#How To Get Rid Of Deep Dirt On Skin

[writingangst]

Russian Roulette

Summary: Simon Riley takes notice that the reader has a specific way of reloading her gun, which results in him being paranoid to the point he misreads the situation.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: violence, angst, cursing, torture, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 2.3K

This was a prompt from Character.AI by user @/kstzii and I had to make this account to post because it really hit the angst spot for me. Hopefully, it does the same for you.

The echo from your sniper rifle was stifled by its silencer as you scored another bullseye. You felt someone's gaze burn into the back of your head. But once you turned, you couldn't see anyone. Must've been my imagination. You reassured yourself as you went back to attempt another shot. No bullets. You quickly reload and reposition yourself to fire off another round.

“What the hell was that?” Your lieutenant's voice called out. You swiftly turned to him. “Reload again.”

“What?” You were caught off guard, the slight hint of a Russian accent slipping out. Shit. You instantly clear your throat to switch back to your usual British accent.

“Are you deaf? I said reload again!” He repeats, his voice booming.

You rearange yourself from your position lying on your stomach, onto your knees, the head of your riffle touching the dirt beneath you. You look at him through slightly narrowed eyes. “Now, why would I reload when I just switched to a perfectly good mag?”

His jaw clenched. You noticied how he was trying to hold himself back. He did this often. You were sharp with your tongue and tended to use it on him often. In more ways than one. Though this time, he didn’t quite seem like he was enjoying it.

“You know exactly what I mean. That was a Russian reload,” he crossed his arms over his chest, the veins in his arms were prominent. It brought you back… No. This was serious.

You laughed it off, seeming unbothered. You were cool. Calm. Collected. Everyone knew you weren’t one to be thrown off your game easily. But this certainley was doing just that. You weren’t about to let him see that though.

With a scoff, you turn your back to him to get a better hold of your gun. “I reckon you haven’t slept, Lieutenant. Could be playing tricks on your sight.”

“I know exactly what I saw,” his tone was cold, but with his clenched fists you knew this was a ticking time bomb. “Do. It. Again.” He ordered in a firm tone. It left no room for any arguments.

You’re stagnant only slightly. There was uneasiness in your stomach at what this could mean. You knew Simon, and you knew Ghost. This was the latter, but you weren’t going to let this play out the way he wanted it to.

“And if not?” You challenge as you turned towards him, eyes sincere as you looked deep into his conflicted ones. “This gonna end in friendly fire?”

In long strides he stepped forward, coming to a halt right in front of you. He pulled you up by your elbow, but you never lost your grip on your weapon. With him being 6’4, you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye. His towering frame was imposing, making you feel small.

He leaned closer, just like he had so many times before. His body only a few inches from yours, but instead of it having the burning effect it usually did, now you were just feeling uncomfortable with the interaction. He was doing this on purpose. He was trying to intimidate you.

“What do you have to lose?” He countered, his voice low, a rumble to his chest.

You took it as a challenge.

With a clenched jaw, you took a step back from him as he severed his grip on your skin. You rid of the magazine wedged within your sniper and your eyes never leave his as you do so. Taking another mag from your tactical gear, you shift to do a simple tactical reload.

He watched you intently, his eyes glued to your every move. You didn’t break a single swet. And even though it seemed like something inherently intimate, you knew it was everything but. Once you finished and kept your straight face on him, he stepped towards you again.

He looked pissed as his eyes flickered to the mag that you just placed into your gun.

“That…” he stated through gritted teeth, gripping your chin with force between his thumb and his forefinger. You were forced to look at him head on. “…isn’t a British reload. Now tell me, who are you really?”

“I��m a simple sniper, sir,” you reply without skipping so much as a beat. “I was chosen for this task because of my outstanding sniper skills.”

Silence ensued.

Then you continued. “But you knew that already. You read my file,” you hissed back at him. “And you’ve trained with me for months, been in my bed, so what exactly are we implying here, Lieutenant?”

He kept his grip on your chin, his fingers digging into your skin. You noticed how he continued to get frustrated that nothing was out in the open like he previously thought it was. He expected you to be defiant, not secretive. A piece was missing and he was paranoid. Something wasn’t right.

Suddently, you’re smashed against the closest tree and your rifle was hitting the ground. You wince as a gruff pained noise falls from your lips once the air is knocked out of you. His vast hand squeezed your neck. Not enough to cut your air supply. Yet. But enough for it to be uncomfortable to breath. There was a sense of betrayal in his eyes and you knew he had assumed the worst.

“You’re a lying Russian spy,” he murmured into your ear with such force you thought you’d faint.

You struggled against him. “I am not Russian, nor am I a spy,” you rasp out as best you can, but you feel him crushing your windpipe. You wouldn’t lie to yourself. You feel hurt. He was one of the closest people you had since joining the 141 task force. Which made you angry. That’s when hurt vacated to make room for the feeling of deception. “But I will not explain myself to you when I have a job to do.”

You attempted to push him off but he was stronger and bulkier than you, making it almost impossible. You understood there that there would be no reasoning with him. Sleep deprivation and high stress levels were obvious indicators of this. You both had been on the field for days, and he had been the one doing most of the lookouts in order for you to get a bit of shuteye. You won’t be a good shot with heavy lids, sweetheart. He once said to you.

“What were you sent to do, huh?” He asked, his voice had lost its edge and now he just sounded distant. “Spy? Assassinate me?”

“Paranoid motherfucker,” you hissed, holding onto his forearm to steady yourself against his grip. “Screw you.”

His eyes narrowed, his grip loosening only slightly. “You sound surprised. You can’t honestly tell me that you expected me to not investigate the mysterious sniper with a Russian reload and accent?”

“And I’m almost certain you couldn’t find a Goddamn thing about anything and that’s why you got me cornered,” you stated as a matter of fact. “I’m not whoever the hell you think I am, and this paranoia is serving to have this mission go south if you don’t let me get to my gun.”

He laughed this time. Honestly, laughed.

You scrunched up your nose. Fuck you, Ghost.

“You don’t think I have dirt on you, sweetheart? I have files on you, more than you can count. I know you, better than you think,” he paused for a second. “I know your weaknesses, likes, dislikes. Everything.”

You laugh bitterly. “I don’t doubt that. Hey, I even had a hand in the shit you know because I trusted you. That still doesn’t mean you know jack shit about what happened in Russia. You’re so inclined? Ask Price!”

“I asked Price!” His hand gave your neck a quick squeeze and you saw how his body trembled. “He didn’t know a damn thing. Said your file was locked and he was denied access. Now why the hell would that be, huh?”

You snorted. “He said that to protect me. I had the whole record wiped. None of this concerns you, Lieutenant. We all went through shit, and you think you’re the only one that’s allowed to be a ghost? Fuck you!”

His eyes narrowed at your words. “Why would he protect you if you have nothing to hide? That makes no sense and you know it.”

“Because my trauma is my trauma! And you have no business budding into it!” 

“And if it’s something that could jeopardize the entire task force?” He muttered, his patience wearing thin. “If it could get everyone killed?”

“You’re an idiot if you think Price would let me anywhere near this damn task force if he considered me a risk,” your voice was cool, but your heart was thumping in your chest. You attempting one last shove that surprisingly caused him to let go. You wheezed when the pressure was off your trachea and you coughed to catch your breath. 

He watched you silently.

Once you composed yourself, you looked back at him as you held your neck. “I thought we were fucking friends, Ghost.”

“Friends?!” He spat exasperatedly. “You really think I would consider you my friend when I know you’re lying? You think I make friends with people I don’t trust?” His eyes were cold, his tone cruel and bitter. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes for the simple deceit.”

Aside from the pain emitting from your neck, there was a hollow ache in your chest that was capturing your attention as well. You would relive the trauma if that would mean getting the job done. But when it came to Simon Riley, he was as good as dead to you.

“I was held hostage by Russian forces for 18 months.”

His stance faltered at that. You don’t think you had ever seen him lose his footing like he had in that instance. And his eyes… Christ, he had never changed his expression so fast. What the hell was that? Pity? He could go screw himself.

You continued. “Anything you can think of in torture, triple that. What kept me alive for so long was the fact they wanted to use me. The only way I got out of the constant abuse was the training. So excuse me if I picked up on a thing or two. Even the Godawful accent that creeps into the British one,” you cleared your throat. “I’m not your enemy, Ghost. But you’re right. I’m not your damn friend either.”

As you explained your past, his eyes never left yours as he listened carefully. He expected many things, but he hadn’t taken into consideration you being a literal prisoner to Russian forces. For once in his life, he was speechless. The thought that you had lived through a year and a half of torture at the hands of the Russians was something he could barely imagine.

His gaze had softened, but he hardened again when something wasn’t clicking for him. “Doesn’t explain why your file is locked.”

You snorted humorlessly. “Ever heard of Price’s little sister?”

His eyes widened at the mention of her. The captain was hush hush about the matter, but it was a well known fact he had family within the military. And that she was KIA some time ago. “What about her?”

“You’re looking at her.”

Those were the last words he expected to come out of your mouth. Shock and surprise flashed behind his mask as he finally realized what this meant.

“You’re…” He paused, trying to process the bomb that just exploded in his face. “You’re Price’s sister?”

“In the flesh,” you replied with the same cold tone he had been using earlier with you. “You’re not the only one trying to be ghost. You’ve just never been questioned by the task force on it like you just did to me.” 

What could he say to that?

“I took a bullet for you, Lieutenant,” you reminded him. “What fucking spy does that for the opposite team?”

His jaw clenched and you saw how his mask flexed due to it. His eyes showed how he replayed that memory in his head. It was something he thought about constantly. You had saved him, and he hadn’t seen it coming. He had been so focused on you being a spy that he hadn’t stopped to consider that you were actually on his side.

“I never should have questioned you,” he admitted, his voice quiet as he met your gaze again.

Your hand shot up to stop him from saying anything else on the matter. “It’s done. We’re done here.”

He watched as you walked away to pick up your gun, his mind racing with thoughts but they were too fast for his tongue. He knew he had messed up. He had completely misjudged the situation with the accusations thrown at you when in reality your connection to the task force was stronger than even his.

The irony in the situation wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t find it funny.

“Wait,” He sighed, taking strides to catch up to you.

“This is unprofessional, Lieutenant,” you stated, dusting off your weapon as you checked for any malfunctions. “We’re in the middle of an active operation. I’m done talking.”

He exhaled a frustrated sigh as you dismissed his attempt at talking to you. He knew you were right, that the mission was what mattered now. But he couldn’t help the feeling that he needed to apologize. It was clawing at his chest, the emotion raw in his throat, asking to be let out in word vomit.

“You can’t honestly expect us to just ignore what happened and continue on like normal?”

Silence followed.

You didn’t even look at him.

“Go back to being Ghost, because Simon Riley is fucking dead to me.”

[lovebugism]

hi!! could you write shy!reader where Eddie bumps into the new kid at school and she gets hurt? I’m a sucker when it comes to Eddie doting on people 🙈

i tried to be so normal about this request but then proceeded to write 2k words for it so... hope you like it lol :D — the hawkins high freak takes the new girl under his wing after they run into each other. literally. (shy!r, meet ugly-ish, hurt/comfort, 2.2k)

You clutch a paper schedule in a pair of anxious hands, squinting to see through the scribbles there. Three boys in bright green lettermans made a total mess of it — writing directions in chicken scratch and doodling a sloppy map of the school over your classes. They said they were helping you, but really they’ve just turned you all around.

Fallen leaves crunchbeneath your feet as you walk past the vacant football field. West of the bleachers and down the dirt trail, the stranger with a harsh jawline and quaffed blonde hair told you. His directions lead you directly to a half-decrepit building in the thick of the woods. A strange spot for a biology lab.

You’re trying to make sense of the scrawled notes on your syllabus — eyes narrowed, and chin tilted downward — when you run into something tall and firm. You don’t hit the warm body hard enough to fall, but stumble back in fear enough to slip on the dewy grass. Like a cartoon character and a banana peel, you land comically on your ass.

“Shit. Sorry,” the towering stranger grimaces. “Didn’t see you there.”

Your wrists start to sting, burdened with the weight of catching your fall. “It’s okay…” you tell him anyway. ‘Cause everything’s always okay. Even when it isn’t. 

A ringed hand enters your vision then — lanky, pale, and tattooed. “Here. Let me help you up.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “I got it.”

Your jaw clenches tight as you rise on your feet. The slippery mud threatens to pull you down again. Your wrists throb with a dull and distant ache. You stand, despite all that, before the stranger you’d stumbled into the back of. 

Eddie watches you wipe your dirt-covered palms together with a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t have a clue who you are, but he’s getting a few ideas now. You’re a strong, stubborn, and shy little thing. Pretty, too. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he cautions with his palms spread awkwardly in front of him. He wants to make sure you’re alright, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Strong, stubborn, shy, and definitely skittish, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head again, finally glancing at the boy looming before you. His curls are dark and untamed, billowing in the early spring breeze. His deep chocolate eyes match the color of the frizzy strands — both equally as wild as the smile he looks at you with.

Your breath catches suddenly in your throat. You hadn’t expected to bump into him, of course, but you expected even less for him to be so pretty.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say okay,” he interjects before you can start. His plush lips quirk in a genuine smile a second later, to show he’s only joking.

You swallow hard, still hopelessly trying to rid the mud from your aching palms. “I’m… I’m— I’m fine.”

The boy scoffs a faint laugh. “Here. Let me see.”

He takes your wrists in his hands before you can protest. His fingers are long, gentle, and strangely warm as he brushes the mud off your scrapped skin — hardly flinching when it dirties his own. 

He wipes his palms on his jeans after, never minding how it stains the denim. Then he reaches a leather-clad arm behind you and plucks a leaf gently from your hair. He flicks it to the ground again.

“There,” he grins. “Good as new.”

“Thanks…” you sigh, voice wavering from a reason you can’t name.

“Why haven’t I seen you around before?”

“‘Cause I’m… I’m new.”

“Explains why you’re all the way out here,” he jokes. Most people only come around this side of the football field to buy weed off him, and you don’t exactly seem like the type. His chocolate eyes narrow. “You lost?”

You shift on your feet, feeling suddenly very silly about the whole thing. You’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to take advice from a bunch of jocks and hardly bat an eye when they lead you in the exact opposite direction. You’re too trusting for your own good. It’s embarrassing.

“I was, uh— I was just trying to follow this map, but…” you wave the paper in your clammy hand. “I think it just made me more lost.”

Eddie reaches out a ringed hand and takes the schedule from you when you hand it over. His face scrunches softly together as he squints at the sloppy scribbles. You can’t tell if he’s confused or if he needs glasses. Maybe both.

He can hardly make sense of the directions. And the map was designed in a very obvious attempt to confuse you — the sweet, shy girl who’s never stepped foot here before. Something redhot simmers in his chest ‘cause he can’t imagine doing this to someone. Finding someone who obviously needs help and doing them over for a couple measly laughs.

It’s got Jason Carver and the Dick Brigade written all over it. Literally.

“Who gave this to you?” he asks anyway, just to be sure.

You blink up at him with a pair of doe eyes, gaze glimmering with innocence. “Um… A couple of basketball players, I think. They were wearing lettermans, so…”

“Fucking Carver,” the boy grumbles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing…” he sighs. “Here. C’mon. Let’s go.” 

“Where— Where are we…” you mutter in a mousy voice, trailing off when he stomps past you. You get a faint whiff of floral shampoo and woodsy cologne as he goes. Less inclined to stay alone in the unfamiliar forest, you decide to follow behind him. “O-Okay…”

You fight to keep up with his considerably longer strides as the stranger leads you back towards the school. His dark eyes flit over your schedule, squinting to see past the messy lettering covering the typeface. 

“No point in making it to your third period,” he announces suddenly, swinging the heavy metal door open with a ringed hand. The rusted hinges squeak in protest when he holds it open for you with his foot. You slide in past him. He walks on ahead of you again, letting the thing slam shut behind him.

