risenlikethedead

[risenlikethedead]

more pizza girl

You're fucked.

It's the only way to explain how you feel, standing in the store, staring at bottles of liquor, wine, beer. You don't even know if this is the appropriate thing to do, but you've always seen it in shows, movies, so it must be, right?

You should have said no to this whole thing, should have told them you're busy, or you're working, or you had plans, but for some reason, you just knew they'd see through it. They'd call your bluff.

So here you were, staring at a rack of wine, trying to pick something to take to their house for dinner.

Even the thought is a marvel. You're not a complete shut in, you visit the few friends you have on occasion, your family, attend work functions, but this is different.

You know it is.

"Excuse me?" A petite old lady chirps at your shoulder, and you turn. "Do you need help?"

"Oh, um... no."

"You sure? It's just you've been standing here for almost thirty minutes." Fuck. 

"I'm fine." It comes out more assertive than you would have liked, and she backs away without another word. Great. 

You choose a six pack and book it out of there.

Their place is cozy. Not too small, not too big, clean and organized, orderly.

Except for the dog.

He's massive. 

And slobbery.

And... not for you.

Simon realizes immediately, and herds him away behind a baby gate, where he promptly slumps to the floor and closes his eyes, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.

"He's..."

"Ye dinnae have to say cute. We know he's not."

"He's a mutt," Simon tells you, placing a bowl of something hot on the table, "but he's ours. Rescued him an' everything. Never liked pets but... found him on the street an' for some reason couldn't leave him behind."

"That's so sweet." He shrugs, Johnny rolls his eyes.

"Didnae tell me a thing. Just came home with a giant slobbering bear." You eye the table and it's three chairs, suddenly overflowing with anxiety. Which one should you pick? Which ones are theirs? Do they sit next to each other? Doesn't someone always sit at the head of the table? "Take a seat wherever," Johnny coaxes but you remain frozen, avoiding their eyes.

A hand folds over your shoulder with gentle, careful pressure, and warmth. "This one." Simon urges you towards the one in the middle, and you relax, grateful.

"Sorry." You mumble, but Johnny reaches across the table and squeezes your hand.

"Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry for. We're really happy you came."

"I... I'm glad I came too." The admission tries to stick in your throat before you force it free, and they reward you with soft smiles.

"Let's eat then."

Dinner passes in a breeze. It's so easy to sit with them, be around them. Involved in their conversation but comfortable enough to bow out of it too, and just listen. They're very good at navigating it, knowing when to stop and go, when to ask you something, and when to move on.

"If you want to stay for a bit, we were thinking about watching a movie. Afraid we're not really exciting." Simon calls over his shoulder, unfolding his glasses and slipping them on his face.

"Oh." Just do it, do it, do it- "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah but no... nothing scary. I can't do those." Johnny jerks his head towards the couch.

"Nothin' scary."

Simon doesn't give you the opportunity to stress over the seating arrangement this time, and points immediately to the left side of the couch. "The button down on the side will extend the footrest, and it can lean all the way back."

"Wow." Johnny settles on the other side, and Simon takes up an overstuffed armchair to your right.

Lots of distance. You kind of feel sad about it.

Your eyelids start to droop after an hour, and no matter how hard you fight it, you're in a losing battle. "I think I should go home." You mumble, and Simon pauses the screen.

"You alright?"

"I'm falling asleep." You don't make any moves to get up, instead curling in closer, tucking your hands under your cheek. The room is warm, the couch is soft, and the dog is snoring, which is comforting, in a weird way. "Should call an uber."

"We'll drive ye."

"No, no... I'm-" you yawn. You don't want to move, and when no one says anything, you let your eyes close for a few minutes. Just a few minutes.

In the dark, who knows what time or how many minutes or hours later, a blanket is tucked around your shoulders, shoes slipped off your feet, and someone strokes your cheek, trailing up over your forehead and away, lingering briefly.

"Sleep tight sweet girl."

[risenlikethedead]

Thinking about going into labor while your partner is on the way somewhere unimportant, who refuses to come home to help you. And instead of being alone and scared, you hang up and call up one of your childhood friends everyone thought you'd wind up with. Kyle shows up at your door, furious but does his best to hide it, and helps you through it all. Next day the father of your child has the audacity to show up like nothing is wrong to see Kyle holding your baby so you can take a well deserved nap.

he picks up on the third ring. you tremble, gripping the edge of the porcelain tub. when you finally hear his voice, just the sound of him soothes your beating heart, just a little.

"'ello, love."

"kyle?" you sniffle. his background quiets a bit. you hear a door close, and then he's a bit louder.

"hey, love. what's wrong? you sound upset."

"my water broke," you hiccup. "a-and i...i was in the bath...i-i..." you close your eyes. "i can't get out of the tub."

"jesus fucking christ." you whimper, but kyle just hums. "not you, baby. hey, you just relax, alright? you said you were in the bath. just relax, and i'll be there soon."

"kyle--"

"don't be scared," kyle chuckles, and you whine a little. "hey, you're gonna have a baby. you've been waiting for this, yeah? haven't you?"

"y-yeah..."

"aren't you excited? you always tell me how much you can't wait, right?"

"yeah..."

"don't be scared," kyle repeats. "you just relax. be happy. she's coming today!"

you smile, wiping your face a little, and when kyle hears your giggle, he sighs.

"good girl. you sit tight."

so you do. you lean against the side of the tub, and you rest in the warm water as you stare at your phone screen.

he won't answer the phone. he hasn't read your texts. he's not coming.

you hear the front door open and close, and then there's a gentle knock on the bathroom door. when kyle comes in, you try to cover up, moving your hands over your tits, embarrassed, but kyle just goes to look for a clean towel to help you out.

"it's okay, love, i won't look," kyle tells you. he smiles at you, cupping your face gently, and you look into his dark eyes. "you look so pretty. you're glowin', y'know that?" you smile through gentle tears, putting a hand over your belly, and you try to move, but it's no use. kyle drops the towel, kneeling, and you shake your head.

"i-i can't get out--" you gasp, and kyle rolls up his sleeves over his thick forearms, putting the towel over his shoulder before he reaches for you.

"it's alright. i'll get you out. i'll try not to look, okay?"

"i'm so embarrassed...i'm so sorry, kyle..." you sniffle.

"don't apologize, love. i got it. give me your hands, put 'em around me."

you lift up your wet arms, wrapping them around his neck. you press your chest against his, and he picks you up as you stand, helping you to your feet. as you cup your belly, he wraps the towel around you, covering you, and then he holds your hand as you step out of the tub.

"alright. now where's your bag, darling?"

kyle grabs your bag and supplies as you get dressed in your room. as you pull your socks on, kyle comes up behind you, smoothing your hair down your back before he starts to braid it. he used to braid your hair all the time when you were kids--he always said he wanted to practice for his sisters.

"you got the car seat, kyle?" you ask as he holds your hand, and he nods.

"mhm. in the car already."

"a-and the diaper bag?"

"in the boot."

"my extra clothes? and my...my stuff?"

"mhm. i got it, love. and whatever you forgot, i'll get it for you. alright, up, buckle in, that's a girl."

he holds your hand the entire way. you groan softly when a particularly painful contraction hits you, but when you squeeze kyle's hand, all he does is squeeze back. you take deep breaths, leaning your head back, and he hums.

"you're doing so well, love. so well."

"why..." your eyes water. you squeeze his hand again, and when you look down, your vision is blurry from your tears. "why didn't he answer? w-why...why doesn't he...w-why would he..."

"don't worry your pretty head about tha', love," kyle interrupts you gently. "only thing you need to worry about is you and her. i got it."

"o-okay."

she's beautiful. she looks more like you than her father, and kyle counts that blessing. she's got your eyes, your nose, your hair. her cheeks belong to her father, but she might as well be your twin, and when kyle takes her from you later that night, rocking her gently, he can really see up close how much she looks like you.

in the middle of the night, kyle holds your hand as you get up to go to the bathroom. your entire body is tender and sluggish, but kyle keeps you upright as you walk, kissing your head gently as he helps you take a seat on the toilet.

he even gets your underwear set up for you, with the big pad and everything, and he helps you step into it and slips them up and over your hips. you're a tearful mess as he does this, but kyle just presses his forehead against yours.

the look in his eyes, you will never forget it. the intensity. the commitment. the stability. every time you pick up the phone, kyle answers, and sometimes he's thousands of miles away. your own boyfriend can't even have the decency to answer when you're nine months pregnant--what did he fucking think the call was going to be about?

back in your room, kyle fits into the bed with you. he lets your rest your head on his chest, and when you ask him if he's going to go home, he tells you this is close enough.

in the morning, kyle's sitting outside your room with the baby. he's holding her, touching her little nose, letting you sleep in. you had a rough night, and when he found you still with your eyes closed that morning, he figured he would let you keep sleeping, just for an extra hour or so.

you deserve it.

