the shower can be knocked out.
ONE-SHOTS
Coming soon
ANON’S THOUGHTS / HC ON FLYBOY
So, not official Flyboy universe material from me, but this wonderful amazing anon sent me these thoughts / hc about Flyboy and they had me warning and kicking my feet, so here they are - they deserve a mention on the Flyboy masterlist
synopsis ; the moment you meet hangman, you know you hate him. and then suddenly, you’re not so sure anymore.
“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “when you look like me, you don’t really need any lines.”
wc ; 15k
warnings ; angst, explicit language, mentions of previous character death (reader’s mother dies of cancer), mentions of sexual activity, (some) explicit sexual activity, horrible dirty talk, age gap, hangman is sort of an asshole but not really, inexperienced reader
note ; i cannot believe i am posting this, it is so LONG and i am so embarrassed… at first it was just supposed to be pwp and then it suddenly had a LOT of plot and backstory and then i was at 15k and hadn’t even really gotten to the smut part yet and now… i’m thinking… part 2? maybe? let me know if you’re interested lol. anyways… first fic… yay?
Fightertown is all sand, suntan lotion, and contrails crisscrossing like latticework across the endless stretch of baby blue that is the Californian sky.
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