“Why?” you ask the back of him, voice wavering.

“‘Cause you’re already fifteen minutes late. And take it from me— Mr. Kaminsky hates when people are late,” Eddie tells you, flashing you a stern look over his shoulder. “Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”

Your brows pinch as your face swirls with a distant panic. You couldn’t conceal your worry if you tried. The gravity of it all hits you, then — the fact that you’re following a stranger you ran into (in the most literal sense of the phrase), who’d previously been half-hidden away in the forest behind the school.

It’s all a bit odd when you think about it. This. Him. You. 

But this strange boy, dripping in silver and all black, is the very first person to show you an ounce of kindness all day. You don’t know why you’re following him so blindly — only that you don’t mind it as much as you should.

“Okay. So. Uh… Where are we— Where are we going, then?” you squeak behind him.

“Right here,” he answers, stopping short in the middle of the hallway. 

Still a few paces back, you don’t hopelessly bump into the back of him like you did before. You watch with wide and curious eyes as he wraps a pale hand around a rusted door knob. The heavy wooden entrance squeals when he opens it.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” the boy jokes with a crooked grin. Everything about the pink expression glitters with mischief. He flicks on the light switch, letting the flourescent lights buzz on in protest. “Well, not abode— I don’t live here, but… You get it.”

The room smells overwhelmingly teenage boy. A mixture of cologne, sweet soda, and sweat. Most of the chairs have been stacked on top of each other and pushed to the edge of the room to make space for the long wooden table in the center. Binders, notebooks, and miscellaneous figurines sit scattered on a gameboard.

“Is that D&D?” you wonder quietly.

Eddie lights up at the question. “You play?” he asks as he saunters to the desk shoved in the very back corner of the room.

His excitement makes you regret your answer. 

“No…” you waver, then quickly follow. “But I’ve— I’ve heard about it.”

“I’m president of the Hellfire club,” he tells you, nodding to the poster on the wall. The demon in the center of it isn’t nearly as intimidating when you can tell it’s handmade. “You should join.”

The boy eyes you expectantly as he rounds the metal desk. You shift your weight on your feet and wring your clammy hands together. He tilts his chin to his chest and peers at you from underneath his lashes. “Think about it?” he presses.

You nod once. “Sure.”

He ducks down then, out of view behind the bulky desk. You stand awkwardly in place while the boy rummages through the drawers. “Ah, here we go…” you hear him murmur after a few moments — followed by a dull thud when he bangs his head. “Shit!” he swears under his breath before rising to his feet again.

You hide your smile behind your scrapped palm as he walks back over to you. His cheeks glow faintly pink as he rubs the crown of his head with his hand — the one not clutching a first-aid kit. “Here. Shit down. Let me look at your hands,” he urges, still worried about you despite his throbbing skull.

You shake your head rapidly in response. You’re not used to being doted on like this — or at all, really — but especially not from a metalhead, wild-haired, pretty-faced stranger. “No. I’m— I’m okay.”

His chocolate eyes go wide and softly stern. They glimmer playfully down at you as his brows raise behind his fluffy bangs. “What we’d just talk about?” he teases.

You swallow down the rest of your protests. “Right…”

You sit in the chair adjacent to the one at the head of the table. The cheap plastic is a stark contrast to the heavy wooden throne the stranger descends upon — with a sort of ease that tells you he sits there often.

He digs into the opened first-aid kit and pulls out a bandaid for you. He fumbles with the packaging for a moment before ripping it open with his teeth. 

“It’s okay not to be okay, you know?” he tells you, mostly muffled until he spits out the paper in his mouth. It lands on the floor at his feet, but he doesn’t seem inclined to pick it up. “Tell me I’m a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

Your face screws in offense. “I wasn’t—”

“I’m teasing,” he interjects softly, peering at you with a pair of button eyes. “Even though I am a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going.” He takes your palm between his warm and gently calloused ones. He smooths the large bandage over the raging scrape below your thumb with an impossibly delicate touch. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Again.”

“It was my fault,” you murmur, gaze averted to the boy’s kind hands — at the six tiny bats tattoed in the junction of his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s just a scrape, anyway, I can handle it.”

“Agree to disagree,” the boy says with a lopsided smile, brushing his thumb over the bandage to smooth it out. He gives your fingers a small squeeze before he parts from you. “There you good. Good as new.”

Your hands buzz with the longing to feel him again. You bring both of them to your lap, wrenching your fingers into a knot and hoping your face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “Thank you…” you murmur, trailing off when you realize you don’t know the kind stranger’s name.

“Eddie,” he finishes for you.

“…Eddie.”

“You can stay in here with me if you want,” he offers with a nonchalant shrug — trying to be cool despite his thundering heart. “Third period’ll be over in, like, twenty minutes. I can walk you to your next class— you know, make sure all the freaks leave you alone.”

You purse your lips to the side of your mouth in attempts to hide the beam tugging there. It only halfway works. “That’d be great,” you tell him in a mousy voice. “Thank you…”

Eddie swallows hard and leans forward again. You can smell the nicotine on his breath and the musky cologne on his neck. His face hardens into a gently solemn look. 

“And don’t… Don’t hang around Jason Carver and his goons anymore, okay?” he tells you, sounding like he’s half-pleading. “Those assholes that fucked with your schedule? They’re bad news.”

Feeling like he must know this better than anyone else, you nod firmly in response. “Okay,” you answer, though it comes out in a whisper when the word gets caught in your throat. Something about having Eddie to you is making your body go all funny. It’s weird.

“Stick with me, okay?” the boy smiles, pink and pretty and petaled, as he slouches back onto his throne again. “I’ll take care of you.”

[ghostskiss]

Handle It

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader WC: 5.1k Summary: Reader is taking a shower and someone decides to crash the party. Warnings: 18+ Exhibitionism (risk of getting caught), shower sex (kinda), SUB SIMON, teasing, begging, sub to dom to…sub, finger sucking, oral, fingering, penetration, overstimulation, spit, creampie

Hot water beads down your back. Well, maybe that’s a bit too generous. It’s hardly trickling out of the showerhead above you, and the water’s lukewarm at best. But it feels great, your eyes are closing, your muscles are relaxing, and you almost forget that it’s a communal shower. That anyone could walk in and join you at another showerhead, there’s several in here, meant to get a group of people clean to save time. Time’s important in the military, you know this. So does everyone else, but there’s an unspoken rule. If someone’s in the showers, you don’t join unless absolutely necessary.

Which is why you’re allowing yourself this moment. You’d announced to the group that you were hitting the showers after the operation. And true to your word, as soon as you’d stepped out of the vehicle, you beelined it to the building. Soap joked about joining you, earning a punch from someone in result. You hadn’t cared to look behind you to confirm who it was, instead you’d waved a hand over your shoulder, acknowledging that you’d heard him, but wasn’t threatened by his constant yet harmless flirts. It was how you two communicated. It was a nice break in the violence and mayhem Task Force 141 found yourselves in. Even if Ghost and Price rolled their eyes at the banter, you could tell it eased their nerves at times. It’s hard to hold onto humanity when you see the worst of it day end and day out.

Getting the bar of soap into your hands, you rub it against your skin, ridding yourself of the dirt and grime from today’s work. It’s normal to get dirty doing what you do, and yet no matter how you wash yourself, it feels as though you’re never clean. You’d scrubbed your skin raw once, after a mission, coming out of the showers with irritated skin. Still. You were never clean. Today didn’t feel like that. The operation went well. There was no killing, no torture, and for once, it was an easy day. You want to savor this feeling, knowing that today went right, how relaxing the water is, feeling somewhat clean despite the past.

A knock rings through the showers, bouncing off the walls. The soap slips through your fingers as you jump with sound, the relaxing feeling you had now long gone. The knock has authority to it. It has impatience. Gritting your teeth, you rinse off quickly before turning the knob to shut the water off. You leave the poor soap on the ground, moving to the cement wall separating the showers from the door of the building.

“What?” You call out, a little irritated. Sure, you’d been in here for a bit longer than normal. But it was the one time you’d actually felt…nice.

A deep voice from behind the closed door comes to you. You resist an urge to roll your eyes. Ghost.

“Been in there a bit. Other people would like to clean themselves before heading in for the night.”

This, you do roll your eyes at. He’s right. You’re hogging the shower, but there’s an unspoken…thing you have against Ghost. He’s stoic and a bit miserable to be around if you’re being honest. He’s too serious, all the time, he never likes to have fun, and if you and Soap are going back and forth, he’s got to voice his displeasure. You secretly think he’s jealous. You think that he either is jealous of the relationship you have with Soap, or he’s jealous of Soap. Probably the former since you two can hardly stand each other.

Sighing out, you cross your arms over your naked chest. Right, you’d almost forgotten where you were.

“Well,” you start out, a bit snarky, “there’s always room, Lt.”

You’re joking, obviously, already moving to wrap a towel around your body. Without waiting for whatever response your lieutenant is trying to muster up, you cross the space from the cement wall to the door, hand gripping the handle to wrench it open.

There he is, in all his glory, towering over you. He’s ditched the mask he wears in operations or important meetings, donning his comfortable skulled balaclava. In fact, he’s changed out of most of his gear. Bare hands, black Henley shirt rolled up to his elbows. Of course, his lower half is clothed in his usual black pants, and he still has his boots on. Yet he looks more naked and vulnerable than you do in your little white towel. He looks at a loss of words.

A playful look crosses your features, a smirk teasing your lips as you prop a hand on your hip. Before you can get a word out, Ghost shifts forward quickly with a grumble tumbling out of his chest, pushing you back into the building with his presence alone. You frown a bit as you move backwards to accommodate his size as the door behind him closes you both in, confused as he glares down at you.

“Christ, could you not waltz around in nothing but bloody a towel?”

Another attempt to not roll your eyes comes over you. “What’re you, shy? It’s not like I’m completely naked.” You gesture at yourself; it’d be as if you were wearing a strapless dress. Granted, the towel is tiny, you’re wet from the shower, and you’re definitely not wearing any panties. Still, you had no idea Ghost was such a prude.

“Really?” Ghost’s gaze trails hotly down the front of your body. Suddenly your face feels hot. He’s never once looked at you like this. Like he’d…

A shaky breath escapes you before you laugh it off, “If you can’t handle me in a towel after shower, I doubt you’d be able to handle being around me in the actual showers.” You jerk a thumb over your shoulder as you watch his gaze follow it behind you. He can see the room of showers over the wall. You think you see his jaw clench under his mask.

This is bad. You’re jokingly teasing him the way you and Soap talk. This is uncharted territory, and you’re not sure you can keep the act up. With Soap, it’s harmless fun. You both know you’re not interested in each other. It’s easy to try to get a reaction out of each other, to see who says the most ridiculous shit first. It’s a stupid game. With Ghost, it’s dangerous. It’s nerve wrecking. It’s serious because he’s serious.

Suddenly he’s looking back down at you. You try not to fidget as you stare back at him. You can’t read him. You’re about to talk to break whatever this tension is, about to tell him the showers are his.

“No, I probably can’t.”

Did his voice drop an octave? Why was it making your skin heat? What was going on right now? You feel like your brain is malfunctioning. Your gaze drops down to the broad slope of his shoulders, and down his frame, distracted a bit. Of course, he’s attractive. You’d be insane to not think so. Even if you’ve never seen his face. It’s the way he holds himself, it’s the way he’s built, it’s his damned voice, and his eyes and everything else. But he’s your lieutenant for Christ’s sake. He’s mean sometimes. He’s ruthless, a brute, a –

“Let me see. I want to try. To… handle it.”

You freeze, eyes shooting back up to his. “You -?”

His chin dips to your towel, “Take it off.”

For a moment, you’re both watching each other. Ghost’s got his eyes on yours, unwavering. He’s really serious about this, you realize. Your thighs are clenching together now, trying to relieve the ache. You were joking, you think, about him not handling it in the showers. Now you’re thinking maybe you’re the one who can’t.

Shakenly, your hands raise to the knot tied at your breast. Your actions stop for a moment, silently waiting for him to tell you to stop. The command never comes. You can’t believe you’re doing this, bearing yourself for your broody and moody higher up. For him. All because you don’t want to back out on what you started. Suddenly, you want to prove him wrong. That he can’t handle it. That you’re not affected at all by his words or actions, or more importantly his inactions. The towel drops.

It’s loud with how silent it is in the room. Who knew a damp towel could be so loud? Your gaze doesn’t leave his, holding it, even as you stand bare in front of him. A smirk quirks your lips. He’s avoiding looking at you. That’s how he thinks he can move around the situation at hand.

Testing him, your hand brushes against your own collarbone, trailing slowly -- tantalizingly slow. Still, his eyes never wander from your own. So, this is how you could play games with Ghost. It’ll be fun to see him break.

“You’re not looking,” you start, stating the obvious.

“Never said I had to. Only said that I could handle being around you.” He shrugs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he won the game.

You laugh a little at that, and watch his eyes ever so slightly dip to your lips before coming back up to your eyes. Your own hands are wandering your body now, groping a bit at your chest. His hands clench at his sides.

“Are you going to take a shower, Lt?” A breathless noise leaves you as you ask, your fingers pinching one of your nipples. Fuck him. You’re so turned on right now it’s ridiculous. He doesn’t have to look. Just the thought of being here in front of him while he’s fully clothed doing this, while the two of you are alone and anyone could walk in –

“No. And quit that.” He growls out, knocking your hand away from your breast. He still hasn’t looked, but you’re guessing he’s getting a view from his peripherals.

“Quit what?” You feign innocence, your hand that’d been knocked away now dips in between your thighs eliciting a soft moan from your lips. “You said you’d try. If you’re not going to take a shower, you can watch.”

Ghost has no words for you now, his pupils dilating before your very eyes. Spreading your legs a bit wider to get a better reach on yourself, you continue. Slow pressing circles on your clit, your arousal slicking loudly in the air. Your free hand goes back up to your tits, to continue groping, pinching, pulling.

Finally, he breaks. He breaks when your pussy squelches around your own fingers, his burning gaze trailing down your body to the hand that’s pulling such noises out of you. A groan sets loose from him, and you shudder from the mere sound.

“Kneel.”

Ghost’s eyes shoot back up to yours in question.

“Kneel, I said. You can get a better look.” Your tone is set in stone. Despite the burning ache you’ve got, the need for him to touch you, you feel in control.

He hesitates for a moment before lowering himself down to the ground, knees pressing against the cement. His eyes have yet to leave yours.

“You can look but don’t touch.” Your breath hitches, arousal seeping into your very being seeing him like this. Listening to your commands. You watch his hands clench on his thighs, his attention going back to your pussy. Your breath hitches at his stare, feeling the heat of it. He doesn’t have to touch for you to feel his attention. It’s making you sloppy, messy, and wet. You keen, a brief thought of asking him to touch you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Staring down at him as your fingers continue to tease yourself, you watch him just as intently as he’s watching you. He seems fixated. You wonder if he’s drooling in his own mask. The front of his pants looks tight. His hands are clenching and unclenching on his thighs, his shoulders shuddering when you make a noise in the back of your throat. You watch him tense as you ease a finger in yourself. Your clit is throbbing, aching, begging for attention, you’re teasing yourself just as much as you’re teasing him. Slowly pumping the one finger in yourself, you press another one in, mewling out as your hips buck a little upward.

“Let me taste you.” He rushes out suddenly. Ghost’s voice is gravel, scrapping across your body. Your head nearly tips back at the sound of it, another pitiful noise leaving your mouth.

 Stay strong. Stay strong. You shake your head, unable to give him an actual answer as your fingers create a devastatingly slow pace, slick coating your fingers and thighs.

“Fuck. What’ll take? Let me taste you.” He’s demanding now, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the material over his thighs.

You pant, trying not to stammer. “Beg.” It comes out stronger than you feel right now. Core burning with the need to come.