"is that her?"

kyle's head turns with a snap. standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, is your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. not man enough to answer the phone when you most needed him, not strong enough to do the right thing and marry you, and not wise enough to realize all he had to do was take care of you, and the world would be right again. you're not greedy. you don't ask for anything. all you want is to love and be loved, and kyle doesn't think that's too much to ask for, kyle thinks you're one of the most selfless women he's ever known, so why does this fucking bastard of a man get to call himself this girl's father?

kyle looks back down, fixing the blanket over your daughter's neck carefully. he thinks he did pretty good swaddling her this time, but you might have an opinion on it.

"i'm gonna say somethin', mate," kyle says lowly. "'n after i say it, y'r gonna do some thinking, real thinking."

he laughs a little, shaking his head.

"why don't you give me my baby, and get the fuck outta 'ere?"

kyle looks up and snickers, shaking his head. he gets a better grip on your daughter, sitting back, and he fixes your ex with a sinister smile.

"and what if i don't? you gonna take her from me?" kyle chuckles. "i'd love to see you try."

he stands, raising a brow.

"listen here, and listen close." kyle takes a step closer to him. "you're a right pile of shit comin' here thinking that you can just waltz right in and be daddy of the year, alright? what kind of man are you, eh? your girl in need, callin' you, and you don't even have the fuckin' balls to answer her? take a good look at your kid, mate, cause it's the last time you're ever gonna see her."

"no, i have the right--"

"to fuck right off," kyle snaps. "if i see you near her or her daughter ever again, i'll find you, and i'll make it worth your while, mate. make you feel real sorry finally, y'hear me? 'n when i take her back home, all of your junk better be out the flat. otherwise, i'll fucking burn it."

"kyle?"

your voice pulls him away. kyle adjusts the baby in his arm, going back inside, and he shuts the door behind him, finding your eyes. you reach for the baby, arms outstretched, and kyle easily sets her down in them, watching as you cradle the tiny thing into the crook of your neck and stroke the back of her neck.

the nurses come in and drop off a few papers. one stops, looking at kyle, giving him a big smile.

"congratulations," she tells him, and he smiles back at her. she takes a seat next to him, holding out a clipboard. "do you think i could get a few details? i just need to know mum's name, baby's name--"

kyle gives it to her. your birthplace. your birthday. your name. your baby's name. then she flips a paper over, putting her pen down.

"and dad's name?" she asks.

kyle sighs, leaning back in his chair. they don't give out birth certificates right away. you have to request it. you won't find out, not just yet, maybe he'll even pick it up for you. you'll be much too busy being mummy dearest.

"kyle," he tells her, flashing her that big smile. she blushes a little, writing it down. "kyle garrick."

he looks back at where you are, your eyes on him. you smile shyly when your eyes meet, and kyle leaves the nurse to come up to you and drape a hand behind your head. he strokes along your hair gently, thumbing at your temple.

"i heard you outside, kyle."

"did you?"

"and i heard you just now."

"mm."

you blink, reaching for the edge of his shirt, and you pull him down, further, until his face is nearly against yours.

"i guess i shouldn't be surprised," you say softly, reaching up to smooth a a few knuckles down his cheek. he leans into it, licking his lips, and you bite your lip. "you've always had a habit of...taking what doesn't belong to you, huh?"

kyle laughs. always the pretty boy, ever since you were little. one smile from him--kyle could get away with anything. anything at all.

"who says you don't belong to me?"

[risenlikethedead]

[risenlikethedead]

something something your friends howling with laughter when you send “john mactavish — the better john” back to the table he shares with a bunch of wide shouldered sorts with a careless “sorry, i prefer my “johns” with experience” after a cursory up-and-down over his body.

those same friends staring slack-jawed when an absolute bear of a man drops heavily into the seat opposite you with a “heard you like a john with experience, s’that right, sweetheart?”

meanwhile you’re staring at the grey hair in his beard and at his temples with something approaching stars in your eyes

[risenlikethedead]

Reverse fae au Ghost Words: 5.5k Rating: M (Minors DNI) Tags: Ghost x f!oc, fae!oc, Ghost pov, slow burn horror, magic, time loss, stalking, predator/prey, dubcon/noncon, manipulation, panic attacks, piv sex, gore, erotic cannibalism(?), Ghost's family lives, Ghost is in therapy too bad it's not gonna save him, (debatably) bad end Summary: Simon Riley saves his family, so why does it feel like he still lost them? Years later he sees a woman in a bar, one he can't seem to shake. a/n: thank you Ghost for infecting my dreams a year ago, I'm going to destroy your life now <3

Simon Riley stands, blood soaked, in a little apartment in the heart of Manchester. His chest heaves, panting as he stares down the beaten and broken body of his former brother in arms. Washington is dead on the black and white tiled floor of his family's flat. His blood pools under Simon's feet, and Simon tips his head back, eyes squeezed shut to avoid the overhead light, as he draws in a sobering breath.

"Simon," His mother breathes, "What did you do?"

He’s not the oldest, but he's the man of the house. He's supposed to protect his family from anything that would hurt them: his father, Roba, now Washington, someday maybe even himself. "My job," He tells her over the sound of his own frantic heartbeat.

-

Ghost stands at the bar while the rest of his comrades laugh. Their booth in the corner is full of jokes and gentle prodding. He checks his watch, fishes for one of the pills in his pocket and swallows it dry. These new SSRIs Beth's doctor has him on are helping. The nightmares aren't as bad, he's feeling things again. The days are long but they're not interminable, sometimes that's all he can hope for.

He glances over his shoulder at the men in the corner booth. Price claps a hand on Soap's shoulder as Gaz grins. It's warm over there, a family away from his family. He wishes- no, he's too greedy. He's happy with what he has, with the life he's built for himself. At the price of only one life he thinks it's well worth it. He should visit his mum while he's back in the UK, take advantage of some of the leave Price is always hounding him about. He's only glad he was able to convince his little family to move closer to base. Mum was hard to convince, but after Washington… It's hard to sleep knowing there's still blood rotting under your kitchen floor. Joseph didn't need to grow up watching people avoid half the kitchen.

“Jus’ a wa'er,” Ghost tells the bartender, “‘nother round for those sods though.” He nods back at the 141. He should grab something for the kid while he's got time. No sense being the favorite uncle if he can't spoil the bugger. Never mind he bought a whole house just so the kid could have a garden to play in.

“That's sweet,” a voice coos at him. Ghost glances left, following instinct to fix his gaze on a woman at the end of the bar. Despite the low lights and crowd she's glowing, in her element. Pretty, Ghost thinks, and sort of… pink. Her lips, anyway, are pink when they curve into a smile. He turns back to the bar, must not have been talking to him. And why would she be?

“You have a big heart,” her voice husks in his ear, her hands trailing down his back. He swats at the buzz, like shooing away a gnat and turns to look at her. The space behind him is empty. She's still at the other end of the bar chatting with someone, her pink lips moving in a dull hum of conversation. There's something about her, something that prods at the back of his eyes, like an incessant alarm blaring. She doesn't look dangerous, but then again the pretty ones never do. It’s the fuzz, he thinks, he must be tired if the edges of her are starting to get blurry, he’ll grab the next train after this round. The bartender sets three pints and a glass of water in front of him, and Ghost is forced to look away from the woman. 

“Cheers,” he nods to the bartender, setting a few notes on the bar and grabbing the glasses between his hands. No trouble getting them back to the table, people are too eager to jump out of his way. Although he's not sure if it's because of the mask or the size of him.

Ghost passes pints to waiting hands, nodding along as Soap gives his best impression of a joke. Gaz shakes his head, but his smile speaks volumes. Price keeps his eyes on the door despite his relaxed posture. Really all of them do. Even through the squint of laughter Soap and Gaz’s eyes scan the room, always on guard for a potential threat. It's strange, Ghost pulls the seat out and doesn't feel the need to glance over his shoulder. He angles it on instinct, but his eyes touch the men he’s with rather than the crowd. It's the first time he hasn't felt like jumping out of his skin with his back to the door. Must be the new meds working.

“Give your mum my love,” Price tells him and Ghost is forced to bring his attention to his captain.

“‘oo said I’m goin’ ta see my mum?” He replies, fingers itching against the cool glass.

“Ya always run off the see ‘er,” Soap chides.

“I think it's sweet,” Gaz chimes in.

“S’why I like you Garrick,” Ghost leans back in his seat, “ya stay outta my business.”

“Doing my best sir,” Gaz grins, clinking his glass against Ghost’s.

“My job to know your business,” Price smiles, leaning against the table.

“What's Mactavish's excuse then?” Ghost jokes, eyeing the scot. Soap balks, presses his hand to his heart like he's offended.

“Ahm yer best mate, ah cannae care about ya?” Soap says, doing a truly impressive impression of puppy dog eyes. Ghost snorts into his glass and shakes his head. It's easy to fall into this rhythm with them. The few people in this world he can trust, the few people who understand what it means when he says he has people to protect, people to get home to. Fighting the bad guys to make the world better, so he never has to see his family look at him like that again.

Ghost’s fingers tighten on his glass, splintering cracks running under his hand. Soap settles a hand on his shoulder and he takes a breath. Fine. He's fine. Anger is controllable, his emotions are controllable, he’s not ruled by fear anymore. He repeats it like a mantra. He lives, he takes another step forward and he lives. Soap pats his shoulder twice as his grip loosens.

“How's that new girl you're seeing?” Price asks, the false nonchalance sold for everyone else in the bar but no one at the table. The therapist, he doesn't need to add. Any direct acknowledgement of it, of the pills, tantamount to a discharge. Ghost is grateful, truly, the Price fudges his paperwork, for all of them.

“Be’er than the last one.” His answer earns a nod, a smile.

“Right, well, won't keep you from your family,” Price sniffs, “but I expect you in for morning PT at 0700.”

“Rog,” Ghost nods, finishing his glass and pushing back from the table, “Gonna enjoy sleepin’ on a real mattress.” Gaz grumbles into his pint while Soap glares at him. Ghost smiles, and gives a short two fingers wave before stuffing his hands in his pockets and heading out.

The walk to the tube station is short. The street lights break up the darkness, the moon a thin sliver overhead, and the air is just at the edge of crisp. Spring is starting to break into summer. He always misses the stars when he’s in the city, misses the pinpricks that fill the sky in the desert. It feels too romantic to mention to any of the guys, anathema to the image he’s created. There are parts of him that still don’t feel like they fit, pieces he’s still trying to find in the wake of everything. It’s been a good few years and Ghost still can’t call himself whole, but he’s trying.

He texts Tommy from the train platform. It’s late, but neither of the Riley boys have ever been heavy sleepers. His phone buzzes with a message before the train arrives, Tommy letting him know he’s got a spare key. Ghost huffs a laugh, the hand in his pocket pressing fingers against the jagged teeth on his key ring. He sends a thumbs up, and switches to one of the stupid color games his mum convinced him to download. He’s just cleared level 1506 when he hears laughter drifting down the steps of the platform. 

A glance back, his phone closed as his shoulders draw back to attention. Old habits die hard, you can’t take the military out of the man. He relaxes minutely seeing the woman from the bar. She hangs off her friend’s arm, smile wide and eyes glittering. His brows draw down, a sharp pain hitting his temple. There’s a moment, when she opens her mouth to speak, that he sees the  peaks of sharp teeth. He turns away, presses the heel of his hand against his eye, trying to clear some of the fuzz away that seems to be infecting his vision. He glances at the woman again and finds her eyes boring holes through him, unblinking and unafraid of being caught.

Ghost holds her gaze, the fuzz tingling at the edge of his vision, black creeping into his periphery. His ears ring, and the train rushes to the platform. He turns to move out of the way of the doors, to check which line this is, and his ears pop. He winces, must not be used to the tube after such a long deployment. He slips onto the train, taking one of the open seats. He watches the doors close, and the train moves from the platform, the woman tips her head and he feels something pitch behind his ribs. It feels like avoiding a proximity mine, hearing the explosion behind him and knowing he dodged something big. He pulls his phone out to give the next level a go.

-

Ghost is woken up in the morning by a four year old not even a third his size jumping on his chest with enough force he almost thinks he’s taken a mortar round. Only to hear the fit of giggles that follows him tossing the little bugger off of him. Christ. Ghost drags a hand down his face, feeling the scratch of stubble as Joseph climbs over him. Tommy walks past the guest room door, and then backpedals to raise a brow at his brother.

“Thought Beth took ‘im to daycare already.” Tommy flips one end of his tie over the other and tugs the tail through the knot he’s made.

“Guess she’s got me babysittin’.” Ghost grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Joseph drops down to sit next to him.

“You mind?” Tommy asks, peaking in the dresser mirror to adjust his tie. Ghost shakes his head.

“Long as ‘e doesn’t.” Ghost scratches his chest, glances at Joseph who stares at him. Little shit grins a gap toothed smile and Ghost pushes him sideways onto the mattress. More giggles as Joseph kicks at him and tries to escape his iron grip.

“Daddy help!” Joseph shrieks, earning a hum from his father and a grab from Ghost. The kid is hauled against Ghost’s chest and then grabbed around the ankles to hang as Ghost stands from the bed.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Tommy tells him, patting Joseph’s stomach. Ghost follows him out of the guest room, swinging the kid as he goes. “Mum’s at her club today, and Beth’s got an event tonight.” Tommy says, half talking to Ghost, half talking to himself as he grabs his bag for work, “pub later?”

“Don’t see why not.” Ghost rumbles, lowering Joseph to the carpeted floor. The four year old kicks his feet at Ghost’s hand and rolls towards his father. Tommy’s quick to scoop the kid up with a grunt of effort.

“Gettin’ too big for this,” Tommy grunts, earning a hug around his neck and a soft ‘I love you daddy.’ Something about the scene aches behind Ghost’s ribs. A glimpse at the life he isn’t supposed to have, the broken cycle that he never thought he’d get out of. Maybe he got too far out of it. “‘Ow long’re you in town?” Tommy asks, setting Joseph down.

“Few weeks.”

“Welcome to stay as long as ya need.” Tommy pushes his kid towards the living room and Joseph wanders off to play. Ghost snorts.

“‘S if it isn’ my ‘ouse.”

Tommy grins, and holds his fist up. “Drinks on me then.”

Ghost bumps his own fist against his brothers with a smile. “I’ll ‘old you to that.”

Watching the kid is easy. Keeping a hold on him? So much harder. Being on leave gives Ghost a great opportunity to cement himself as favorite uncle. Which means taking his nephew out. Ice cream, playground, new loud toy that’s sure to piss off his parents. Swear to God this kid needs a leash though. Joseph’s little hand leaves Ghost’s big one as he sprints off down the street after something. Ghost swears loudly and makes his way after the booger. 

“Joseph,” He calls after the kid, his little head bobbing down the street, “Come on you little shit.”

It’s not busy, but there are enough people still dragging their feet from lunch to be a nuisance. Ghost’s never lost a target before, but most of his targets have at least three feet of height on Joseph. Someone bumps his shoulder and the sharp swear Ghost throws at them costs him a second of sight. His eyes dart back to the street and Joseph is gone.

The fear that grips him is unlike any he’s ever felt in the battlefield. It seizes his lungs, holds his ribs tight so he can’t take a breath. His eyes dart around for Joseph, for the little red jacket the kid insisted on wearing, the striped trousers, he can’t find him. A brainwashed soldier, and four years of Tommy’s parenting, Joseph could survive all of that, but one day with Ghost and he’s gone.

Ghost’s breath comes short, his eyes nearly vibrating with how quickly they scan the area. Red coat, striped trousers. Red coat, striped trousers. Red coat, striped trousers.

The walls may as well be closing in on him. Dirt rains down from the sky. The coffin closes. The jaw bone digs into the palm of his hand. The worms and beetles crawl over his skin as he digs and digs, suffocating on the dirt that’s still loose in the grave. The road breaks into an open square and he stands watching the parade of people that filter through it. It’s open air, so why does he feel like he’s suffocating? 

He turns to look towards the road he just came out of, the buildings seem to wave and curve in towards the people walking its path. Back towards the square. The shops feel closer, the store fronts opening like mouths to lure in an unsuspecting child. Red coat, striped trousers. He eyes the fountain, the couples that sit on the edge of it unsuspecting that the shallow water could drown a kid Joseph’s size. Strangers brush past him, eye him, their coats and rushed steps might hide a squirming victim.

Ghost’s hand grabs a passerby by the arm, his fingers tight as he turns manic eyes upon the man. The older man startles, his eyes darting over Ghost’s form, obviously frightened by this sudden confrontation. He lets him go, his attention returned to the square. The man hustles away from him, his hand gripping the space on his arm where Ghost had grabbed him with a wince. Not that Ghost notices, his mind too focused on the thing he’d lost. He takes a step further into the square and the people in it part like the red sea.

Red coat, striped trousers, and a flake.

He breaks the surface of the water, his eyes landing on Joseph as a woman crouches next to him. She pushes his hair back, glancing around at the crowd as his nephew bites into the vanilla soft serve. Something hurts, pushes insistently, behind his eyes. It needles at his brain, scratches at some old wound. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters but making his way to his nephew. Damn everything else.

The woman glances up at him, her smile splitting her face, wide and toothsome. “Such a big heart.” She coos. The ringing in his ears grows louder with each step, louder and louder until it’s deafening. It hurts. A man passes in front of him and Ghost all but throws him out of the way. He scoops Joseph up off the cobblestone, pressing his forehead against the kid’s temple. Joseph squirms, his ice cream falling from his hands and down onto the ground. 