“Please.” He grits out through his teeth, angry eyes coming up to your glassy ones.

“You don’t sound sincere.” You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head again. Your fingers pause, coming out to press softly against your clit. If you press any harder, you have no doubt you’ll come. You don’t want to give it to him yet. Ghost watches the action, a growl coming from him.

“Please,” he tries again, looking back up at you to see if it was good enough. It’s not and you tsk at him. “Please, let me taste your pussy. Let me put my mouth on you. Please.”

The last plead is strained, almost a whine. Your fingers dip back in, curling as you pump them again. Your head falls forward a bit with a whine of your own and you try to gather your bearings. “How are you going to taste me with your mask on?”

Quickly, he tugs it upward, only exposing his mouth. Christ. His mouth. He’s got a scar running down his lips. His jaw is clenched, and you curse whoever created him. He’s handsome, even if you’re only seeing the bottom half of his face. You watch his tongue tease his full bottom lip, his mouth opening into a soft pant. He’s eager. You catch another whine in your throat, fingers leaving your pussy to press against his mouth, covered in your own wetness. He opens his mouth, latching onto them, sucking and licking, taking anything you have to offer.

You watch with a newfound feeling. Here you have your lieutenant on the ground, kneeling and begging, sucking your fingers like it’s his God given right. Like he has something to prove. That he’s desperate enough to be debased to nothing. He’s moaning at the taste of you, following your fingers as they leave his mouth, like he’s not ready to stop cleaning yourself from them. He’s tilting closer as he watches them disappear back to your throbbing sex.

“No,” you tell him, stopping him from following your fingers all the way, “that’s all you get.” You moan out, your fingers wet with his spit now circling your clit. You need to come like this, having him at his knees in front of you.

“W-wait. Please. I’ll do anything. Fuck, please. Let me give you what you want, I can make you cum. With my mouth please –”

His begging sends you over the edge, not stopping as you cry out loudly, pussy clenching on nothing as your fingers circle and circle. It’s long and crippling, and you almost feel your knees buckle, your free hand gripping the cement wall behind you. Fuck, he’s not shutting up. It drags it out, hearing him whine and beg, a man who you thought could never be like this. You rip your hand away from yourself, panting, thankful for the wall behind you holding you up. Your thighs are quivering and wet from the orgasm, breath trying to catch up to your pounding heart.

Ghost is quiet now, looking up at you, waiting for your next move. His mouth parts, like he’s going to start up again and you hush him.

“Clean me up.”

You barely have the sentence out before he’s shooting forwards, hands gripping your thighs to make room for himself. He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, tongue latching onto your already overstimulated clit. You cry out, hands shooting up to his masked head, trying to pull him away as he laps at your cream.

“A-ah, wait, Simon –” You start, squirming, trying to get away from his mouth and tongue. You feel him smile, the bastard.

“Think you can tease me like that? Huh?” He growls as he laps at you, tongue not missing an inch of your pussy. His words vibrate through you, not bothering to really pull away to talk. He’s violent in the way his mouth attacks you. “Think you can just do what you want to me?”

You stutter, about to apologize until he starts to add his fingers to the mix. Two thick fingers of his slam into you, pumping up as his tongue flicks your clit. You cry out, tears in your eyes as you take it. He’s going to make you come again, this fast. Too fast. You feel dizzy, vision fuzzy.

“Making me sit in front of this pretty pussy and not letting me touch or taste it.” He groans, and then chuckles as you bare down on his fingers, clenching hard. “Oh, you gonna come again pretty baby? Come on then.”

He’s mean. Meaner than you were to him. You’re panting, quivering, and aching, your pussy making obscene noises as he assaults all of your senses. You know you’re coming before you feel it. Like a delayed reaction. Gasping and bucking, he’s saying something again that you can’t register because your hearing leaves you, your sight leaves you, every sensation and thought is gone as you cry out, coming and coming again. Somehow in the midst of it, his fingers and mouth leave as you come back down to your body, and he’s holding you up, thank God. You doubt the wall behind you would’ve helped at all. Your fingers are clenched on the material of his mask, and as you blink down at him, chest heaving, you see his wet mouth smirk.

A flash of fear goes through you. This was the Ghost you know. The ruthless, cold, domineering, Simon Ghost Riley. Not the man that’d been on his knees begging. Not the man who’d let you command and tease him. He sets down the leg that’d been over his shoulder. You’re not sure if you’re still completely all together. He stands to his full height, and you shiver, trying to sink yourself back into the wall behind you as much as you can. His hand comes up to your jaw, gripping it gently as he tilts your head back.

“Open.”

You obey, lips parting, mouth opening. Nothing could prepare you for what he does next. He leans into you, pressing up hard against you, lips barely hovering your own. He spits. Fluid enters your mouth, and you moan, swallowing it up. It’s your own arousal, sweet and warm and oh. Your wet lashes flutter shut as Ghost licks the seam of your closed mouth, lapping at you before he nips and bites and kisses you. The kiss he’s giving you isn’t gentle. It’s consuming and you cry into it as your hands find purchase on his shoulders, sliding up to his neck to haul him closer to you. He answers your cry with a groan of his own, his hands cupping your ass to lift you up. Your legs come around him, locking your ankles behind his back to keep him close. Your sensitive pussy is pressed and rubbing against pants, the feeling abrasive and raw but you can’t stop from grinding against him.

 “Tell me what you want. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” Simon mutters against your lips, licking and biting still. You’re breathless and whimpering against him, his words going straight to your core as you move against him. He’s helping you, moving with your hips, matching you move for move. You’re distracted, unable to give him an answer as you kiss him back, your trembling fingers sliding a bit under his mask to grasp the back of his neck. He hisses out in pain when your nails dig in. “I’ll give you anything baby, please. Just say the words.”

“I – I want…” you gasp, your clit pressing against the seam of his pants. You can feel his length hard and heavy against you.

“Fuck, please. Please tell me.” He’s begging again, rutting his hips up against you, hands keeping you still as he continues.

“I want you.” Is all you can muster; all you can think about saying. You swear your brain isn’t working correctly. Even before this started. You must’ve hit your head during the mission.

"Want me? Want me to what?” He stops moving.

You groan out in frustration, head tipping back a bit before you look up at him. “Please, Simon. You’re teasing me now.” You’re not sure you like how quickly the tables have turned.

Ghost laughs a bit, breathless himself. You think he’s going to drag it out further until he sees the pout furrowing your brow. “Alright. I am. I’ll give it to you.” He still keeps you wrapped up against him, one hand holding you, the other going in between the two of you. His knuckles brush against your bare sex and you moan lowly, watching him unbuckle his pants, pulling his hard cock out. Precum is dripping down the length of it and your throat dries at the sight of him.

Concern must be showing on your face with how big he is. Another chuckle from him, “You can take it pretty baby.” Your concern dies out as he slides the length against your wet pussy and you bite down on lip, trying to contain your noises. You want him in you, size be damned. He runs the tip up and down once more before pressing against your entrance, pushing in slowly. This time, you can’t contain the low moan you have. He gives it to you slowly, pumping his hips up into you, letting you adjust to his size. It’s stretching you open, and you feel like he’s splitting you in half. It’s heavy and deep and throbbing –

“Oh.” You let out, almost surprised it feels so good. Addicting. You feel drunk.

A sadistic laugh comes from the man in you, his cock slowly pumping into you. He’s being nice, giving it to you this softly. His hands are pulling you back onto his cock, pinning you against the wall and his hard body. Your legs tighten around him as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“That’s it. It’s all yours, isn’t it?” Ghost dips down to nip your lips as you whimper. “Been wanting this pussy wrapped around me for so long, baby. Fuck.” He moans lowly as you keen at his words, clenching around his girth. “Teasing me when you have no idea what I’d do to you. For you.”

He’s going slow, dragging this out as long as possible. He’s pressing in deep, rolling his hips before pulling slowly back, letting you feel every inch of him before starting all over again. It’s driving you insane. It feels like it’s going on forever, his slow thrusting. He rocks into your soaking cunt, easing his throbbing cock in you smoothly and repeatedly. Ecstasy has taken hold of every fiber of your being. You hardly feel conscious, as his words lull you into lust, his cock pacifying you into drunken state. He won’t shut up again as you cry against his lips.

“Pussy feels so good. So good. Fuck. You can have this dick whenever you want baby, just say the word and it’s yours.” He moans lowly, the sloppy sounds of your pussy and his hips thumping into you with languid strokes are overpowering your thoughts. His words make your pussy clamp down on him and he moans again, not afraid to let you hear how good you’re making him feel.

“Si—” you gasp, mouth falling open against his, trying to pull him up closer to you.

“Tell me. Tell me, sweetheart. Fuck.” He rasps against you, his hips stuttering slightly at the sound of your broken moans.

“F-fuck me. Please fuck me. Simon, please.” You beg, not afraid to be pulled down to your knees like he had been. To be debased to nothing just as you had done to him.

He’s not just pliant, he’s willing. Eager again to please you. You know he could’ve done what you had to him, teased you, made you beg more, made you want and want and need. But he gives it to you, just like he promised he would. Your pussy flares as his thrusts get heavier, deeper, faster, rougher. It’s destroying you as much as it’s freeing you and your eyes roll back a bit. God, you’re going to cum again.

A knock sounds. Not unlike the one Ghost pounded on the door earlier. You gasp, trying to stop running to the hurdle you’re launching towards. Your body doesn’t get the memo, or doesn’t care, and it certainly seems Ghost couldn’t care less that someone is right outside the door. The man makes a frustrated noise, at you or the knock, you’re not sure. He clamps his hand down over your mouth as you try to contain the noises you’re currently making. You want to tell him to stop, someone’s right there, but he keeps fucking you. God, he’s so mean and cruel and –

“Lt?”

Your heart shudders in fear. Soap. No, God, no one can see this. Ghost fucking you against the wall, completely clothed, unrushed. Despite the fear of being caught, you feel a whine catch in your throat as you thrash again Simon’s relentless fucking. He hushes you quietly, slamming roughly into you now. You stop a squeal, but just barely, a loud yet pathetic squeak leaving you as euphoria bursts through you, pussy convulsing around his cock.

“Just a sec, Johnny.” Ghost throws over his shoulder, a smile playing on his handsome face. He hardly sounds phased even when just moments ago he was the one loudly moaning into your mouth. He hardly sounds winded even with the rough thrusts he’s delivering into you, fucking you through your orgasm. You claw weakly at his chest, angry at him, still coming down from the heaven he just gave to you.

You think Soap leaves, you’re not sure, but Ghost moves his hand from your mouth, back to your ass to bring down onto his cock. He’s using you now, making you meet him thrust for thrust, drilling your G-spot with such precision that your vision fades for a second.

“No, look at me. That’s it. Good girl. You’re so pretty baby. Such a good girl. You gonna let me fill you up now? Haven’t I been good enough for you? Huh?” He’s mocking a bit, but serious. His own form of a joke that you have no power or brain to call him out on. All you’re feeling, all you’re thinking about is his cock ravaging you from the inside, still, overstimulated. Your body hardly cares. It’s right there, right at the edge, ready to jump and to give him your all. You’re too dumb, blinded with pleasure, staring up at him as he growls down at you, throbbing cock ready to give it to you when you say the words. Maybe he really is under your command after all.

A whine comes from you, frantically nodding to him, hands scrambling on him to try to find solid ground while you’re in a different time and space with the fucking he’s giving you.

“No, you have to tell me baby. Fuck, tell me I’m good baby. Tell me I was good, and I can fill you up.” Simon’s begging, whining lowly in the back of his throat, his hips getting sloppier and shorter, pounding into you.

“You’re good. You’re good. Simon, you’re good. It’s so good. Please, pleasepleaseplease come in me.” You’re begging, sobbing, actually, tears streaming down your face as you try to catch up with your body. It hurts, it hurts so fucking good, you make a long and agonized noise against his mouth, he’s kissing you again, sucking your tongue, running his against your teeth, pulling sucking overstimulating –

Simon makes his own devastated noise, a low and shattering groan of pleasure and you feel it just as you’re coming, milking him into you. His cock is surging into you, pumping hot cum with each deep thrust. He’s grinding into you, fucking you both through your orgasms, making you see stars as you cry into his mouth, fingers tearing into his back through his shirt. His hips finally still after what seems to be eternity, your pussy still clenched around him. He keeps himself deep in you as you both try to gather your bearings as well as your breath. You’re staring at each other, panting, chests heaving. He brings a shaky hand up to your cheek, cupping it as he runs his thumb over your tears. The tenderness makes your heart clench. All he’s done tonight surprised you. He leans down to place a kiss against your lips as tenderly as the thumb that stroked you. You kiss him back gently, a little worried where this was going to leave the two of you.

He pulls back, eyes bouncing in between your own. He seems to sense your worry and he sighs, pulling out slowly. You almost want to cry at the loss of him. Ghost sets you down steadily, keeping his hands on you as you wobble, legs weak. You hold onto him and look back up, ready to question what the hell this meant. He shakes his head a bit and nods towards the showers.

“I think I can handle taking a shower with you. But it’s gotta be quick baby.”

Shocked, you stare at him incredulously before you burst out into a terrible laughing fit. You’d almost forgotten how you got here in the first place. You watch his mouth quirk up into his own smile before he starts to laugh a little too. You grab his hand, tugging him with you towards the showers.

“C’mon then big boy. Show me how you handle it.”

[itsonlybaby]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 - 𝐣. 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐲﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist ! i hope you enjoy this

John Murphy - Dropship

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ You hated Murphy since you landed on the ground, you didn't expect for him to awaken something in you. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: shameless Murphy smut, plot, some violence, nsfw

Life on the ground was incredible.

It was like nothing I could've ever imagined, even though there were threats, such as the grounders and unstudied plants due to radiation- but none as big as John Murphy.

Everywhere I looked he'd be there; infecting everything with his toxins. The power Bellamy had given him went straight to his head, he truly believed he was better than everyone.

He seemed to know I hated him, and he gladly reciprocated that. His way of showing me? By humiliating me every chance he got.

I hadn't understood why he hated me, I had always tried to be nice to everyone around camp; even him at times, but he knew just how to wear my patience thin.

I had been peacefully minding my business skinning the newly fresh rabbit brought in by the hunting party. The game they brought was enough to feed everyone for the next two weeks. A deer, two bunnies, and a bird. One girl also brought in a few plants for me to work with for seasoning.

I was the camp butcher and cook, having sadly lost the previous ones. Everyone always adored my cooking and I tried to work with what we had.

Well, everyone except Murphy.

"What're you doing?"

The voice hit my ears like nails on a chalkboard, I didn't need to turn around to know who was about to pester me into a hole.

"What do you think I'm doing roach," I ask with heavy annoyance in my voice, still focused on skinning the rabbits while the water for the stew boiled.

"Poisoning the camp with your horrendous cooking," I could hear him walking closer to me, and my patience grew thin with every step.

"just go away-" I had been cut off by a loud crash.

He had kicked the pot of boiling water over into the dirt, drawing the attention of others.

This was my final straw.

Gripping the knife in my hand I swiftly grabbed Murphy, holding the bloodied knife to his throat.

"Fuck you, Murphy!" I shouted the blood from the rabbit was now on his neck.

Fear was masked behind ego in his eyes, I could tell he was scared by the way his hands defensively went up.

"I'm sorry, alright!" He spewed, something was relieving about hearing those words, seeing him so afraid of me. Though, anybody would be afraid.

Deep down I knew I wouldn't kill him, I knew the consequences of that. Killing Murphy wouldn't be worth getting tossed out of camp.

It had only been a few seconds before Bellamy was pulling me off of him. I didn't fight it, I just glanced around at everyone before picking up the pot and heading out to the river to collect more water while also clearing my mind.

There were never any final straws with Murphy around.

When I returned back to camp the air was thick with tension, and eyes were locked onto me as I prepped the broth for the rabbit meat.