Ghost heaves in a breath, squeezing Joseph tighter against his chest. Christ he thought he’d lost him. The pressure seems to stop the kid from complaining about the lost ice cream, pushing instead against Ghost’s chest to be released. Ghost transfers him to his hip and checks him over, any cuts of bruises, a single hair out of place. He straightens the red coat, pinches his cheek, tips Joseph’s head to kiss the top of it. 

Almost lost.

“Where she go?” Joseph asks, twisting in Ghost’s arms. 

“Scared the shit outta me,” Ghost huffs, ignoring the kid’s looking around in order to take him back up the street. See if he sets the little man down until they get home.

-

The house is empty when Ghost wakes up the next morning. There’s no patter of little feet, no shout from Beth that Tommy’s going to be late, only the smell of coffee filling the kitchen. There’s a note letting him know who will be back when. He tugs it off the fridge and crumples it in his hand to toss into the kitchen trash. He’ll go back to base, look over some paperwork. It’s tedious work but at least it passes the time. 

Ghost sits on the tube, tapping at the bottles on his phone screen. It’s nearly empty, a few stragglers making their way into work, a few people heading home from long nights, and Ghost. The train stops at its next station. The doors open, there’s a slight pressure change, Ghost glances at the few people that board and goes back to his game.

A woman sits down beside him.

He doesn’t look up, but he does scan the rest of the train. Open seats galore. She crosses one bare leg over the other, the tip of her heel bumping his leg. If she expects him to move she should have sat somewhere else. He keeps his legs spread wide, his elbows on his knees as he taps away at his phone. One bottle filled with pink liquid sparkles upon completion. He stalls looking at the rest of the bottles, the colors mixed together in varying degrees. His mind pulls different possibilities, different patterns.

A manicured finger taps at his screen, one bottle upending into another. Ghost glances at the woman as she presses close, her eyes fixed on his screen. She doesn’t look at him, her finger tapping again and again as Ghost watches her eyes move. Long lashes and full cheeks. Pink lips. He winces, jerks away from her as her nail digs into his thumb. 

“Oops,” She blinks. 

Ghost looks at her, his heart feels like it’s about to pound out of his chest, his eyes ache like he’s attempting to focus on too many things at once. There’s a splitting pain in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut with a grimace and watches the colors pop behind his eyelids. He can’t control his breathing, it feels erratic, his brain is too focused on systems that should be involuntary. He forces his eyes open again, stares at his reflection in the window across from him. The woman beside him sits prim and proper reading a book three seats away. 

He can still feel her pressed against his side. Did he hear her move? Feel her move? There was no change in the air, no movement, no shifting, her warmth didn’t fade, her pressure didn’t fade from one moment to the next. She was beside him and now she’s not. His eyes watch her through the warped glass. Her reflection wavers, changing with the rattle of the train car. She flips the page in her book, tips it to read in the low light. Romance novel, Ghost notes. 

A glance down at his phone. Blood is smeared over his screen, streaked in fingerprints smaller than his own, his game boasting a completion trophy. His thumb is red, the congealed blood no longer contained to the shallow wound just below his nail. He raises the digit to his lips and cleans the blood with his tongue. 

Eyes bore holes into the side of his head, but when he looks at the car everyone seems to be minding their own business. It makes his skin crawl. The tension in his shoulders tightens. 

Ghost scratches his nail against the blood drying on his phone screen. His blood, dragged by an unfamiliar hand. 

The train pulls up to his station, and he stands. Phone locked and pocketed, he glances at the bird again before departing. She doesn’t look up from her book. 

His head is pounding as he steps out into daylight. A migraine, it must be. He hasn’t had one of these in a while, still as debilitating as the last one. Maybe he should go home. Ghost turns to head back down the stairs, he’ll text Price and let him know he couldn’t make it. He bumps into someone. Hands settle on his chest, holding him up, steadying him, and then-

And then they sink into his chest. Soft hands push past his ribs, push into his skin like dipping into water, his flesh non newtonian to the hands that hold him. His eyes hold the woman’s, as her fingers wrap around his lungs and squeeze. No. Not his lungs, his heart. Her fingers grasp his heart, holding on tightly, reverently. She presses close, her chest against his, hands releasing to continue their path through him and wrap around his spine in some sick impression of a hug.

“You’re lonely,” She breathes, “I can fix that.”

-

Ghost hands the guy at the gate his ID and waits for him to check the ledger. It seems to take ages. The man even radios Price to be sure he has the right man. When Ghost does finally get through the gate the migraine that had been building on the train is in full force.

His fingers hardly make a dent in the throbbing at his temple. The sound of footsteps drums against the inside of his skull. The blood pounding in his ears makes him queasy. His stomach flips, and he nearly upheaves his breakfast. Price catches him by the shoulders. Chill drips down his spine, mint fills his nose, then ginger. He swallows the magic his captain presses into him and sets himself right again.

“You broken?” Price asks, the low rumble of his voice just touches concern. Ghost drags his hand over his eyes, glaring at the recruits that scurry past the two of them. 

“No sir,” Ghost swallows again, and feels the sting of ginger creeping up into his nose, “Must’ve-”

Price grabs his face, his thumbs pulling at his cheeks, inspecting the whites of his eyes. He tips Ghost one way then the next, inspecting him. His eyes narrow, and Ghost resists the urge to swat his hands away. Ghost doesn’t pretend to understand his captain’s inspection, his mannerisms. “Magic”, “witchcraft”, he’s seen the jars that line Price’s office, read the briefs the military keeps redacted beyond legibility, and it still feels like bullshit. Until Price gets his hands on him.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” Ghost asks when Price has been quiet too long. His captain’s lips have drawn tight, and lets him go. 

“What’s the date,” Price forgoes answering him. Ghost frowns but indulges him. Price mirrors his frown.

“By how much?” Ghost fills in the gaps in Price’s frown.

“A few days,” Price sighs, “Your mum called.”

“What’d you tell ‘er?”

“Nothing I can’t deny later.”

Ghost nods slowly. He can’t- the last thing he remembers was getting off the train, then making his way to the gate. Not unusual, he’s walked the route enough times he can shut his brain off, but it’s all black. He can’t remember a single part of the walk. He feels over his jaw, he’s shaved recently. A few days? His family knows better than to ask about his work, he’ll just tell them he got caught up in paperwork and crashed in the barracks.

-

It’s not a nightmare, Ghost knows that much at least. There’s no blood, no cramped space, no pain. There are soft fingers carding through his hair, humming. The pillow he rests his head on shifts slightly as the woman above him leans over him. She smiles, her fingers tracing over the scar that cuts through his brow, and down his crooked nose. The light overhead is soft, the air warm on his skin. Her hair halos her, casts strange shadows over her face. 

Ghost raises a hand to cup her cheek and she leans into the touch. He feels lighter, his chest, his limbs, the tension melted away under the careful touch that drags over his skin. Something sharp and teeth gnashingly dark batters against the back of his mind. It scratches behind his eyes. 

“They don’t understand, do they?” She asks. Who? Ghost wants to ask, but his tongue feels like lead. She drags her finger from his hairline to his chin, and back up, and back down. His head follows, nodding along with what she says.

“They never will,” She pouts, and Ghost’s brows twitch, “Poor thing.”

“No,” He manages to unstick his tongue, the scratching behind his eyes is growing more insistent. Ghost turns his head to look at the room, his cheek touches skin. So he’s on her lap. He takes a breath, something soft and floral filling his nose. It bursts pink and fluffy in his vision, clouding what he sees. The room feels fuzzy, he can’t focus his eyes. Dreamlike, he supposes. 

“I understand you,” She breathes, “you love with blood in your teeth.” She moves his head, turns him to look at her again. “I could love you, and you’d never be lonely again.”

His eyes focus on her face. Pretty, electric. Her eyes are too bright, her lips too perfectly carved, her skin looks like glass, she shines with some magic he’s never seen before. She’s fuzzy when he blinks. His heart clenches tight, his grief washing over him. He wants to see her again. It feels consumptive, like a fire burning through him. To love with blood in his teeth, to cut his lips on a kiss, to dig his hands into her thighs and carve his name into her, what bliss that would be.

“Stay with me,” She bids. Ghost swallows, she turns to kiss his palm, he forgot he was touching her. Her skin feels like it’s melting into his, she clings to him. Her lips part and he feels the sharp scratch of her teeth against his palm. The pain shudders through him, lights up the dark howling thing locked in his mind. 

She purrs as his hand wraps around her neck. Possessive, wanting. Blood in his teeth, he thinks to himself. Blood on his hands, on his kitchen floor. He can still see the look on his family’s faces, the horror, the fear in their eyes. Scared of him.

He’s just like his father.

Ghost jerks awake in the barracks. The spartan walls, painted in an attempt to seem more homey than the bare stone. The mattress is familiarly shitty. He drags a hand down his face. It’s dark. When did he drag himself away from the mountain of paperwork that had made its way onto his desk?

He sighs, pulls his knees up to rest his elbow against them as he scratches his head. His dream is already fading from his mind. Not that it made much sense to begin with. At least he wasn’t back in that damn flat. He’ll call his mum in the morning, let her know he’ll be home for dinner. She must be worried.

-

It’s still light out when Ghost leaves base. His back is killing him. Hunched over papers all day as Price piled more on isn’t his idea of a good day at the office, but shit needs to get done. Price had been looking at him strangely all day but hadn’t said anything. When he’d finally snapped at him to either say something or close his eyes, Price had threatened him with insubordination. It felt hollow, but the weight of it settled over his shoulders heavy enough to keep him from snapping again.

At least he let him go at a decent time. Ghost checks his phone, barely five. So why is the tube station so empty? There’s no one on the platform, and there was no one going down the stairs. Suppose that’s good. When he’d tapped his card it didn’t work, felt like a kid hopping the turnstile, be pretty embarrassing if someone had seen him do that.

There’s a woman on the other end of the platform. She wipes at her face, the sound of her sobbing carrying to his end. Ghost watches her for a moment. Her shoulders shake, and he can just barely hear the short sniffles that come with tears. It’s a strange feeling being the only two people in the station. It doesn’t feel real. The air doesn’t touch his skin, and there’s no sound save for the soft crying. 

“You alrigh’ love?” Ghost asks, his voice booming in the small space. He grabs his head at the sharp throb of pain. The space warps, his vision swimming. He closes his eyes, to try and stem the wave of vertigo that washes over him. Maybe he should have stayed on base, gotten examined. 

Christ what is he talking about?

He opens his eyes with a shake of his head, some of the pain dissipating. He looks down at the crying woman. He shouldn’t have yelled when she’s so close. She looks up at him with watery eyes and sniffles. Her pretty pink lips curve down into a pout, almost comical how exaggerated it is. He’s only ever seen Johnny wield that level of frown.

“I’ll be ok,” She tells him. Her manicured fingers swipe at the tears that roll down her face, “Thank you.”

Something in her voice makes his blood throb, and push against his circulatory system. He feels stuck, like his feet are glued to the platform. He can’t move his head to look away from her. She’s pretty when she cries. That must be it. She makes him want to hold her down and see what else he can do to make her sob and beg.

“You’re welcome,” Ghost mumbles. Hands around her neck, he’d bet she likes that. 

The thought itches against the inside of his skull. 

“Would you walk me home?” She asks, “You get off at -” how does she know his stop? “-it’s not far from there.”

She touches his arm, drags her nails up and down. His head follows. 

-

He remembers Price telling him once that magic is about exchange. You can’t get something from nothing, he’d been told. Which seemed like bullshit. What’s the point of magic if you can’t do the impossible with it. Only human, Price had griped at him, you want a miracle try religion.

“What do you want?” The woman in his arms whispers, her lips dragging along his jaw. His hands grip her hip, pulling her up and down his cock. She feels like a furnace, her soft gummy walls clinging to him desperately as he thrusts into her. Her hands squeeze in his chest, pluck at nerve endings and drag nails down his lungs. It hurts. He tips his head to kiss her. He’s never tasted anything sweeter than the honey that drips from her tongue.

What does he want? He wants to fuck her, and keep fucking her. He wants to hold her in his arms and never let go. He doesn’t want to be lonely anymore, always hovering on the outside of humanity. He wants his family to be safe, to never worry about anything ever hurting them again. He wants to be an asset to his team. He wants to lick her cunt. He wants to bite bruises on her thighs. He wants to melt into her. What does he want? What doesn’t he want? He’s greedy, sinking his teeth into any meal he can stomach.

His teeth press against her throat. He wants to feel her blood between his teeth. 

She’s laughing, bright bubbly giggles that pop against the walls with a spark of something. She pushes him back into the mountain of pillows, her hips rolling against him with a fluidity that feels unnatural. He stares up at her, his skin buzzing with her, his mouth, his teeth aching to latch onto her again.

“Say my name,” She grins, her teeth sharp and her nails cutting.

“Love,” He breathes.

“What do you want?” She asks again.

“You.” Ghost’s heart pounds, his voice feels weak. Damning.

“That’s right,” She tells him,

And rips his heart from his chest.

[risenlikethedead]

i just wanna see fae soap and ghost be scary dog privs to love.

I absolutely adore Soap/Ghost/Love, I feel like the vibe is very... Ghost/Love are pursuing Soap, and him joining their relationship was a natural conclusion. Which is very different from what Soap/Threat/Crybaby have going on. Anyway, I love this trio so much.

Barhopping isn't a sin you've indulged in since you and Simon started getting serious. Soap, however, is a pro at it. He breezes into the apartment, tosses a shirt at Simon and tells you to get dressed up. Which. He doesn't have to tell you twice. Especially not when he looks good enough to eat in just a muscle shirt and jeans. The day a man out-dresses you is the day you die.

Which is exactly why you find yourself on the dance floor with Soap behind you. His hands skating over your hips as you twist and turn, you laugh when he tugs at the hem of your already short skirt. Usually when you go out to clubs like this you can't move two feet without being pawed at by some low life. It's good hunting for Simon, but not particularly fun for you. Now any time someone gets close to you, Soap pulls you closer to himself.

Several times now you've had him speaking low against your ear, his hands tight on your hips as he stares down a would-be dance thief. The few times Soap has left you to grab a drink Simon has been there to take his place. Your husband eagerly guides you to grind against him, his lips skating yours with a smile as you loop your arms around his shoulders. You know it's not his usual scene but you appreciate having him around to scare off the wanna-bes.

It's better when Soap comes up behind you again. His hands cover Simon's on your hips, pressing you between both of them with his lips on your neck. It's when Simon pulls Soap's head up to kiss him that your giggles really start.

The bubbles of giddy joy don't stop even when you're walking to the next bar. Simon's stolen a glass from the previous bar and Soap keeps tapping the rim to refill the beer. You hold onto their hands and swing them between you.

You pass a man who whistles at you, and Soap nearly snaps his neck growling, his teeth bared as Simon glares. You blink and find yourself holding Simon's glass instead of his hand. Soap tugs you to lean against a dark storefront as you both listen to the visceral squelching of dismemberment.

At the next bar Simon cages you against the bar, slots his hips against your ass as you order drinks and hardly moves an inch when Soap finally cuts the second button off his shirt.

"Wouldnae kill ya to show off a little," Soap hums, tugging at Simon's collar to open his shirt a little.

"Hard agree," you toss over your shoulder.

"Flirts," Simon chastises. You roll your eyes, you'd love to deny it but Soap is currently flirting with the bartender to keep the drinks free.

You've never had such a nice time out at a bar in your life. You suppose it's even better when you get to drag your boys to bed afterwards. All three of you pleasantly buzzed as you tackle trying to efficiently get three sets of clothes off.

[risenlikethedead]

idk why but just imagining soap taking care of love when ghosts not around- maybe she got too drunk out at night with some friends or got hurt or maybe just one her period who knows

Yes more poly Ghost/Soap/Love, the softest throuple. Ghost runs and errand and leaves Love in Soap's capable hands.

You've learned very quickly that Soap is about as close to an actual walking heater as you can get. That's not a bad thing either. Ghost is always a nice sort of cool lukewarm, so being sandwiched between them in bed almost puts you at an equilibrium, and when your hands are cold you can just stick them under Soap's shirt. Seeing him yelp and flinch away from the chill is pretty funny too. Soap's internal furnace is especially helpful when it comes to aches and pains, something you are taking full advantage of.

Soap rubs his hand over your stomach, pressing just below your belly button as you lay over his lap on the couch. You're cramping hard. You've already thrown up once today because of it and you spooked Simon bad enough for him to willingly go to the pharmacy. You give a quiet pained hum as Soap pushes a little more firmly, the heat helps, the pressure helps, honestly you think death might help.

"No tears, come on sweetheart," Soap mumbles, thumb soothing gentle circles against your skin. You're doing your best.

"Can't you just magic the pain away?" You whine. Simon did it once. It was blissful.

"What, so I can feel it? Pain's gotta go somewhere, lass, and I'm not putting Ghost through it." Ah. That explains why Simon didn't offer again. Babies both of them. Who are you kidding, you're a baby. This sucks.

"At least get me a blanket then," you grumble. Soap rolls his eyes with a smile.

"Got a better idea, let's just..."

Soap twists on the couch and hitches your legs up around his waist before he settles comfortably(flops, he flops) on top of you. It feels like all the air has been forced out of your lungs, he's heavy and you're moderately crushed, but you're used to it; Simon does this all the time. He's so warm. A weighted heated blanket compressing you exactly where you need it. Soap's lips drag along your jaw absentmindedly, letting you get settled and comfortable under him.