I wasn't sure what Murphy could've told them, and I didn't care, if they chose to believe the cockroach then humanity was doomed.

It only took an hour to get the soup ready, everyone leaving me alone. I hadn't spotted Murphy yet, he wasn't terrorizing anyone, not making his presence known.

Was one threat really all it took to get rid of him?

Once I set up food for everyone I headed towards my shared ten with Raven, exhaustion quickly catching up with me. I had long forgotten about Murphy, the only thing on my mind was a peaceful night's rest.

Entering the tent I shrugged off my shirt, trying to change into a new one when I felt someone grab me from behind, making a yelp rupture from me.

I felt something cold and sharp press against my neck, fear instantly climbing up my spine as I thrashed around. The person's hand went to cover my mouth as he leaned in towards my ear.

"What're you gonna do now?" He whispered threateningly.

I instantly knew who it was, his scent invading my nose in a surprisingly good way. I tried to fight it, the thoughts of how his hands were on me felt good, this was no moment to think about Murphy like this.

He was holding a knife to my throat for fucks sake!

Knowing Murphy I thought he was really going to kill me, I soon felt regret for holding that knife to him.

I stopped thrashing around as it was no use, my breathing became wild as I prepared for the worst.

"Giving in to me so easily?" His hand uncovered my mouth, fingers still touching my lips.

"Suck," He demanded, his tone of voice was strong despite being hushed so nobody would hear.

This was the last thing I'd expect to happen with Murphy.

I couldn't help the lower sensation begin to rise throughout my entire body as I opened my mouth, Murphy's fingers instantly invaded the wet and warm place. I felt fuzzy and vulnerable all over, soon realizing I was enjoying this.

"Good girl," He said, making my thighs clench together, trying to get any type of friction to my clit.

Over time the blade on my neck didn't scare me, the fear turned to pleasure. My lower body became needy, the taste of his fingers being engraved into my mind as I was sucking wildly as if it was Murphy's cock and not just his fingers.

I could sense his smirk after I let out a soft moan, he was enjoying this too. Having me under his control, to do whatever he wanted with me. The thought could've made me cum then and there.

"Remember this next time," He whispered into my ear.

His knife trailed up and down my body, making me shiver at the coldness of the metal.

He suddenly retracted his hands to his sides, making me miss his fingers and the authority he held over me.

I turned around and he was leaving the tent, the taste of his fingers still vivid in my mouth.

I had debated running after him and demanding an explanation but I stood there, starstruck.

It didn't take long for me to snap back into reality, the thoughts I had about Murphy hit me like a train, embarrassment suddenly replacing the feeling before. I tried reminding myself I hated him, but despite everything I told myself, my body longed for his touch once again.

I wasn't sure what possessed me that night, I was sure it'd pass after a night's sleep. But I wasn't even safe in my dreams, his touch followed me everywhere.

Who knew weeks of hate could diminish with a few touches?

Though I still hated him.

I was sure of that.

But I couldn't stop my attraction.

I couldn't stop my mind from roaming in places it shouldn't.

I couldn't.

The only day I wish he annoyed me, he didn't. He would walk right past my butcher table, right by me. As if the previous night hadn't happened, as if his fingers didn't fill my mouth searching every crevice and crease.

Every so often Id catch him stealing glances at me- or at least I thought I did.

But I knew it was true when he was the first in line for breakfast, taking an extra long time to pick out his decision, forcing the tension between us to grow thicker. It was like he was torturing me like he knew just how bad I needed him.

The feeling had become too much for me, I quickly filled the bowls for dinner and rushed off to my tent once again, needing to relieve myself at least a little bit. I knew Raven was working with Monty in the dropship to figure out the wristbands so I had a bit of time to myself.

Rushing into my tent I dropped my pants and threw them onto a nearby chair. I climbed into the makeshift bed and began sucking on my own fingers, trying to mimic Murphy's movements the best I could.

I couldn't believe myself, getting off to the guy I despised with every ounce of my being. The way his middle part looked, how his nose was a bit too big for his face, how dark his blue eyes looked. I imagined every part of him, going back to that night in my mind.

My other hand snaked down to my clothed pussy, rubbing myself through the fabric while a series of moans escaped my occupied lips.

"Murphy..." I let out unrestrained, speeding up my movements.

"Yeah?" I heard someone ask.

My eyes instantly shot open as I scrambled up, staring at the one and only Murphy. How did he keep sneaking in her without me hearing?

He walked closer to me, "Don't let me stop you," He spoke, staring down at me.

I was frozen with shock, unable to process what just happened. How much had he seen? My face must've been a bright red by now.

"Too scared now? I said, Don't let me stop you." His hands found their way to my throat, giving it a light squeeze. I wasn't sure of his motives but I knew, in this moment, I was more turned on than ever.

The grip he had on my throat only turned me on more, now soaking through my panties.

I shakily began rubbing myself through my panties again, my nerves shooting through the roof. The man Id been having fantasies about was now watching me fuck myself.

Murphy swiftly unbuckled his belt and undid his zipper, bringing his hard cock out in front of my face, the sight had me drooling while he smirked down at me.

"Put that practice to good use," He spoke, tapping his tip on my lips, the hand on my throat now running to my hair, grabbing a fist full of it causing me to open my mouth just enough for him to thrust into it. He released a low groan at the initial feeling, the taste of his cock now invading my mouth.

I swirled my tongue around the shaft of his dick while he fucked mercilessly into my mouth, gripping my hair tighter every time to keep me still. With every thrust he hit the back of my throat, sending chills down my entire body.

"Thought you hated me," He said in between grunts, "Now you have my dick in your mouth," His familiar smirk was still planted on his face, he'd never let me live this down.

I felt his dick twitch in my mouth before he pulled out, tear snow streaming down my face.

"Fuck you," I said in between breaths, regaining my composure.

"Yeah, don't worry, you're about to." He took me by the arm and made me lay flat with my ass in the air.

His hands grabbed and slapped at my ass, making me squeak out pathetic moans. Grabbing the waistband of my panties he dragged them down, revealing my soaked pussy.

"You sure you hate me?"

Before I could reply he had already trusted into my pussy, giving me no warning. the sudden filling made my back arch. Murphy threw his head back, relishing the feeling of my tight pussy around his dick.

He didn't let me adjust before he was thrusting deep inside of me, unable to control his urges. The pleasure was unlike anything of felt before, his length made it so easy to hit every spot inside me, spots I'd never even known of.

"I hate you!" I moaned out, I wasn't sure if it was true or not anymore, I just didn't wanna give him the satisfaction of knowing I loved being fucked by him.

"Want me to stop?" He retorted. He knew I didn't want him to stop, so when I didn't answer he grabbed a fist full of my hair again, forcing me to prop my arms up to support myself. The grip on my hair only helped him pound into me further, not giving me any chance to think.

I wasn't just full of Murphy, I was full of hatred. I hated the fact I enjoyed this so much, hated the fact I never wanted it to end, hated the fact he could make me feel this good, hated how much I loved this.

"Fuck, Murphy!" I felt the familiar wave of my climax race up my body, making me shake with pleasure as I came around his dick. This didn't stop Murphy, in fact, it only fueled him more.

"Just let it out," He spoke breathily, my arms felt like they were gonna give out but before they could he pulled my hair, bringing my back to his chest as he held me up. "Let everyone in camp know how good you feel right now,"

His hands snaked up my body to my neck, giving it a tight squeeze, something I never thought I'd be into until Murphy.

"I hate you," I moaned out between cries and breaths, my sweet spot now becoming sensitive as he kept relentlessly fucking me.

"Sure looks like it," He smirked into my shoulder, now beginning to suck and bite as his own climax was nearing the edge.

The grip on my neck was enough to make me cum again, the tightening helping Murphy reach his own high.

Murphy quickly pulled out of me, shooting his load onto the ground of the tent, laying his head in the crook of my neck while he caught his breath. I leaned into his touch while his hands slid up and down my sides, tracing each curve with admiration.

"Same time tomorrow?" He asked muffled.

"Go fuck yourself,"

Despite my words, he knew I wanted it just as bad as he did.

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[robo-writing]

Imagine being the pretty girl who gets to see Cowboy!Logan early in the morning, working hard at the fields as the sweat clings to his skin 🫠

You see him tending to the fields, his silhouette becoming more clear as you get closer. He’s dirty, face speckled with dirt as he kneels over to pull each crop by hand. You’ve offered to buy him a harvester before but he shot the idea down—personally, you think he enjoys doing things by hand.

You can see him fully now, how the sweat makes his already form-fitting t-shirt cling to his skin, how the early morning sunlight bounces from his tanned skin. The sight leaves you in awe every morning, it’s practically the only reason why you’re ever awake this early.

“Working hard or hardly working?” You tease, leaning over the fence that separates the barn from the field.

You watch Logan stop his work, acknowledge your presence with a tip of his hat, then grin. “I’ll let you be the judge, sweetheart.”

The nickname makes your heart flutter.

“Well, I’ve got a nice glass of lemonade for such a dedicated worker,” you muse, pointing back to the house. “That is, if you’re interested.”

You expect the low whistle, appreciation written on his face, but you don’t expect him to rid himself of his shirt.

Your eyes are almost immediately glued to his torso, to the hair that litters his chest, down to the deep v that adorns his hips. It’s just barely you compose yourself long enough to hear Logan’s response.

“I’ll take you up on that,” he says, walking past you. “But first, I need a shower.”

You watch his fleeting form the entire way, the muscles of his back flexing with each step. Apparently you were not as subtle as you thought, because a few steps later he turns around and fucking winks, a smug grin spread on his face.

“Keep eyeing me like that darling, and I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

You’ve never felt your face get so hot before.

[lennadanvers]

Three times Simon wanted to hug you (and the one time he did)

I wrote this for ao3 originally. I'm working on the final part, so I thought I'd start reposting here in the meantime. I hope someone likes it. I feed on comments btw. Just leaving that there.

Ghost’d had missions go badly before… No, scratch that. He had been part of missions that had gone terribly. Some he had barely survived. A lot had failed. That just happens.

Still, he felt like shit.

He was familiar with the feeling. He didn’t understand it, though. Everyone in his team had made it out alive. Even more than that, there had been only a couple minor injuries. That was a luxury he had learned to appreciate. Yes, the target they were supposed to find and bring back to base was laying, dead, on the floor of the helicopter. It wasn’t an especially gruesome sight, either. One shot at the back, most of the blood was still wet on the floor of the enemy base. Ghost had seen people practically turned inside out; this was almost as pleasant at it could get.

He had been dragging the target. The target, because they didn’t have a name. They never did. It had been a person. A very well informed person, if he had to guess, based on the urgency to get them back. Now they were a corpse. They had made the transition in his arms. He hadn’t even realized the target had bled out until they were already flying back.

Price wasn’t going to be happy, but he knew how the job was. Casualties were expected. At least the target wasn’t in anybody else’s hands.

Ghost looked down at his own. His gloves were dirty. If he flexed his fingers, he’d feel the stickiness of the blood. He knew the feeling well enough to be certain that the burning of the cold water of the sink wouldn’t erase it.

The movement of the helicopter landing made him look up. He jumped over the body of the target and stepped out. The sun didn’t touch his skin, completely covered in military grade fabric. But he felt it nonetheless.

His eyes, used to scanning his surroundings, had found you standing at the edge of the helipad. You were right next to the medics, ready to help save the corpse he had dragged here. Suddenly, Ghost became aware of every little sore and tense spot in his body. He had always thought you were capable. Your hands were smaller than his, more delicate- everyone’s were- but still ruthless and unwavering. He took a deep breath and wondered how long it would take you to get rid of all the knots in his back.

Your neck looked pretty, too. No, not pretty. He almost shook his head. Inviting. Warm. Your blood was close to the surface there, but still hidden. Where it belonged. He tore his gloves off, struggling with the stickiness.

Ghost didn’t cry. It wasn’t a matter of pride, or toughness. He had simply forgotten how to. But he started to walk towards you and felt the heat flooding his throat. The closer he got, the smaller you looked and the more pathetic he felt. His boots dragged him across the cement; yours were steady, still. Clean. He was covered in dirt. Another step and he was almost at arms reach. His uniform was itchy. He hadn’t noticed that since he was a rookie. And his holsters were tight, Ghost made sure of that.

Would you hold him tighter?

Would you be warm? Warmer than the target? You’d feel alive.

You’d smell of your shampoo- he had grown used to its fragrance in the showers: it lingered and overpowered his unscented one, even if you had left hours ago. It reminded him of warm, cleansing water. Of the feeling of being bare.

He shook his head. The mask was getting uncomfortable. Your skin looked so soft, though. He blinked. Your collarbone against his lashes. The idea made him inhale deeply.

Another step and he was next to you. You smiled at him; not a big smile, rather a small, confused one. Ghost stared at you for a second, the tears stabbing his throat. All he could do, head ducking as if aiming to hide in your neck, was to shake his head.

Then another step and he kept walking to his barracks: back still tense, nose still burning with the smell of gunpowder, hands itching with dry blood.

Part 2

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

If you’re still doing prompts, could I request 15? Thank you!

Heyo so sorry for the wait!!! Hope you like it!

Kill.

It's not a word he's unfamiliar with. He's condemned people to be killed before, he's killed people before, but it has always been for his benefit. It has always been to protect himself, to gain money, and not once had the thought of killing to protect someone else crossed his mind.

That is until he met you.

You were kind, your heart open to any who came across but you still hid your darkest secrets deep within, secrets only he was privy to. While others held him at bay with a stake, you had let him in, dancing along to his melody in those late nights, whispering words that were so unfamiliar yet familiar. Maybe it was the way you said them, with that earnest look in your eyes, stirring emotions he thought he had lost a long time ago.

His hands ghost over your skin, tracing pattern after pattern as he has done so many times before, but this time he means every stroke. He wants to feel you, to hear your breaths in his ears, your blood thrumming through your veins. All he can give you is himself, his body, his ability to kill, and none of it can even begin to compare to everything you've given him.

His daggers sink into flesh as lifeblood pours out onto the floor, staining it a deep crimson. He stands over the man who tried to kill you, chest heaving for breaths he doesn't need and dodges as a dagger flies in his direction. With a flash of steel, his daggers bury themselves in yet another threat and sweet crimson liquid floods his tongue. He turns to check on you but you get to him first, anxiously fretting over him.

Your fingers brush along his bloodied strands of hair, sending tingles up his spine whenever your warm skin makes contact with his cold undead skin. His own bloodstained hand reaches up, fingertips hovering over your hand as he watches you, lost and confused. You glance around, checking that no one else is watching before slipping your hand into his, giving his hand a squeeze. Your hand leaves, now stained with the blood that is on his hand but you're smiling softly, gazing at him with such fondness that a strange warmth blooms in his chest.

He's never felt this way before.

He slips out of camp that night, dagger in hand and sinks the blade into the shadowy figure leaning against the tree. The figure drops to the ground, knife clattering in the dirt which he picks up, stowing it away before disposing the body. He sneaks back into camp, silently ducking into his tent where you continue to lie fast asleep.

He gets rid of his bloody clothes, hiding them in a corner he knows you will never find and slips into the bedroll you share, watching as your chest gently rises and falls, your sleep undisturbed. You shift, burrowing closer to him and he wraps an arm around you, burying his face in your hair.

You mumble something incoherently, clutching at his shirt so that you can curl up against him, nestling in his embrace. He feels a tightness in his chest, a flickering warmth spreading through his body that causes tears to prick the corners of his eyes.

No matter how bloodstained his hands are, how dirty he is, you always hold him without any reservations. Your hands always cradle him, gently caressing his face, whispering words of reassurance, love, and care. Whenever you hold him, you look as if you're holding the whole world in your hands. Your devotion to him, the way you always make your neck available to his fangs, the way you speak up for him when he struggles to, nothing he does can ever come close to paying the debt he's racked up.

So he does the one thing you can never bring yourself to do — kill. He plunges his daggers into the hearts of his enemies, your enemies, he tears open the throats of any who dare to hurt you, and cuts down all who stand against you. He kills and kills and kills, hoping that with each life he takes he can get just that little bit closer to repaying you.

And then you whisper the words he needed to hear.

"Repay me? Hmm I suppose you could do that by spending more time with me." You flash him a wide grin, his favourite laugh slipping from your lips. "There's nothing to repay though, really."

When you say those words, a weight is lifted from his chest but doubt still lingers. His gaze searches you for lies but you really mean it, and he's at a loss. His fingers brush over the hilt of the dagger tucked into his belt, unsure of what to do now.

He watches as you leave to talk to the others, mind churning with questions. All you want is for him to spend more time with you, and he supposes he can do that, but is there really nothing more he can offer you? He turns the dagger in his hand, its steel catching the sunlight and feels its reassuring weight in his palm. No, he can still offer you his daggers, for there will always be those who try to take advantage of your kind nature, and he will make them regret it.

With a twirl of his dagger, he thrusts the blade into your would-be assailant, relishing in the assailant's shocked face as his body collapses to the floor, covered in blood. His gaze turns to your figure standing in front of a fruit store, oblivious to the danger you were in moments before, and lets out a small huff of annoyance, making his way over to you.

Even if he constantly watched your back, you could at least have some sense of self-preservation. Still, it gave him a purpose, it made him feel needed. His daggers were still useful, his ability to kill was still put to good use, and that made him feel less anxious.

Maybe one day he wouldn't feel the need to prove his worth by killing, just like you clearly hope he will, but for now he will pull back his urge and only eliminate those who pose a grave threat to you. Only to protect that smile of yours.

He feels you rest against his shoulder, hands automatically finding his and can't help but smile softly to himself. No matter who he has to kill, he will protect you, your smile, your laughter, and all that you stand for.

[n0tamused]

Hiya!! I have a WuWa request, how about Reader stargazing with Jiyan and them talking about some deep topic of ur choice while stargazing? Only if you’re up for it tho! Don’t push urself. Have a good day!

A/N: Thank you for your request anon! I hope you enjoy this :)

Contents: Jiyan x GN!Reader, angst and sadness

Low calls of an owl echo over the breath of the breeze, the soft sighs of nature enveloping you in its embrace. Your head is supported by the lush grass, and Jiyan’s bicep that he insisted you lay on. His tone was low and a soft timbre compared to its commanding tone when he was performing his duties. Jiyan’s body exudes warmth and comfort, and in all the ways you needed him, he was there.

“You shouldn’t be so reckless..” He’d mutter, golden eyes dark from drinking in the serene, dark scenery up above. Little stars were freckled across the sky like little faded droplets of milk, counting up to billions of the same, yet not one less beautiful than the other. 

The towering mountains sprouted from the ground so high, long rocks fingers reaching as far as possible, as if trying to grasp the fading lights and the moon itself.

“I know.. I try, Jiyan. Yet, I really can’t just stand by and watch, especially when I see you in the midst of it all, surrounded or cornered..” you respond back, quiet, not willing to disturb this serenity.

He hums, wordlessly in disagreement of your response yet he can’t bring himself to say anything in that exact moment. His mind is plagued by images of your exhausted form slumping behind a fallen tree trunk, and skin grimy with sweat and dirt. 

“I know you mean well, and you are doing your best. Yet, you are not a Midnight Ranger, love, you are not a soldier. This.. battlefield is not your place to be in” Jiyan says, his gaze leaving the midnight sky and falling on you, seeing the way your nose curved and how your eyes were much darker in the absence of a lamp or a fire. “I am the General, the leader of these men, and I don’t need you to step in for me, love..”

He sees your eyes lower to stare at nothing in particular, lashes fluttering while your throat bobbed with unease. His words rang true, but you couldn’t find yourself accepting them.  

“I need you alive... and I need you safe. While I can do my absolute best at shielding you while you are here, I cannot stand true to my promise to you if you’re jumping head first into hot water. Not when you do so behind my back”

“Jiyan… “ you sigh, trailing off, your lips opening and then closing as you try to pry your brain for a response that would get him to be more lenient, to see your side too.

“I know..” you say, your eyes finding his as you turn your face towards him. “I know.. I know you are doing your best, and I don’t wish to burden you with my-” “You are not a burden” “I know, Jiyan- let me talk.. please”

His lips press into a firm line and he gives you a small nod, encouraging you to keep going while his eyes apologize for cutting you off. One hand came to trace your cheek, he was almost laying on his side now.

“I don’t want to make your time more difficult, especially not when we’re in the middle of a battle. But don’t send me back to the city, please.. I can’t bear not being close to where I can see you. I am still useful here, perhaps not as a professional warrior or a soldier or a gunner, but I can help and I can learn too.. You talk about your promise to keep me safe, but what about our promise to stay alive... and with each other?”

Your question renders his thumbing of your cheeks slow before his fingers stop altogether in tracing your features, instead cupping the side of your face in his calloused palm. “I haven’t forgotten about that..'' he simply replies, the heaviness in his chest too great, making him unable to sigh to rid himself of it.  Fatigue hangs heavy over your heads, but neither of you are willing to cut the conversation or this moment short.

“Don’t send me back.. There is nothing for me there..” Not without you- it goes without being said, and he feels it in his bones that he can’t argue with you on this, you’ll both remain stubborn on your stances. He knows he’ll have to put restrictions on you, to keep you safe, but until then he’ll enjoy this night of reprieve with you. The tent he sleeps in feels like a bed of nettles without you, and the way he’s comfortable laying on nothing more but this lush grass speaks volumes of that. He does not feel cold or irritated. Jiyan is at peace.

But he has to send you back, he tells himself, but not yet.. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, until you forget about this conversation, and until the next cargo drop off comes in. Then, he’ll send you back.

“And we will be together, my love. You must be patient. You are my northern star in these dark nights, are you aware of that? The most precious person to me, one I hold within my heart itself.. I can’t afford to lose you..” he whispers to you as you watch him with pleading and loving eyes. You tip your chin up, brushing your nose against his and with that simple motion he is leaning in to grant your wordless wish, satiating your desire for closeness with a kiss to your lips.

The arm underneath your head stirs and he wraps it around his shoulders, bringing you in closer, flush against him, and you’re wrapping your arms around him and kissing him with fervor and unspoken love. Closer, closer, stay with me, don’t leave..

He holds you with such tender touches, holds you like you may fade away like sunlight before the long night, feather light touches tracing your cheeks and chin and moving towards the back of your head. He pulls away for a moment, his forehead pressing against yours as you both inhale the same air. “I love you” - it’s you who blurts it out before he gets the chance to do so, and his eyes widen with surprise. His heart drums in his chest, and he presses his lips to your again, in search of water to quell his worry, and for a forgiveness. Every note of love is interwoven in his actions, his touches and his kisses. Were the world any less cruel, it would have granted you two the eternity of this night, to forever be here and watch the skies in tranquility. 

Black night covers you both in a blanket of stardust and far galaxies, bringing you safety if only but this night alone, undisturbed by monsters or people. And as Jiyan pushes himself to his elbow to loom over you, chasing your lips, a lone star flies across the vast sky, flickering out and leaving behind a silver fading tail.

Maybe.. just maybe, the universe heard your wishes. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[iphigeniainaulis]

Spirit of Sadness*

Can't believe it's already the third anniversary of the @flash-exchange 💛 This is my gift for lovely @rinaririr. I hope it will remind you how strong and talented you are!

Character: Leonardo

Prompt: You cannot see the light without darkness

*the title of Le Gallienne's poem

Today is that day. 

Human life iridesces like a diamond in the sun. Versatile, bright and eternally beautiful. But when the rain comes, even gems get dirt on them. 

You can't call yourself a sad person. Surely, life gives you lots of lemons, but somehow you’ve learned to make the very best lemonade out of them. Most of the time, at least. 

Yet, sometimes days like this occur. When suddenly the last pack of sugar is gone, and lemons are sour. When the rainfall turns the golden forest in front of Comte’s mansion into a mess of dirty green and ochre. When the brush in your hand no longer follows your command no matter how much you dip it into the deep blueness of oil paints. 

Covering your face with your hands, you try to find a specific rhythm to breathe. Darkness makes your senses stronger, ears and nose catching what eyes can't see. The sound of old wooden clocks. The cracking of the fireplace. Time runs but moves nowhere, so you give yourself permission to cry, warming icy hands with hot tears.

A sudden rush of wind brings you the smell of wet leaves and the melancholy of autumn. Being forced to hang in the air for a split second, you end up in the comfort of your lover's embrace, covered from tip to toe with his endlessly long, endlessly wide coat.   

“He’s caught in the rain. That's why the scent of cigarillos didn't warn me of his presence,” is the only rational thought produced by your tired mind.

“What’s happened?” he sounds unbothered. His long calloused fingers are playing with your hair, a habit he shows when feels nervous.

You’re searching for the right words to come, and Leonardo gladly gives you as much time as you need, lulling you with deep murmuring and gentle touches. 

At some point you accept your defeat and say what’s been on your mind for quite a long time.

“It’s just that sometimes I feel so much doing so little. Today I haven’t drawn a single sketch. But time goes by, and I feel as if it leaves me behind, while others live their lives to the fullest.”

Wiping a tear, you continue.

“And it makes me feel so guilty, so ashamed of myself. The world is full of so many problems that are way more important than mine. Still, I can't get rid of this pain, and it scares me that someday…this dark feeling will never leave.”

You’ve run out of words, and the last of them vanish in the air like the sound of cork pulling out of an emptied bottle. The silence isn't uncomfortable, and you’re grateful that Leonardo allows you to come to yourself.  

The room becomes less dark when he lights a cigarette, creating a puff of sweet smoke. The man’s deep voice sounds like a lullaby, and you press yourself closer to his wide chest, where it’s safe, where it's home.

“I’m an engineer, cara mia, and hardly know a thing about art and stuff.”

A weak smile, the only one you’ve had on this never ending day, carves your lips.

“...but lemme say this. No vehicle is safe to use if you ignore the rumble. Humans are way more difficult than vehicles. And so are their feelings. Learn to accept them, reveal them, that's the only way you don't destroy yourself from within. Happiness doesn't come when sadness is neglected.”

“So, in other words…you cannot see the light without darkness?” you mumble, enjoying the feeling of his voice, scent, words and touch getting through your skin.

A hoarse chuckle is your response. “Couldn’t say it better. You’re good with your words, principessa.”

You slowly sink into the healing yet still so painful abyss of dreams, listening to the melody of Leonardo’s heartbeat. His arms are on your waist, warm, almost hot. Lumiere’s tail tickles your legs. The night is finally kind. 

There are indeed days when you have to face your demons. But if you have people ready to stand with you no matter what, then this battle is worth fighting.   

[brilium]

❥ K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 3

Masterlist

➽──────────❥

❥ DAY 10. Deep Throat! with Toji Fushiguro

Summary. Megumi got in a fight for the third time in the month, and his father had to attend with Megumi's teacher to talk about his behavior. Toji finds her hot and annoying. Maybe there's one way to fix his annoyance by hearing her yell.

Content Warning. Fem! reader, no use of Y/N, all characters are adults, smut, dub-con, dirty talk, degradation, oral (m. receiving).

Word count. 1,849

Author's note. Idk how it got too short, wtf

MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Toji was pretending to listen to your words, but his mind was running on how to get rid of that frown on your lips and turn it into anything else as you rambled about Megumi, who got in trouble, again. One of his classmates at the kindergarten tried to steal his lunch and ended up beaten up by his small hands.

While you both were arguing, Megumi was at the infirmary with the nurse cleaning his small fists stained with dirt and blood.

“God! Why would you teach a kid to shut someone who’s bothering him with a punch!?” The tone of your voice has raised, and Toji makes an annoying gesture with his finger on his lips to tell you to be quiet.

You huff, hitting his chest softly with your hand but following his indication.

“I’m not sure if Megumi is receiving a good assurance with the harassment.” You cross your arms on your chest and Toji’s eyes quickly glance down to your breasts lifting under the apron. “Eyes up there, Sir.”

Toji snorts at your comment, stepping closer to you so you have to look up at his face closely above yours.

“My bad, I was thinking about a better way to deal with annoying stuff. It may be that you didn’t like it, teacher?” His hand raises to the level of your waist, caressing it softly above your shirt and you blush softly before hitting his hand away.

“Sir, you should behave.” You say stern, trying to not let your voice tone shake too much. “We are at a school, one for little kids like yours who could pass by and see something that they shouldn’t.”

“So you’ll be more cooperative if we were anywhere else?” He smirks, stepping closer and making you walk backwards until your back hits the chalkboard behind you. Toji puts his forearm above your head, caging you with his big body.

You open your mouth to answer —to stop him— but his mouth flies to your neck, licking it softly to send shivers through all your body, Your hands grab his shoulders, pushing him softly with your weak trembling arms.

“S–Stop, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Toji groans on your neck, biting it softly to force you to let out a soft whimper that you quickly cover with your hand. Your legs start to feel like jelly as he grumbles against your skin.

“C’mon, teacher. Those brats are annoying, ain’t they?”

“N—” Toji bites your earlobe as his body slams against yours in the chalkboard, resonating in the small classroom. You moan sharply and sink it on his shoulder. “A… A bit.”

“See? We’re talking now” He smiles, kissing your neck as his hands travel to your breasts to cup them between his big hands and squeeze them above the apron, you squirm and bite your lip trying to not let out any sound. He feels them being a little bit more squishy and soft than they should be and smiles wide. “Oh, no bra, teacher? I like it.”

“S–Shut up,” You whisper, taking a quick glance at the closed door, hoping that no one enters right now. “It’s annoying to use it.”

Toji nods, kissing you jaw and playing with your breasts until you finally let your moans be more auditive, your sweet sounds seem to have a deep effect on him from his hard crotch subbing on your stomach.

You try to get away from him, knowing how wrong this is, but his fingers start to draw small circles around your clothed hard nipples and make you throw your head back with soft moans. Toji smiles, leaning back from your neck to look at you with dilated pupils and his chest going up and down heavily.

You feel like a prey about to be ripped in half by her predator, but your eyes can’t help but glance at his shimmering lips. Against all the alerts popping in your mind, you get on your tips to get closer to his lips but he stops you with a deep laugh that vibrates from your head directly down to your wet core.

“You were just scolding me for teaching my son to not let others bother him, you change your mind pretty quickly, aren't you?” He grabs your chin to lift your face so he can look at your —annoyed— blushed face. “Should I teach my little boy to give up that easily?”

Toji moves his hand smoothly to slide two of his fingers between your lips. You try to resist by shouting hard your lips but his fingers push strong enough to part them and slide them through your tongue.

You feel ashamed and weak, but still your body plays against you by reacting to his fingers pushing in and out in your mouth. It’s hard to keep your eyes opened under his smirk of pride as your lips suck on his fingers.

When you decide to close your eyes is when your rationality abandons you, your tongue starts to swirl around his fingers, sucking them inside and licking them when they pull back. The lewd action starts to grow a pool between your legs as Toji keeps you standing with his knee between them.

You start to moan against his fingers, trembling and whining on his fingers, enjoying it, but he interrupts your joy by pulling his wet fingers out from your mouth. You open your eyes immediately to whine but the sight of him sucking on those wet fingers between his lips, tasting your mouth indirectly makes you forget your complaint.

Toji grabs your shoulders softly and starts to push you down without any hesitation from you. Anyways, your legs were already weak for any action from him.

When you are on your knees right in front of him and he starts to untie his belt quickly, you know what's coming, but your mouth is already watering when you see the bulge with a wet spot on his boxers.

Toji startles slightly when your hands don’t wait for him to pull down his boxer and let his aching cock let out from the clothes. Your eyes widen at the view of his fat and big length, swallowing some saliva in fear of how is going to fit in yoru mouth or your cun—

No, you may be giving this man a handjob. But not fucking with him.