"Better?" He asks, his teeth just scraping your skin. You nod, careful not to headbutt him as you melt against the couch. Your arms are tight around his shoulders, holding him close as he takes his time sucking bruises along your bared throat. "Best part," he rocks his hips against yours, and the breath the catches in your throat is plenty distraction from your cramps. You hadn't even considered that.

When Ghost gets home you and Soap are passed out on the couch. Tangled together in a way he finds probably more endearing than he rightly should. It's cute seeing how tightly you hold onto Soap, the way he presses his face against your neck, the soft sleeping breaths you share. Ghost settles a small brown paper bag on the kitchen counter and goes to put the kettle on.

He scoops a spoon of the floral mixture from the bag into your preferred mug and switches the kettle off before it can wake you up. Best to let you sleep while you can, he knows its been sparing these last few nights. Hopefully this will help. Painkillers are all well and good but with how bad your pain fucked him up? You need some magical intervention.

[risenlikethedead]

this turned into a 9 days fixation,,,, ty @ghouljams for the nasty boii content :'')

[risenlikethedead]

Would absolutely adore to see feral/fae könig stalking libeling/messing with her, then she yanks on their thread and winds him up for a bit :)

(cw: prenegotiated consent, pred/prey dynamics, hypnosis, size kink, monster fucking, objectification, fucking outdoors, ghoul brand magic bullshit)

You toy with the threads strung between you, watching the rain outside your window as you do. They're such thin things, spider silk more than solid tethers. You suppose you don't give König much to work with in terms of your needs. He's been... well, you can't say he's been behaving but he's been better behaved than he usually is.

Going into the equinox left him a little hazy. He'd muttered about hunts and the pull of the forest, and you'd- You'd sort of wondered if he was going to wander off to hibernate. Then the pacing had started.

Restless energy looking for an outlet. You couldn't blame him, the fae always reacted to seasons changing strangely. He seemed fine now but if you were on edge, he was too.

"How are you holding up?" You ask, paying attention to your tethers more than König. You wonder if you could play cat's cradle with them. You start looping them around your fingers as you feel König's attention attach to you.

"I will be fine." He tells you. You hum, passing strands back and forth between your fingers.

"But you're not now," You infer, pulling the lattice ladder tight. Still got it.

"I'm-" He hesitates, searching for the right word before giving up, "managing."

"Right," You draw the word over your tongue, drop your fingers to pull a witch's broom pattern tight. König shivers at your side. Your eyes dart to him, to the way his cock strains against his trousers, his claws digging semi-circles of blood into his knees. "I, uh, had an idea about that-" Christ you hate doing this with him, "-I wondered if you'd want to chase me- me."

König always knows when you're holding back from something. More so when you're holding back from something you know he'd want as well. And when that thing is sex? He's annoying really when his eyes fix on you like he's trying to stare through you.

"We have done this before." It's a statement, but the way he says it means he's probing for what you're really asking.

"I thought you could be a little rough with me, really-" You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing at your own inability to communicate your wants, "-really make it feel real." He's quiet. "Then you can get some energy out, and settle whatever you've got that, y'know-" He's still quiet, "It's just you mentioned hunting and I thought it might be fun to- to-" You try not to say the word that's resting on your tongue. You open your eyes to look at König, he's dripping moss onto the couch, his shoulders hunched and his spines vibrating eagerly. His eyes are the size of dinner plates, and even in the soft light of your flat they glow like coals.

"I understand," König nods, "you want me to hunt you."

"Uh," You hesitate hearing the word out loud, your heart rate starting to drum in your ears, "I'm not sure I like how excited you are about this."

"No, no," He moves towards you and you nearly fall off the couch at you lean away, "You are putting your trust in me, this is good Liebling."

"I guess," Your fingers grip the arm of the couch where you steady yourself, it feels like the only tether you have to safety. The slowly parting maw of König's hood, the sharp rows of teeth that sit like tombstones hiding his red tongue, none of it moves when he speaks.

"You are giving me reign over your body." His movements feel more predatory, and your own body reacts to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Your hair stands on end, goosebumps rush over your skin, your fingers tremble as anxious adrenaline starts to course through you. You scooch close to the edge of the couch, watch as König does the same, his claws sliding to rest on the floor like a sprinter's mark.

"Sort of a weird way to put it." Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, your words wield no power, and even if they did who are you to speak to a king?

"But you are not running mausi," König cocks his head to the side, "there is no hunt without the chase."

"Now?" Your feet hit the soft carpet of the forest floor as you ready yourself to run.

"Now." König agrees, and lunges at you like the crack of a gun.

You take off. Bolt from the couch and try not be too disconcerted by the trees now replacing the corners of your living room. The shock of red and gold above you casts twilight over the forest. If it were any other time you might stop and admire it, now all you admire is your own ability to not step on anything sharp while in just your socks.

The burn in your lungs comes fast, the crisp autumn air scratching at your throat, pulling at underused muscles and making you take heaving breaths as you run. With the crunch of König's feet behind you, you don't have the luxury of stopping. You run, as hard and as fast as you can, and you think about what will happen when he catches you.

You chance a look over your shoulder only for the fear it inspires in you. The bone deep, instinctual fear that something bigger, scarier, than you is lurking in the forest. Because there it is, chasing after you with its teeth bared and its eyes hungry. And deep down, past all the trust you have in König, you know that he'd kill you the same as any other wild animal would.

So you run. You feel the underbrush snagging at your comfy pants, scraping against your arms. You gasp for breath through the fear of being caught and force your feet to move.

It's only too bad König is faster than you.

Too bad that when he pounces, it knocks the wind out of you. You hit the ground hard, König's hand covers your face, one claw forcing its way past your lips to pull your head back. You scratch at his wrist, try to tug at his grip as it encircles your head, locking his finger in your mouth, his claw tickling your gag reflex.

His other claw rips through your sweats, tearing them to ribbons. He's silent, focused, the lack of his usual gentle reassurance strikes you colder than the sight of him chasing you. This- this is König right? He didn't just drop you in the middle of the fae wild and leave you, right?

You suck in a breath, your lip wobbling as you feel his other hand force its fingers into your cunt. His fingers are thick, stretching you past comfort as his claws scratch tracks over your thighs. The fingers wiggle, feeling the soft clutch of your walls, testing the limits of your pussy. You whine around the finger down your throat, your pleas muffled as König curls his finger to pull at your lips.

"Shut up," He growls, his fingers crooking to push against your sweet spot as you're dropped unceremoniously onto the forest floor. König's claws cage your head, his palm pressing your cheek into the leaves and twigs, cementing your place under him with an iron grip. His fingers scissor in your cunt, only to pull back when you're barely stretched.

König's cock notches against your pussy. The fat taper of the head just catches against your hole, and you feel yourself clench tight, muscles locking up at the size of it. He pushes it against your resistance, growls when it slips away from your hole. Your hips jump away from him as he skates a sharp tipped claw over your clit, scratching warningly at the sensitive bud before spreading your folds. Again his cock catches and slips out of your hole, too big to fit properly.

König growls, pushes two fingers back into your cunt and spreads them wide, holding you open.

The press of his cock between his fingers makes your breath come quick, your eyes pricking with tears at the splitting stretch. Your fingers scramble to push at him, to dig into the meat of his thighs and force him back.

"Too much," You whine. Fuck, not just too much, "You're gonna tear-"

"So what?" König's voice shudders through you, the cruelty behind it making your head spin, "I'm only taking what I'm owed."

Still, his long tongue slides over the taught skin of your cunt as it stretches around his cock. The barbs catching at the entrance are almost soothed by the loll of his tongue, it doesn't stop the shudder that rolls through you when you feel them grind against your walls. There's no gentleness in the way he forces his cock into you, but there's something almost placating in the way he soothes his tongue and fingers over your tight entrance.

His magic drips thick and viscous down your spine. It rolls, sticky, over your muscles, something to let you stretch to keep you together, does nothing to dull the feeling of König's cock pushing at your cervix. Not even halfway in and he's already nudging that deep aching spot below your stomach.

He pulls out with a growled swear, all those little bumps dragging at your walls as your cunt tries desperately to hold onto him, and pushes back in hard, forcing another few centimeters deeper.

It knocks the wind out of you. Forces a garbled groan past your lips.

Back and forth, pushing himself deeper and deeper with each stroke. Each time he pulls back it strokes against your walls and makes your toes curl. It burns, the stretch of taking something monstrous and unsympathetic to the way you whimper and whine, just at the edge of making you sob. You do sob, feeling König grind his hips against the resistance your body offers. Too many organs in the way for his liking.

If you were anyone else he might do something about that.

"Are you always so tight liebchen?" He asks. There's laughter at the edge of his voice, mirthful in his teasing. He must like the way you choke on the next push of his cock.

There's a tantalizing warmth at the base of your spine. A throbbing behind your clit that begs for attention. An ache that König's cock pushes at again and again.