He’s one of your student’s parents!

He doesn’t waits for your decision or actions, grabbing his base to slap your cheek with it. You should be annoyed, but you smile and close your eyes at the way his tip soaks your face.

Toji smiles back, loving how given up you’re already.

He moves his cock to put the tip on your lips, just like his fingers. But this time, you don’t fight back, you let him slide the tip slowly between your lips and he groans heavenly, you swirl your tongue on it, tasting the drip of precum on it an sucking softly on it, you bring your hands up to grab his base and jerk him for some help to blow him but he slaps yoru hand away from it.

“No, teacher. Use only that pretty mouth of yours” Toji laughs, and you feel the vibrations on his cock slowly entering your mouth, you growl on him, hitting his thigh softly to warn him.”No, no, precious. We’re learning better ways to keep silent, aren't we?”

You roll your eyes, about to pull back and leave, but his hand quickly grabs the back of your head to keep it still as his hips thrust on your mouth roughly.

“Mhmph!” You whine against him, feeling a small tear running through your cheek while his hand tangles around your hair to grab it firmly as his hips start thrusting between your lips like his life is on it.

“Fuuuuuck!—” Toji swears loudly and you blame him in your mind as the tears start running through your cheeks ruining your makeup. Please, don’t be too loud. “Who would’ve said that such a pretty slut would be the teacher my son's teacher”

Shit, your cunt clenched around nothing by hearing his husky voice degrading you.

Toji’s thrusts start to slam on the back of your throat, making you gag around him and feeling the drool dropping on the sides of your mouth. You look up at him while your cheeks hollow around his cock, trying to make him cum sooner so you can stop moaning against him.

“Yes, yes! Fuck, that mouth is so good, teacher” His hands keeps you on there, bobbing on him as you feel him tense on your mouth. “Come on, I’m close, suck it good and I’ll finally shut the fuck up so you can scream at me all day if you want.”

You moan, trying to use your tongue through the gags as one of your hands squeezes your breast above the clothes as he pushes your head to almost the base of his cock until you feel the spread of cum spilling on your throat.

Toji growls loudly, tasting the clench of your throat as he pulls back slowly, a string of cum falling from the sides of your mouth and his cock to the floor. He smiles at you, your pupils dilated with tears running down along with your mascara and your half opened mouth shimmering with drool and cum.

You swallow the cum, feeling suddenly embarrassed as you get up with struggle, sitting up on the chair near to the desk, trying to calm the ache between your legs calling for him.

“I… Won’t let you step on here anymore.” You say breathless, fixing your clothes while he does the same, laughing on the low.

“Yeah?” He snorts, tying his belt again. He walks towards you and bends closer to you and you feel your breath choking on your throat again, but this time there’s nothing. “I still have to come for Megumi’s scores, festivals, next fights…”

“He shouldn’t be fighting anymore.” You say, trying to not let your voice shake.

He waves his hand in dismissal. A knock on the door interrupts you, a small person with messy black hair and sharp eyes looks at you both with some band aids on his cheek and hands.

“Let’s go, Megumi” Toji turns, facing his back to you and leaving you there, half aroused and with his cum still stuck on your throat.

Theyboth walk together through the door, Megumi refuses to hold his hand as Toji groans and walks outside along with his son. You bite your lip, blaming yourself before running towards the door and yelling at them.

“Next parents reunion is on Friday at 6PM in this classroom. Just to let you know!”

You run inside quickly, looking for your car keys so you can leave immediately and use your vibrator.

On their side, Megumi shrugs, looking up at his father with doubt.

“But wasn't the parents reunion last week?”

At that moment, Toji smiles widely, thanking for having such a brilliant son.

[greytongue]

that boy is a monster.

-

cw: las plagas leon chasing you. he’s rlly infected. primal play possibly???? he drinks your blood. no penetration. non consensual touching, grabbing, biting AT FIRST. ambiguous gender reader

-

you were sprinting for your life, exerting yourself so hard you felt you couldn’t get enough air in your lungs. the old run down cabins of the infected villagers flew by as the landscape slowly turned into dark forest.

you had gotten split up from leon during this whole baby eagle mission, this whole escapade was a fucking shit show. you kept asking yourself why the hell you agreed to be shipped off to spain to rescue the friggin presidents daughter. guess it was the prize money. it’ll be a miracle if you ever see that cash.

something was wrong with leon. very wrong. you’d found him eventually, but he looked… no persons spine is supposed to be cutting out of their skin like that. no person is supposed to have scorpion-like features. his teeth were too sharp.

you shook your head trying to rid the image of him out of your mind. god, it was terrible. and you knew he was coming for you. knew it by the footsteps close behind you, by the growls and the unnerving clicking sounds coming from his throat.

tears filled your vision. you were praying to god, the universe, whatever is up there, that you’d live.

they didn’t answer, if anything it’s almost as if they purposely planted that oversized tree root for you to trip on. you cursed as you tumbled to the ground, you felt your ankle twist painfully. you didn’t have much time to register the pain as the creature you’d been running from threw himself on you.

you screeched in terror as his huge hands (well claws now really) gripped your shoulder to flip you over and he shoved his horrible face into yours, hissing loudly as he barred his teeth. they all looked like sharp canines now.

“god, please, stop! it’s me!” you begged for him to let you go. you squirmed, kicked, scratched, anything. ‘leon’ growled viciously, sharp finger nails digging into your wrists as he pinned them to the ground, knees holding down your struggling thighs. you were done for, you thought. he was impossibly strong. you sobbed as you waited for him to kill you, eat you, anything.

you waited, eyes shut tight and teeth gritting, but nothing came. all you could feel was his heavy breaths fanning across your face.

you hesitantly peered up, to see what the fuck he was doing. his face was impossibly close to yours, his nose almost bumped yours. you glazed over the his furrowed brows, his bloodshot eyes, the veins that spread across his face. you took this in with disbelief, he looked so different.

“leon… please…” you whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. you regretted saying anything as he growled, shoving you harder into the dirt, big hands gripped your wrists tighter. you whimpered partly in fear and confusion as he leaned in towards your neck, inhaling deep. you shut your eyes tight and shivered when his long tongue licked a strip up your throat, starting at your collarbone and ending at your jaw. you cringed as he shivered in delight, letting an inhumane groan fall from his lips.

‘just lie still and take it, lie and take it, lie and take it-‘

“taste…” your thoughts were interrupted when he attempted to speak. his voice was raspy, dry. it’d probably been a while since he’d talked. you opened an eye, examining his face. he was having trouble finding the words. his demeanor was changing.

“taste… good…” shit. how? you were covered in dirt, sweat, blood, tears, you name it. some tastebuds he must have now. your train of thought was once again interrupted as he started… kissing your neck? a sharp exhale left your mouth, now falling agape at the sensation of him beginning to lick at you some more.

he was so rough a second earlier, this was… soft. this felt nice- no! no. don’t think that.

you groaned, partly at your inner conflict and the way his razor sharp fangs grazed over your pulse, careful to not cut too deep, but enough to start a steady stream of blood. he greedily sucked at your new wound, practically moaning as he drank. your breathing quickened at the sensation of him desperately getting his fill from you, head lolling back as you became light headed. he hummed in approval as this ended up giving him more access to shove his face in, his chest lowering to relax on yours.

one of his hands released your wrist, coming to slide down your body. the knee that was pinning down your thigh let up, and he hiked your leg to rest on his hip. instead of forcing you down, he moved your bodies to press into each other. you were too weak anyway to fight it. if anything this felt good, not just for him. especially when he ground his hips down like that onto yours, he was getting desperate for more than the pleasure that came from your blood, and honestly? you were too now.

he finally let go of your neck. sitting up, panting hard, blood dripping down his mouth and throat. only now did you realize how much blood he’d taken from you.

“come… with me…” his big arms enveloped you, lifting you with ease as your legs wrapped around his waist, arms draped over his shoulders. you whimpered, you were so dizzy you couldn’t keep your eyes open. you blacked out as soon as you shut your eyes.

-

regaining your senses, you found leon situating himself on your hips. his big claws moving you legs how he wanted. you turned your head, taking in the room he put you both in. he probably broke into one of the village houses and put you both in what looked to be some sort of loft. he placed you both on a mattress shoved into the corner.

your face heated up as his dark eyes bore into yours, hovering tall and big over you. you liked his weight on you, you felt grounded. helped your dizziness. you ran your tongue over your dry lips, trying to put moisture back onto them.

he purred appreciatively at the sight of you. hair slightly messy, eyes glazed, face flushed, throat bruised. his thumb swiped over your lips, gathering the sheen of your saliva that laid there. he made eye contact, sucking his thumb clean before leaning down. your eyes went wide as his lips brushed against yours, his were surprisingly soft despite he was mid transition to a literal scorpion. you tried your best to kiss back, you were still fucking exhausted from the amount of blood he took from you. his tongue grazed over your bottom lip, begging for entrance. you allowed him permission immediately.

as the kiss deepened, he shifted your legs to rest at his sides, your hips flush against each other. a hand remained on your waist, the other still cupping your face to keep you where he wanted. this continued to get more and more heated, his tongue was... different. longer, rougher, pointier? whatever it was, it felt amazing against yours.

his hips ground against yours instinctively. you groaned loudly, struggling to move your arm and grip his waist.

“holy shit..” you were breathing heavily as he continued to roll his hips. you bucked your hips up in response, feeling his shaft through his pants rub delightfully against your crotch. his eyes fluttered shut at the movement, a sharp, raspy growl leaving his lips.

he was getting overheated, with how high his body temperature must be now from trying to fight off this parasite. he hurriedly tugged his shirt to bunch up and expose his chest. you whined, drinking in the way his ab muscles rippled with each thrust. you wanted him, badly. you managed to gain enough strength to sit up and you dove in to worship his strong torso. leaving kisses all over with occasional nipping and sucking, you were determined to leave some marks on him. his head fell back in pure bliss, purring shamelessly. he shuddered while you licked a strip up his sternum. growling once more, he shoved you down onto the bed, knocking the wind out of you. he grabbed your jaw and forced your head to the side and sucked on your pulse, making you squirm. hips colliding once more together, you both grunted.

“leon…” you panted, his eyes darted to yours, pupils blown wide. “…need more.” the way he was reaching to pull your pants off was enough response.

he unzipped and shucked your pants off in a second, along with your underwear. he didn’t bother with your shirt, not enough time. you shivered as the cold air hit your exposed sex.

hastily, he unbuckled his belt, not bothering to slide it off. he unzipped his pants, only sliding them down slightly below his hips so his size wasn’t confined in them, taking out his sizable member.

holy. shit. his dick was swollen and red. you could literally see it throbbing. was he always that big when he wasn’t the host to whatever this sickness was? it wasn’t gonna fit.

he pressed the tip to your sensitive entrance, but you were quick to stop him. you placed a hand on his abdomen, “hey! no, please, it won’t go.”

he growled in frustration, to which you rolled your eyes. “here, just…” you grabbed his cock and made your sexes reconnect, both of you moaned at the feeling. you experimentally rutted your hips, and he quickly caught on doing the same, adding his hand next to yours. your head fell back, a whimper falling from your lips at the friction.

“fuuuck..” you huffed out, his hands held your squirming hips in place and continued to grind. a snarl bubbled from his throat as you writhed.

though it wasn’t actual penetration, the pleasure built up fast. leon was panting heavily, his eyes were fixated on fucking your sexes together, so focused on getting both of you to cum.

you couldn’t help the noises coming from you, with how his shaft rubbed perfectly against you. he shifted slightly, thrusting against you at just the right angle. you begged for him to keep going, he mumbled out curses under his breath. your toes were curling, and he didn’t dare let up, if anything his pace quickened. he kept you in place, a hand splayed out on your stomach.

“c’mon, baby.” he rumbled, thrusting feverishly. you gripped onto the sheets, nearly crying, trying to ground yourself. his thrusts shook your body forward. your orgasm came quick, he rode you through it as you quivered and shook. one of your hands came to your mouth, muffling the whimpers that fell out of you.

“so good… for me…” he praised, a sly grin falling onto his lips. it fell within seconds, his own pleasure finally coming to a head.

his orgasm hit hard moments later, wracking his body, spilling all over both of your groins. he groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head. he gripped your hips tight, slowing his pace. though you were blissed out of your fucking mind, you managed to praise him as well.

“mhm, that’s it.” your hand came to cup his cheek. he was still shaking, trying to recover from his orgasm. one of his hands let go of your hip to cradle the hand on his face, turning to kiss your palm.

after cooling down some, he rolled off you. you both lied there, catching your breath, enjoying the afterglow. he was purring so loud he sounded like a damn cat.

you turned your head to face him. your eyes glazed over his lidded eyes, forehead shining from sweat, mouth agape from drawing in as much breath as he could. you could see his fangs poking out.

you gently placed a hand on his cheek, his gaze focused on you now. he looked a lot less angry now, tuckered out more than anything. maybe he just needed to be fucked dumb after all.

you spoke first, “we need to find luis, before this gets any worse.” gesturing to his half human, half whatever the fuck was taking over him, body. he snarled and rolled his eyes, looking away from you.

you scoffed, “yeah, yeah. i’m not happy about it either.”

this was gonna be a long day.

[dean-a-mean-tae]

Light At The End | Stray Kids Extra Member AU

You shine bright Brighter than all the stars ... And your perfection even in your mistakes Give affection even when your heart aches

Chan x Nicholas | Those are song lyrics from Alvin and the Chipmunks ;-; | I hope this was to your standards!

WARNINGS: Discrimination, Racism, Could be perceived as self-harm (Nicholas gets hurt twice but is okay with both), anorexia (different for everyone this is based on my experience), I think that's it

I realized I forgot to put warnings, and I am so sorry. (Update 12/22/23 9:20)

Nicholas Ross Master List | Requested: Yes | Of The Tunnel Part 2

"I'm gonna ask you something, and I want you to be honest," Chan whispered. His voice was loud in the silence of his room. Nicholas sat with him with a stuffed frog in his lap.  

They were in their spot again. The place Nicholas first opened up to Chan. The place where Chan swore to help Nicholas find himself.

"What happened?"

You know the phrase, 'Your parents are your first bullies,' right? They told you they did it to prepare you for the world, and it worked. You know the world is cruel, and nowhere is safe for you. Not even your head. Your head is clouded by judgment forced on you as a child.

"Why don't you talk to me?" They whine. They don't realize they follow in their parents' footsteps. They tell your business because it's family, then get angry when you do the same. Isn't that what they taught you?

Nicholas grew up in a world of hate and then got thrown into a world of more hate.

He couldn't handle the ones about his appearance. Why don't they like him? He's tall, has soft skin, has healthy hair, and is happy. He has proper hygiene and cares for his body as much as it allows. 

He was used to the comments about his talent, or lack thereof. He could handle the ones complaining about his spot in Stray Kids. Those were easy because they were true. These cuts weren't deep, and they reminded him of home.

"You did good in practice today," Felix said as he looped his arm through Nick's.

"Only because Minho hyung stayed behind and helped. I'm out of rhythm still," Nicholas denied, shaking his head.

But the ones about his appearance? His mother taught him to be proud of his complexion and how his hair grew from his scalp. So, what was wrong with him? Why don't they like him? Why can't they like him?

"Nicholas?"

Maybe he should get a perm. Is that what it's called? A perm? The thing that gives you curls or takes your curls is a perm, right? Whatever, the stylist will know what he's talking about. It was her idea anyway.

"When will you tame these knots?" The woman groaned as she brushed through Nicholas' hair. It hurt, but he wouldn't say anything. She is the hairstylist. This is her job. It hurt when his momma braided his hair, but it always looked good when done.

"What knots? I brushed and plaited my hair," Nicholas explained, looking at the woman in the mirror. She would be pretty if she stopped glaring. Glaring gave her wrinkles around the eyes and reminded him of those pug dogs.

"We should put a relaxer in your hair. The chemicals will make it straight and fix these knots." She ignored him. She kept talking about his unmanageable hair and how difficult it was to work with him.

Relaxer, that's what it's called, or is it both? Nicholas can't remember. He should schedule one. He couldn't tell the members. Jeongin and Changbin would strangle him before letting him get rid of his curls.

"Nick, can you hear me?"

"Did you hear?" Someone whispered, and Nicholas tilted his head. The mirror showed the two stylists behind him.

"He only washes his hair once a month. Twice if his members help him," She grumbled. 

The woman in front of her grimaced in disgust, "Could you imagine the build-up?"

"What about his stylist?" The first one huffed, leaning to hide from a passing staff. "Don't you think it's selfish making her deal with the dirt?"

Maybe the relaxer will help make wash days easier. Simple wash days meant his hair could be washed frequently. 

His eyes were stinging again. 

"Don't rub your eye so hard," Chan scolded as he yanked Nicholas' arm away from his eye. The pull sent a pain up his shoulder, but it's okay. "You still have your contacts in."

Contacts? Oh, the new ones he got from Nicki. After one of the members gave her his account information, she would put money in his account and order things for him. A sweet woman, she is.

For some reason, these contacts prevent him from crying. He likes them.

"Is this about the comments?" Chan whispered. He knew? Of course, he knows. If Chan knows, then Minho knows. Minho finds these things before everyone.

Nicholas still can't find the strategy in Minho's methods.

"Nicholas?" 

He did it again. He fell down the rabbit hole. He needs to stop doing that. Did he eat today? He skipped breakfast cause he had an early practice. He promised Hyunjin he would eat later after vocal lessons. He drank a smoothie and ate an apple. 

Technically, he didn't lie. Hyunjin would still be mad, though.

"I need to eat something," Nicholas said, more like croaked. Had he been quiet this whole time?

"You're hungry?" Chan asked.

"No." But he knew he needed to eat something. He was doing so well. He ate two meals and four snacks yesterday. And he didn't throw up. He forgot to tell Nicki about that. 

Too late now. Progress gone.

"I'm proud of you." Maybe it was how soft Chan said. Or it could have been because of the raw emotion in his voice. But a quiet, pathetic sound left Nicholas' lips, and his fists tightened around the frog. Gentle hands guided him to warmth. 

You would think he'd be used to this by now. Comfort through touch or even words. He didn't have that from his parents, and his sister didn't know how to be gentle until they were older.

"I'm proud of you."

There it was again. The phrase that broke him. The phrase that scared him. He used to think love was conditional.

But a genuine love, platonic or romantic, is unconditional, even when it hurts. That's why it hurts to move on or forget.

He was moving now. Where is he going?

"Go to sleep, Nick," Chan whispered. Oh, he's being carried. That's why it's so warm. They're going home? He missed home. He wondered how they were doing.

"Thank you, Starlight," Nicholas whispered.

"You're welcome."

Nicholas Ross Master list | Of The Tunnel Part 2

©️DEANAMEANTAE2023

Tags list: @bada-lee-ily, @jinnie-ret, @hwxnghyynjin, @foxilsdenn, @rensahazard, You can be added by asking in the replies, sending me a message, or doing an ask thingy.

[redrandomposts]

little mermaid alnst au except it's inspired by han christain andersen's version (the og), so

===

ivan was the prince of his nation that worships the moon and its tides, that is deep under the water, too far for visible light.

when he was six, he first braved near the shores accompanied by his friend, mizi. it's then he saw him. gasping for breath, fighting against the tides.

ivan managed to bring him ashore, and the guards had called him away - leaving mizi there. that was a mistake.

ivan had fallen in love, perhaps, with the boy he saved. the boy, however, had fallen in love with mizi. ivan could tell. when he visited the shore the next week, till was under an umbrella, sketches of mizi scattered around him.

ivan wanted to replace the pink hair for his black, the round eyes for narrower ones, he wanted and wanted and wanted -

- wanted to get rid of mizi so he could hold the heart that was rightfully his.

it was a poisonous thought. ivan was ashamed, he wanted to claw at his skin. how could he hurt his best friend just because she got something he wanted?

ivan visited that shore every week, leaving a gift, hoping that perhaps the boy will see him. however, as though he were mere dirt, till's eyes glided over him. ivan knew why; he was searching for bright pink hair and golden eyes, not the black that disfigures ivan.

in the following decade, ivan had been a tad too obsessive. he grew his hair out, hoping that maybe till's eyes will catch on black under the sea's surface. he forced himself to smile, practicing in the shards of ruined ships. and when he learned till was practicing music, he did so, too. he sang in the depths of the night, when the beach was lonely and the moon hangs high; he learned to compose, to string words and rhythm together to draw in the birds that fly above and the nocturnal fish underneath.

it wasn't enough. why wasn't it enough?

ivan couldn't take it. he visited his cousin, sua, and asked to trade his soul so he could try. he'd lose his tail for feet that stabbed knives into him, his gills for lungs that drowned with each agonizing breath, and eyes accustomed to the salty water for eyes that burned with each blink.

and, if ivan failed, he also gave up his bleeding heart and all its love. he also gave up the consciousness and the memories the sea brought to him. he'd also give up his existence and disintegrate into sea foam. the only thing he bargained for was a voice; a voice to tell till that he was the one who saved him, that he wrote songs and sang them every night.

on shore, ivan was left with only a coat that mizi had given to him, teary eyed as she asked him to live.

and there till was, visiting the beach again. till was a prince; not only in title but also demeanor. he carried ivan to his castle, where he was nursed to health. the room had parchment and ink ivan could write with, fruits in a bowl to keep him full, and a fire lit to keep him warm. a comb lay on the bedside table to keep the hair ivan insisted on growing neat. rings and necklaces and bracelets to decorate ivan, reminding him that he, too, was a prince.

and, even then, even after a week and so much time and effort -

why didn't till look at him? why didn't he visit the man he saved once? how come there were no servants aside from those to deliver meals? how come it felt as though ivan was taken by the sea and isolated in the city of atlantis?

was the entire wing of the palace empty? if ivan sang the songs he spent painstakingly long learning to make, would anyone hear him? he couldn't let that happen! gathering the letters he's written the past week, each a speech that he wanted to tell till, he was determined.

ivan gasped as he took step after step, tears welling in his eyes. he braved the knives in his feet, the aching breath of his lungs, the burning eyes that boiled in tears so he could see till. he was the sea's strongest warrior, for he could take all of this as long as he got to see till.

and mizi?

ivan stopped in front of a cracked open door, catching sight of familiar pink hair and gray hair. the letters in his arms fell, and the tears felt like molten magma from the underwater volcanos. the knives in his feet must have grown rust, for it hurt more than ever, and his lungs must be aching for air, because it felt as though he were drowning.

...of course. it was all futile. ivan grinned, looking down at his letters. every speech would go unsaid, every song unsung, every love unrequited.

letters scattered on the ground, cushioned by carpet, slipping through the door. black hair dissipated, pale skin crumbling; the only remnant of the mermaid-turned-human was sea foam, remaining on the clothing and parchment.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 108 }

where is your heart at?

opla!sanji vinsmoke x fem.reader

the ebb and flow of the ocean rocks the straw hat's ship in a back and forth motion, making you feel as though you were caught in a rhythmic lullaby.

a soft yawn escapes from your lips, and you were about to turn in for the night when a flash of blond was seen from your periphery. with a tilt of your head, you saw that it was sanji who caught your eye. observing him now, you realized that he was currently settled on the deck, gazing up at the night sky with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. and you stood there, wondering if he needed someone to talk to.

how you came to be part of the straw hat crew was in a bit of an unorthodox manner. you lived on a well known island that acted as a hub for those who spent their time traveling the seas during their journey. you had a deep love for medicine and helping people heal, and yet...despite how you successfully studied and became a doctor by your own hard work and merit, you felt empty- unsatisfied even.

there was a routine that you were getting used to, and it was making your life become a bit stable and stale. it was always the same: you'd wake up in the morning, see the few people who come to your home with complaints of them or their loved ones feeling sick or injured.

doctor, please, i need your help, for my son has a fever from swimming in the ocean for too long.

doctor, do you have anything to help with my sprained ankles?

my stomach has been feeling awful lately, do you think you can help me get rid of this pain?

despite how much you loved your work as a doctor, you still felt as though there was something better for you out there, something much bigger than what your life had resorted to.

it was during this time in your life that you met a peculiar young man who had dreams of becoming the king of pirates.

on your way home, you found a young man passed out in the middle of the street, his red tank top and blue shorts caked with dirt as a straw hat remained askew atop of his head.

your instincts as a doctor kicked in right then and there, and you saw that his chapped lips were cracking, almost bleeding due to how dry they were. recognizing that this poor young man was dehydrated, you quickly ran to the nearest well and grabbed a bucketful of fresh water.

"okay sweetheart, you've gotta wake up a bit and drink some water for me." you place the bucket next to you and began getting the refreshing liquid into your hands before splashing his tanned skin with it. the sensation of the water on his heated skin seems to rouse the boy from his unconscious state, and when you managed to get a few drops into his lips did he finally open his eyes, revealing the comforting brown hue of them.

"whoa...i had no idea water could taste so sweet." the young man still seemed to be in a daze while you continued to coax him to drink more of the water in hopes of helping him recover from his dehydrated state. in what seemed like seconds, he perks up while eagerly introducing himself to you.

"hey there! the name's monkey d. luffy, but my friends call me luffy, so you can call me luffy, too! what's your name?"

your head was spinning from how bright and optimistic luffy was, but managed to stutter out your name to him. he repeats your name while shaking your hand in a firm grip.

"i gotta say, if it wasn't for you, i would totally be a goner! are you like, a doctor or something?"

you send him a wistful smile, "yes, i am a traveling doctor, but i mainly work locally, here, on this island. the townspeople usually tells me what ails them, and i help them when needed."

"well, i have a gut feeling that you'll fit right in with me and my crew, and we'll need a doctor if i'm gonna find the one piece and become king of the pirates!"

you couldn't stop the giggle that escapes , "what? you truly believe in such legends?"

"it's not a legend! it's the ultimate treasure that i'm determined to find with my friends! and you-" luffy ends up grasping your hands tightly into his. "you are going to make the perfect addition."

you blink back at him with your lips pursed. was this truly happening? and could you consider this a miracle? did you not consider your life stale and uneventful?

and now, this boy was pretty much offering you an escape; a chance to see the world and finally fill that emptiness you had been feeling. looking into his doe eyes and detecting no lies from him, you give luffy a smile and extend your hand out to him, accepting his offer.

when you first joined luffy's crew as their appointed doctor, you felt nervous upon entering his ship. following luffy's advice to pack lightly, you only came on board with your medical supplies and a few change of clothes. in the same eager voice, luffy introduces you to his crew, referring to you as the crew's doctor while going into exaggerated details on how you had saved his life when he passed out just a few moments ago.

"luffy, i told you not to eat so much salted meats! you were so focused on the food that you hardly drank anything, that's why you were dehydrated! and did you even get the supplies we needed?!" the woman with bright ginger hair known as nami scolds at luffy, and you had a feeling you would get along with her.

as nami continued to scold luffy, your eyes trail over to see his other crew mates: zoro, the pirate hunter with green hair and usopp, the laid back young man who had a gentle smile on his face. you were about to greet them when a sudden whistle cuts you off, catching your attention as a smooth voice calls out to you.

"my my, i had no idea luffy found such a refined lady to join us."

you were slightly frowning now, for you were certain no one who knew you well would ever call you refined or a lady. you glance back to see the source of the voice, feeling your heart soften and race just the tiniest bit.

standing a few feet away from you was a tall, blond man with sea-green eyes and a flirtatious smile. he wore a well tailored suit that fit him to perfection, and seeing the way his soft strands of hair fell across his handsome (almost angelic) features was enough to make any woman fall to her knees for him.

you watch as the man steps closer to you, swearing you heard zoro let out a grunt of annoyance as the tall blond takes a hold of your hand while brushing his lips at the back of them.

he whispers your name for a brief moment before continuing, "my heart has been stolen by you at first sight, madam, and you may call me sanji, for there is nothing more that could possibly fill me with joy than hearing the sound of my name coming from your parted lips."

before sanji could place his lips against the back of your hand, you ripped it away from his grasp while swinging your bag towards him, landing a hit against the back of his head as he let out a grunt of pain.

"you're the crew's casanova, i see." you were laughing genuinely now, feeling amused at sanji's antics as he gave you a sheepish smile. "ah, you wound me, milady. but if i can get you to laugh like that more often, mademoiselle, it would all be worth it."

you roll your eyes to bite back the heat that was threatening to form on your cheeks, turning away from him to hide the grin that painted your features.

even during that first day, you knew that you belonged here, with luffy and the others.

throughout the journeys you shared with them, you remained by their side.

from stitching up zoro's deep wounds, to healing nami's fever, somehow, you formed a tight bond with each and every one of them, never once taking them for granted.

you even managed to put up with sanji's quirky and flirtatious nature. during your travels, you realized that sanji had a particular fondness and weakness to beautiful women, watching in amusement as he attempted to woo them into his arms, only to fail miserably.

and during the times where the blond cook would flirt with you, you would simply brush it off or tease him back, never once taking him seriously since you knew he would simply flirt with or hit on any woman he came across.

but, that had to be such an isolated existence, right? despite how sanji acted like he was an open book and was able to share his heart with the world, you had a feeling that truly wasn't the case for him.

you could see that now, watching him all alone on the deck while his friends were asleep-

and the loneliness that he exuded resonated deeply within you. forgetting all about your prior exhaustion, you step closer to him while clearing your throat, alerting sanji to your presence. he sees you and snuffs out his cigarette, and your heart warmed at his thoughtfulness.

"a penny for your thoughts?" you lean against the ship's bannister, looking down at the ocean waves while admiring how it perfectly reflected the night sky above. you kept your gaze on the crescent moon, silently beckoning for sanji to speak.

you could hear the smile in his voice, "a penny for my thoughts, you say?" he chuckles a bit. "what? you think something's bothering me?"

you shrug, still keeping your gaze on the dark waters of the ocean. "yes. for starters it's well past the midnight hour, and you're still awake."

"so are you."

"this isn't about me, sanji." you laugh, letting out a sigh before meeting sanji's gaze. his eyes appeared darker from beneath the moonlight, and you found it hard to decipher his emotions and what he was thinking.

"to me, you're an anomaly." sanji's eyebrows furrow in response to your words, yet you continue to explain, "you put on such a carefree and happy façade, you flirt constantly with women, yet sometimes, i feel like you're achingly lonely."

you shut your eyes briefly before standing back to your full height, no longer leaning against the bannister as you look back at the ocean. "i sometimes wonder, just where is your heart at, sanji?"

"it's with you." sanji answers without hesitation, causing you to break out in a knowing smile. you already had a retort on the tip of your tongue, ready to rebuttal his flirtatious words like you always do-

that is, until you finally got a good look at him.

the faint scent of cigarette smoke still lingers in the air, and as your eyes met with his sea-green gaze once more, you saw a strange, unfamiliar glint within them. his soft strands of hair blew in tune with the wind, and he was looking at you like you were the only girl that existed in the entire world-

he was looking at you with an expression akin to that of love and adoration.

your heart was suddenly pounding now, lips parted as the air seemed to escape from your lungs in shallow breaths. yet still, sanji keeps his gaze on you, reaching out a hand to brush back your hair when he tells you,

"my heart is with you. it's been with you since the moment i first laid my eyes on you."

you could feel your head shake, "n-no, that's not true. there's no way..."

sanji's smile was wistful, seeming to recall your first meeting as he gently curls a strand of your hair with his fingertips. "i knew you didn't believe me then, but i meant what i said... you had captured my heart. and that feeling...that feeling never went away- even now."

he takes you in his arms then, allowing your hands to rest against his chest, where you could feel the steady racing of his heart from beneath the palm of your hand. your smile was wide now, and you allow yourself to lean up against him, pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss.

sanji tasted of hot cocoa and faintly of smoke, the taste strangely addicting to you as you delved your fingers into his soft hair. the more his lips molded against yours, the more you felt yourself melting into him.

you cling to him, relishing in his warmth while looking up at him with adoration in your own gaze.