His hand leaves your head only to wrap around your neck. He hauls you up onto your knees, lets your arms dangle just barely brushing the leaf litter on the floor. It sinks you the last few centimeters onto his cock. You shudder feeling the coarse curls at the base brush your bare skin.

König curls over you, blankets you in moss and vines, pulls you back into fur and musk that makes you woozy to breathe. You can feel the thump of his heart, the deep rumble of his growl like purr, and the tight muscles of his stomach still holding back.

You reach up to tug at the tethers the string from his chest. You want him to fuck you until he can't think anymore, until he stops looking at the forest each time you pass it, until you don't believe he'll leave you anymore.

"Stupid thing," König rumbles, his voice in every tree, in each echo that bounces through your skull, "what point is there catching prey if you don't keep it?"

His hair hangs over you as he curls further, forces you to meet the red glow of his eyes, see the cuts of his teeth. It feels sinister, a law spoken of something already known, a fear draped over your ribs with each sliver of silver that threaded between you.

"You could never get away from me." He tells you.

Your stomach clenches tight, your eyes stuck to his. His claws dig into the fat of your hip, drawing blood beading to the surface as he pulls you up and down his cock. Nothing more than a warm hole, a toy for him to squeeze tight on his cock. You only notice the steady bleed of pleasure that he feeds you.

Numbness cottons your brain. Tips your cup of thoughts over and lets them drain through the wet shlick of your pussy around his cock. Warmth sinks into your muscles, tingles over your folds, throbs around the cock that spears you again and again. What was there outside of this? Some dream of a life lived in solitude when you've always been here. Been this. Been his.

And nothing else.

[risenlikethedead]

@ghouljams FIrst of all: how am I not following you???? Crimes.

Secondly: *taps hand* WHERE. WHERE IS IT. GIVE IT TO MEEE.

Third: I may weep with joy bc this fandom just does not stop winning.

[risenlikethedead]

Speaking of monsters I wanna talk about fae!König's barbed cock

Cw: afab!reader, monster fucking, breeding kink, König being a FREAK

Maybe not barbed enough to hurt on the pullout, but enough to feel them, enough to feel each one drag against your walls and hit every sweet spot like another cockhead. Pushing harder and harder against your walls as König loses control of his shape and starts getting bigger. Finally just pushing inside and grinding against you when your little hole can't stretch any further, when he's worried he's going to tear you in two. Poor you drooling on the mattress while all those neat barbs massage your insides.

He doesn't want to lock you in, let's you wiggle your hips as he pumps you full of magic to accommodate the way he rearranges your insides. Waiting for the first slip of your pussy up his cock, trying to bounce yourself on him, and well, that won't do at all. He can't let you have all the fun, pulling out and letting you feel the drag of those barbs, just at the edge of painful, before pushing back in and starting to carve out space for himself.

Each barb, you could feel them, count them, eak out the channels they dig in your gummy walls in your minds eye. They stimulate every inch of you, push against places you couldn't even dream up. Heat blooms behind your stomach, churning hot and tingly between your legs. Your clit throbs and your cunt clenches on him. You can feel your own tightness in your chest, the burning stretch of accommodating Königs huge cock mixing up the pain and pleasure of the experience. If you didn't have your face pressed into the mattress you might not know which way was up. He churns you up, grinds and thrusts his hips, fills you full to bursting.

Orgasm always takes you by surprise when he does this, always crashes into you. Tight like a vice one moment and the next your legs shake, hips jumps, fingers clawing as you try to scramble aways from the crash of pleasure he rains upon you. Poor thing, caged down by claws and teeth, you cunt still sucking at his cock.

They're meant to stimulate ovulation you know, meant to keep you tied to König's cock while he floods you with enough come to pooch your tummy. Rubbing his claws over your spine and muttering comforts even as spit drips off his teeth, too eager to see you swelling with something else to care that you're shaking on his cock.

[risenlikethedead]

idk brainrot, skull earrings made a comeback though!! ;)

[risenlikethedead]

Hey ghoul? Hey? Hey ghoul? Yeah hi it’s me again. Thanks for that shit!!! Christ!!!! I deeply enjoy a big fuckin man, big hairy????? Big hairy husband???????? Pls pls pls plsplsplsplsls when will it be my turn 😞👉👈

I just KNOW this man has an unhealthy obsession with his wife’s thighs…like gnawing at them till the skin is raw nd then cooing he’ll make it better. Idk idk idk this man is so fucking delicious ghoul what have you done

Price has an obsession with every soft part of his partner, every part that's never seen combat. He kisses your stomach and bites at your thighs, rubs his beard against your palms and squeezes your hips every chance he can get. The man loves his sweet soft baby. He is absolutely enamored with you. He will spend hours with his head in your lap just relaxing and enjoying the way your fingers pluck through his hair. He's just smitten. He never leaves the honeymoon phase, never bothers to even think about it. He keeps flirting and using all his best moves on you because it makes you laugh and swat at him, and you deserve to feel wanted even years into the relationship.

He absolutely marks up your thighs when he's supposed to be licking you. Just too eager to see the bruises form, to feel your plush skin between his teeth, to be that little tinge of violence against your sweetness. You'll never know combat, but that doesn't mean your husband can't rough you up a little bit. He likes seeing you inspecting your thighs in the shower the next morning, or better yet, yelling for him to look at the mess he's made while he's getting his morning cuppa. It's like you keep forgetting he'll take every opportunity to fuck you dumb over any available surface, showing off his marks like the little tease you are. He loves you so much.

[risenlikethedead]

Fae using magic to make their partners bodies adapt when mating is so hot!!! 😩 The thought that it would break them if it wasn't for Fae manipulating their anatomy... screaming crying throwing up

The monster fuckers can come get their juice now, I'm doing monster fucking, size queen, shit.

It should hurt, it should split you open until you scream and sob, but when König pushes his monstrous cock into you it's slick and pulsing. You can't take your eyes off of it, your breath hitching in your chest as he pushes and pushes it into your tight cunt. It must be magic that keeps you from ripping, must be magic that let's your pussy hug his cock like a vice as he eases each inch into you. Not even halfway through and you can tell his cock is starting to bulge out your stomach, you clench around him and a monstrous growl echoes through the forest. He stretches you past what you ever thought possible, squeezes against every soft spot within you, and lets you feel every delicious inch of him. You can feel every vein, the ridge of his bulbous head where it butts against your cervix. Fuck, he's already hit the end, there's no more space for him.

König grinds against you, stirring you with his fat cock and making heat sizzle up your spine. You whine, eyes fixed between your legs at the monster settled inside you, the length left to go. König gives a testing thrust and something in you shifts. You jerk, arch your back with a breathless gasp as your body adjusts for him, forces itself to make room for the cock bigger than your arm. It's like nothing you've ever felt before. You stare, unseeing, at the forest your body wrapping around König like it was made for him as he slides every fat inch into your cunt. Your eyes roll back, you can feel him nudge your ribs, can feel him stretching your shirt and pushing against the already sliced waistband of your pants, god...

His drool drips onto the forest floor, mushrooms sprouting from the decaying leaves where it pools. You can hear the low growl vibrating through his chest, can feel the creak of the claws holding you up, the spread of them, the way his pinky presses against the head of his cock. You look down and whimper at the absolutely destruction that must be coursing through your body, the huge cock magically forced inside of you. You can't bring a single thought to your head, can only do your best to swallow down the greedy drool that fills your mouth, and listen to the wind whispering at the presence of a king. You may as well be a fleshlight in his hands. You can't feel your legs.

König moves you up and down his cock, using you to pleasure himself. You watch the motion of it greedily, fascinated, you must be dead ten times over to be letting this happen. But it doesn't hurt, there's just the warm aching drag of his thick cock against your insides. Each gummy inch of your cunt tries to keep him inside, clenching when he bumps your sensitive spots, making tight heat pool in your stomach. It's such a heavy pressure, unyielding, and deadly the way it shocks pleasure up your spine with each inch of movement. You come on his cock without meaning too, the orgasm too deep and wanting for you to anticipate, it breaks through you and König whines at the squeeze of your walls around him.

"Meine Königin," he rumbles, the very air, the click of his claws and teeth, the rustle of his fur and spines, seem to speak for him, "if you don't relax it's going to hurt."

You take a shaking breath and tip your head back to look up at the monster over you. His eyes are red, his teeth like tombstones. You stick your tongue out for him, your lips parted and your eyes bleary with barely contained tears. He smiles, and dips down to shove his tongue down your throat, the appendage wiggling inhumanly to stretch your poor throat the way his cock has stretched your pussy. He only pulls away when your lungs are starting to burn and your vision is starting to darken at the edges. You suck in a breath as he pulls you up the length of his cock and shoves you back down. The burn of it rips through you, and you scream for the whole forest to hear.

"Little masochist," König chastises, "of course you'd want it to hurt."

[risenlikethedead]

Do you think Fae König would ever indulge in a bit of pred/pray play with his darling? I just see him enjoying a fun chase through the woods

Oh absolutely. It's one of the reasons she won't go out in the woods with him, it almost always ends with her getting mounted on the forest floor. I mean can you imagine how annoying that is?

You're trying to spend a nice day out with König, enjoying the weather as you point out different plants and trees, occasionally a small animal skitters across your path and König's pupils blow wide watching it sniff the air. You turn to snip one little flower from its sprout and suddenly the man is gone. Gone gone. You can't see him anywhere, and it is so goddamn unnerving, but you're not about to wait for him when he can just find you wherever you are.

Of course that's the problem, König will find you wherever you are, and he's more the happy watching you from the trees, stalking close enough to hear you humming you yourself, but never close enough for you to see. He's trying to scare you into running. Trying to make you yelp and squirm and bolt. He grabs you from behind a tree, his claws digging into your hip as he pulls you close, watching you flinch and squirm away from his hold. You swear at him, annoyed with his games, and he lets you go to stumble away. You check the tears in your clothing, look up to glare at him and he's gone. Truly, truly, annoying.

Then he grabs your ankle to trip you, watches you catch yourself on your hands and knees, the forest floor digging into your skin. You're cute when you pout, thinking he can't see it. You start looking around more, start watching your step, watching the trees, his tail flicks excitedly and you turn your head quickly to catch the motion of it in your periphery. Your blood is starting to run hot, anxiety starting to spiderweb across your chest, as you realize how quiet the forest is. Silent in the presence of an apex predator. You feel König's claws ghost over your throat, and turn to yell at him to stop fucking around, but he isn't there. You turn back to your path, your heart hammering in your chest, and König I'd staring you down in all his monstrous glory: his body covered in growth, his face obscured by hair and vine, his fur and spines rustling either the wind his tail whips up. He is huge, and he opens his mouth to let his tongue loll out over the deadly sharp teeth that row his mouth.

You can't do anything but dart back down the path, especially knowing he'll give chase, you have to run. You run so that when he catches you, when he knocks you to the ground and wraps his claws around you, you can feel his cock already throbbing where he slides it between your thighs. It's demeaning the way he has to lift you to be level with his cock, a monster too big to even dream about, solely focused on fucking you like a toy. You can't say you aren't excited by the prospect, that the nervous energy coursing through you doesn't divert south to pool hot between your legs.

He so damn pleased about it. So eager to rut his thick cock against you, showing you exactly how big he is, exactly how he's going to ruin you. Christ he holds you up and the head of his cock bumps against your diaphragm. Your eyes go wide, his claws slipping under the waistband of your pants and slicing a neat line down the back seam.

"There's no way," you choke.

"I will make it fit," König growls, the sharp points of his claws tracing over your cunt, "don't worry."

As if that's what you're worried about.

[risenlikethedead]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C14L6Zmqmcn/?igsh=MzV6d3doZmZqaGgw

That's definitely one of Soap and Moons babies.

The Mactavishes know how to swear as soon as they start talking. As Soap pointed out, it's better that they know how to do it, when it's appropriate, and to not make it something interesting. It's easier to keep kids from swearing around their daycare when they know that it's an "at home" thing. This does not stop your oldest from wrapping her little body in a downy blanket and tramping into the kitchen to announce,

"Am fookin' freezin'," In her little angel baby voice. You watch Soap choke on his coffee, trying not to laugh(laughter is encouragement) at the little burrito wandering closer to you. You crouch down to ask her,

"You're what?" With barely restrained laughter.

"Am fookin' freezin'!" She tells you again more forcefully, "It's colder'n a witch's tit in 'ere."

That gets him. Johnny wheezes, setting his coffee down quick to try and regain his composure as he chokes on his own laughter. You bite your lip to try and keep your smile down. The laughter draws your daughter's attention and she waddles over to Johnny, extracting a hand from her blanket cocoon to pat his arm.

"Daddy," She whines, and Johnny manages to get himself together enough to scoop her up and onto his lap.

"Where'd you hear that?" He asks, wiping tears from his eyes.

"You said it the other day," Your little angel tells him. Johnny bites down a smile and avoids making eye contact with you.

"Aye, sounds like me."

[risenlikethedead]

Thoughts:

Fae!Koenig is about the hunt and the wilderness and wild animals, right? And he loves claiming Leibling, right?

So, hear me out;

He's fucking Leibling, chest pressed against her back, panting and growling harshly as drool drips from his lips onto her shoulders.

His hands are clenched into fists on the bed/bench/whatever-surface-he's-managed-to-bend-her-over-this-time in front of her. Liebling can hardly breathe he's so deep.

And it feels so good. Better than normal, even. Something about the air getting hot and humid around them, she swears she can smell the forest and taste his musk.

His glamour is slipping, blurring her vision until all she can see is him, filling up every crack. And his Fae powers must be influencing her because she's never felt like this before. Feral. Animal. Wild.

He's muttering something now, pressed so firmly against her she swears they're melting together, his mouth - God, his mouth - moving against her ear. It's not English. But she doesn't think it's German, either. The syllables sound too fluid for human tongues, and yet as he babbles on she starts to parse some of it. Groaned praise. "You going to come for me?". "Going to give you everything." "Going to give you all of me,"

Something about that last phrase echoes in her mind like bells, but she can't focus on the concern because suddenly she's coming, and he's filling her up, flooding her with his hot, searing seed.

It's too much, she opens her mouth but can't muster any sound to come out. Instead, she twists her head, pulling away from him - if she were in her right mind she'd notice how unnatural the movement is, how a human body can't accommodate that kind of flexibility - and lunges forward.

Konig shouts, moans, and then howls, tapering off into a keen that she can feel vibrating against her tongue in his vocal chords as a second spurt of cum fills her. Her teeth are in his neck, something that should only barely be possible for a human, but impossible for whatever he is.

Whatever self control Konig uses to keep his form somewhat tangible snaps. His corporeal form melts away but she doesn't lose track of where he is. In fact it's the opposite, as her every senses are flooded with him.

Her delayed mind starts to catch up, registering the taste of something in her mouth and immediately questioning everything.

How was that possible?

Is he okay?

...Could they do that again?

But Konig seems too far gone to even care. As she tries to pull away his inconceivable form encompasses her senses to press her deeper, inciting another trickle of... fluid? Was it fluid? into her mouth. It was usually hard to focus on his true visage when he let it slip but for some reason this time she could parse it. Her brain occasionally translating whatever input it could into terms her human mind could understand, and she knew that his eyes - wherever they were - would be rolled into the back of his skull.

Fluid leaked into her from both ends and, seeing that Konig didn't seem hurt, she succumbed to the instincts and clamped her teeth down tighter. Konigs essence rutting into her in response. Clenching her jaw she shook her head to tear the seems she'd split into his being further apart, relishing in the way he welcomed it.

Idk just something about Konig being so desperate to be marked in turn. After whatever freaky shit manages to subside you just know he's not gonna shut up about his mark. Gonna be flaunting that shit like a diamond crown.

I'm in love with you.

You don't have the mind for it, the comprehension of everything fucked out of you so handily that thinking of anything but König is impossible. As if you'd want to, consumed as you are by him. He's never been this big before, never pressed so much fur against you, never threatened with such length claws. He's never filled you to the point you can't tell where he ends and you begin. You've never not been yourself. You don't think you are yourself.

You only exist in the wet twisting pleasure that König brings you, in the cock that hammers deep in your stomach, in the swish of König's tail and the click of his spines, in the deep rumbling purr that he tries to quiet you with. You're going to wake the whole forest like this, but... maybe that would be good. Let them see their king claiming his queen, filling you with him. Let them see the marks on you, the come that drips from your hole with each thrust of his cock, the way your eyes roll back in your head and you grasp uselessly at the ground.

Let them see you're really just as bad as him. Just as fuck drunk and stupid, biting every spec of him you can get your mouth on. And there's something so strange in the way your back bends like a green twig, the dirt and earth of the wild popping with tiny flowers and sprigs of grass, green bites of spring in the red and yellow foliage of fall. Your teeth feel sharper, itch in a way you're not used to. König's blood, which once had tasted so horrible, drips like nectar on your tongue, honeysuckle sweet.

He forces you back down to the earth, growls and groans, blood falling around your head and staining the dirt. You feel and he feels, too wrapped up in each other to care about the magic the swirls and digs its claws into you. You're König's and that's all that matters. You smile when he comes in you, another shot of his thick come filling you full and barely contained by his cock stretching you out.

It's a problem when you come out of your haze and König is still bleeding, looking terribly pleased with the solid imprint threatening his carotid. Jesus Christ you could have killed him, you sort of think you were trying to kill him. A praying mantis biting off the head of her mate.

The doctors at the ER ask too many questions.