"i never thought, nor even dared to dream that you could even feel the same way for me." sanji was grinning now, allowing the tip of his nose to gently inhale the scent of your hair as you rested your head against his chest before admitting to him.

"my heart is with you, too."

a.n. - lowkey have the biggest crush on opla!sanji. he's actually so cute and swoonworthy 🥹. this is so self indulgent, and unedited, so i apologize for any mistakes / errors!

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 9, MDNI

“You did what?!” The words tumble out of your mouth. The shock and fear cause you to speak before you can try to bite down on your tongue and think of what you want to say. Your eyes widen in horror, your vision blurring as the implications of his words settle in. As you sit next to him, your fingers run through your hair. You push loose strands out of your face. Your other hand motions towards his duffel bag stashed under the bed.

Simon tells you he ‘took care’ of the strangers. But you figure he meant something other than keeping one man captive.

Simon described how he cornered one of the men. The man was unarmed, except for a shabby kitchen knife. When the stranger attempted to flee, Simon disarmed and restrained him. But while he held the man in his grip, he started to yell. His friend, alerted by the sudden noise, came rushing towards the two of them. In his hands, he held a gun, which he didn’t hesitate to point at Simon’s head. His fingers hovered over the trigger. Yet before he could pull it, a group of trudging biters, drawn by the loud sounds, crawled out from the bushes in the backyard. Seeing this new threat and realising that he couldn’t shoot Simon without harming his friend, the gunman, overcome by panic, tried to run away. Although, he didn’t get far. He stumbled over his feet in his hurry and fell to the ground in a graceless heap. His gun slipped from his hands. Biters surrounded him, and in the blink of an eye, the man was dead.

After dragging himself and the man, who was still struggling to get free, out of the sight of the dead, so they wouldn’t become the next thing biters eat, Simon struggled to figure out what to do. He knew he should have sliced the man’s throat and be done with it. But as he hauled the stranger into the house, he realised he couldn’t do that. Before getting rid of the man, Simon needed to get some answers from him.

“What if his people come here looking for him? You can’t keep him here,” you say, your eyes fixated on Simon’s hands. He cleans his knife, wiping the sharp blade on the fabric of his black pants as if he were simply dusting off crumbs. The sight of blood makes your stomach churn. You grip the blanket, using all your strength to keep yourself from fainting. Suddenly, breathing becomes an arduous task. Each breath feels like a battle — as if you’re underwater, lungs filling with water instead of air. You gasp, desperate for oxygen. Only when Simon places his hands on your trembling shoulders and locks his eyes with yours, telling you to slow down and mimic his deep, measured breaths, do you manage to calm down and regain some semblance of control.

“I could - should - have slit his throat, I know. But first, I need to make him talk,” he says, and you nod, focusing on his brown eyes. “Perhaps they were just randomly searching this area again? They might not know that I’m here, hiding with you.”

He cups your cheeks, his warm palms enveloping your face. His thumb moves in gentle, soothing circles, caressing your skin. Leaning in, he presses his lips against your forehead. As you meet his gaze, you sense a momentary hesitation in his eyes. His muscles tense as his eyes fixate on your mouth. This is not how you had envisioned your first kiss with him, but you close the remaining distance between your faces. Your lips touch, and you can taste the faint remnants of dirt and a metallic tang on the tip of your tongue. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, adding a subtle saltiness to the air. When you press your palm against the back of his head, you feel the texture of his unkempt hair, slightly gritty against your skin. But at the moment, none of that matters. You surrender yourself to him, feeling a fusion of warmth and tenderness. Simon doesn’t want it to end, but he musters the strength to pull away, knowing that you won’t do it. Both of you are left breathless, your chests rising and falling rapidly. Your eyes remain closed, feeling his hot breath on your skin.

“I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Simon rummages through his duffel bag. He pulls out a thick rope, another smaller knife, and a pistol that looks to have seen better days. You watch him as he checks the chamber of the gun. His face contorting with a muttered curse when he sees it is empty. Unfazed, he reaches into the side pocket of the bag and scoops up some loose bullets, which clink together with a metallic sound.

“I’m going to check on him,” he says, pushing himself off the bed. As he stands, his fingers brush through your hair in a soothing gesture. His hand gives your shoulder a light squeeze. “You stay here, okay?” His voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation. You nod, and he rewards you with a faint smile that quickly vanishes. “And… Don’t go into the basement.”

You follow Simon’s instructions, refusing to venture downstairs. Determined to avoid the haunting echoes of the man’s guttural groans as Simon delivers blow after blow in a desperate effort to make the stranger speak, you distance yourself as much as possible from the door. For some time, you silence the world and the chaos in your mind by focusing on the fact that you and Simon kissed. Your fingertips trace over the contour of your lips. The sensation prompts you to bite the inside of your cheek. It feels like a swarm of butterflies in your stomach is trying to get free.

The day has been a rollercoaster, a whirlwind of emotions that has left you feeling like a boat drifting aimlessly in a vast, stormy ocean. Anxiety anchors you down. You can’t stop tugging at the loose thread on the bottom of your shirt. Yet a part of you feels happy. This happiness, however, is tainted by a creeping guilt. It slithers into your mind like fog seeping into a valley, clouding your joy. You feel as though you should care more about other things — the fact that your family is still missing, or that Simon is beating up some stranger in your basement — but no matter how hard you try to focus and ground yourself, come back to the harsh reality, your thoughts drift back to Simon like a moth drawn to a flame. All you can think about is the taste of his lips and how much you want to kiss him again.

After everything quiets down, and you can’t hear a single sound coming from the basement, you creep downstairs. You walk towards the basement door. The shadows swallow you as you press your ear against the rough wood. A sense of anxiety grips you, preventing you from daring to step inside the basement. But you realise that you don’t need to, anyway. You can hear Simon and the stranger’s muffled voices. The thick wooden door obscures their words, but as you strain your ears, you can catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

Simon’s voice sounds agitated. He talks in short, clipped sentences. You can only imagine the vexed expression on his face. The only time you can recall him being so furious is when you first met him and got into a fight with him. The stranger - whose name you still don’t know - says nothing at first. However, as Simon’s onslaught continues, he has enough of Simon’s interrogating and cracks, revealing how he and his people are still tracking Simon. The stranger mentions that there’s a bounty set on Simon’s head. Whoever brings him back to the base gets rewarded. When Simon fires back, questioning why they didn’t cease their relentless pursuit, the man’s response is chilling. He admits they revel in the thrill of the chase, in watching Simon run, in knowing that sooner or later he would be caught. And when that day comes, Simon will pay for what he and his team did.

You retreat from the door, unable to bear listening any longer. You need a pause, a moment to collect the shards of your shattered emotions. Your arms wrap around your body in a protective, almost self-soothing gesture. Slowly, you let your knees buckle and you slide down the door, coming to rest on the cold, hard floor. The thought of someone turning murder into a twisted game, deriving some sick sense of glee from ending another person’s life, is something you can’t fathom. You lose track of the rest of their conversation; the words fading into the background. There are moments when you struggle to make out what is being said. But then, out of nowhere, you hear it - your brother’s name. It cuts through the monotonous drone of their conversation. You know that this isn’t just your imagination playing tricks on you.

Disregarding your promise to Simon to stay away, you swing the door open. The rusty hinges protest with a loud creak. You rush down the staircase, your heart pounding in rhythm with your hurried steps. Your feet, barely touching the ground, slide on the worn-out, slippery wooden steps, each one threatening to send you tumbling down into the darkness. However, as you teeter on the edge of losing your balance, you catch yourself in the nick of time, thrusting your body against the railing. You feel it shudder and strain under the unexpected weight of your panicked descent, vibrating with the force of your sudden movement.

A sight that greets you freezes you in your tracks, but only for a fleeting moment. The only light source in the basement is a candle. Its flame flickering on its last breath, clinging to life atop a table, which is a graveyard of old, dusty plastic boxes. The stranger is bound to a chair. His boots are conspicuously absent, and his face is a gruesome canvas of blood. Mingling with the acrid smell of fear, the unmistakable stench of iron lingers in the air. Simon is gripping a knife that is stained with crimson; his knuckles are bruised. The man’s chest bears a series of fresh, shallow cuts, creating a macabre pattern. The room is filled with a tense silence, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the chair and the rhythmic drip of blood onto the floor.

“Didn’t I make it clear? I told you to stay upstairs,” Simon’s piercing gaze lands on you. He radiates anger, a simmering frustration that’s palpable. Yet upon seeing your face, the hard edges of his demeanour soften, just enough for you to notice, but not enough to prevent you from taking a step back.

“He… he mentioned him,” you try your best to maintain your composure, to sound calm and collected, but it is futile. Each word you utter comes out in a rush. They tumble over each other faster than your brain can process what you’re saying. “He said my brother’s name.”

The man throws back his head and laughs. He runs his tongue across his lips, trying to wipe away the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. You glance at the stranger. When he looks back at you, you cannot withstand the eye contact and shift your gaze back to Simon.

“How do you know Y/B/N?” Simon asks. When the man refuses to speak, Simon walks over to him. He reaches out his hand and grabs a fistful of the stranger’s hair. He yanks the man’s head back in a brutal motion. That forces him to look up; you see, as his eyes dart between Simon and you. “I suggest you start talking before I continue carving you,” Simon growls, raising his other hand so the man can see him twirling the blade in his fingers. “Or better - if you remain silent - I’ll cut out your tongue,” he brushes the edge of the blade against the man’s mouth and then uses the tip of it to part his lips. “After all, you seem to have no use for it—” Simon pushes the knife deeper, laying it flat on the man’s tongue, causing him to gag. “—and just to make it interesting, I’ll even feed it to you.”

Under different circumstances, Simon’s behaviour, his words, sharp and hurtful, and the threats that he so casually tossed around like loose change, would have made your skin crawl. But right now, you don’t have the time to dwell on it.

“He’s one of the prisoners.” the man says, his voice wavering. Then he falls silent. It’s clear from his eyes that he doesn’t want to say more. As Simon’s knee collides with his stomach, he opens his mouth again. “The base is enormous. We need people to manage it… to do things we don’t want to, like killing the dead who sneak inside the perimeter or cook and serve food.”

The stranger continues, his voice growing steadier as he pulls himself together. He says that when he and his people venture out, if they encounter other survivors, who appear to be in good shape, healthy, not bitten or injured, they bring them back to the base.

“What about the woman he was with?” You ask when the man mentions your brother was with an older woman, whose description matches your mother’s. “Is she with him now? Are they together?”

“She was bitten,” the man says. He takes a deep breath before spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground near your feet. A sadistic glint appears in his eyes as he realises who the woman you’re asking about is. He seems to enjoy the suspense before the next words leave his lips. His voice is cruel and devoid of any sympathy. “We don’t have any use for dead weight in our group. So, I did what was necessary–put a bullet through her skull.”

The next few minutes are a disorienting blur. Relief washes over you as you realise your brother is still alive. But this joy is quickly overshadowed by the chilling reality that the man - who is grinning and looking at you - killed your mother. Simon blows out the candle, letting darkness engulf the space. He then guides you up the stairs. When you stumble, he insists you sit on the couch. It’s only when he returns, holding a half-empty water bottle, that you notice he has left. As you attempt to drink, a soft whimper escapes your lips. It causes water to spill from the corners of your mouth and the bottle to slip from your trembling hands.

With teary eyes, you glance at Simon. His gaze, filled with concern, meets yours, taking in raw the torment etched across your face. He wants to help, to ease your pain, but he doesn’t know how. When your sobs break the silence, he sits next to you. His arms wrap around your shoulders, and he pulls you into his embrace, drawing you onto his lap. You bury your face in his chest. Your hot tears soak the fabric of his shirt. He remains silent, knowing words will do little to console you right now. But you don’t care for words. The world around you spins. It feels as if the ground is slipping from underneath you. And you just need him there. You need him to be with you and hold you.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69, @browtfyoudoing, @yelenassafeplace, @itsthealice If you want to be added, let me know!

[scuttlingcrab]

A Devilish Mentor

This is the second fic I wrote for the Raphael fan zine @silkandsulphur! You can find it here. This one has been brewing for a while, as I desperately needed to write a version of Raphael making Mol a deal, and to see just a glimpse of what his mentorship could've been like.

The first piece I wrote is called Flowers for a Devil.

Summary: Have you ever pondered what happened to Mol after she was abducted from the Last Light Inn? In this one-shot, the Devil we know swallows his pride as he ventures deep into the Mind Flayer Colony to rescue Mol, and not because he has a soft heart... he's just looking out for his future assets.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via keylana-dragon)

The Last Light Inn shuddered as the roof collapsed, windows shattering all across the establishment as a swarm of winged horrors flooded through the openings. They bared their rotten teeth, immediately slashing at anyone within their vicinity. Mortal screams merged with ghoulish screeches as the tiefling refugees scattered like ants, some trying to find a spot to hide while others frantically searched for something to defend themselves with. 

Jaheira jumped to her feet, her army of Harpers quickly following suit as they unsheathed their weapons, charging at the intruders with a surprising amount of vigour. 

It was safe to say the sudden onslaught of enemies had taken everyone by surprise. 

Well, nearly everyone…

The Devil sat amidst the ensuing bedlam, sitting snugly in his favourite seat near the entrance of the Inn. A mischievous smile snaked across his lips as he took in the atmosphere, uncorking an aged bottle of wine. He could’ve easily snapped his fingers to aid the poor mortals, to end their doomed fight faster than it began, but where was the fun in that? The shrieks. The blood. The abject horror. These were Raphael’s cornerstones. He nodded to himself in agreement as he watched a winged horror tear a tiefling apart – the Shadowlands never failed to disappoint. 

Raphael proceeded to pour himself a generous amount of wine, swirling it around in his goblet before bringing it to his nose. He closed his eyes, inhaling its delicious aroma. Earthy and sweet, with hints of black cherries and a dash of smokiness to it. Just how he liked it.  

The window next to him exploded before he could take a sip as a winged horror darted inside, shards of glass and wooden splinters ricocheting through the air. Raphael sighed, unmoved by the sudden disturbance. He took a moment to brush the broken glass and specks of dirt from his shoulder, noticing fresh tears in his favourite doublet and small lesions on his skin. He twisted his lips into a sharp frown at the sight, snapping his fingers to rid himself of the imperfections. 

The winged horror hovered above Raphael and raised its hand, claws extended as it prepared to lash out at the Devil. Raphael looked up lazily, finally taking a sip of wine. His dark brown eyes transformed into a raging inferno, violent flames flickering deep within his retinas as he gave the ghoul a hard stare. His seat glowed red, the wood catching fire as it pulsated, a trail of smoke rising to meet the winged horror. It disregarded Raphael’s silent warning as it edged closer. Raphael snarled, showcasing his own Devilish fangs as he hissed. Get lost. Or else.

Raphael wasn’t in the mood to waste his breath on a creature of that status. If it came to it, he would’ve gladly ripped the ghoul’s head off, turning its skin into putty. It would’ve at least satiated his growing hunger, calmed his spiralling nerves for a brief moment. But Raphael quickly discarded that thought, uninterested in having his doublet ruined for the second time that evening. 

The ghoul’s pale eyes widened as it took in Raphael’s threats, jumping back at the unexpected hiss. At realising what he was, who he was . It promptly zipped away, haphazardly flying into the staircase bannister as it made its way up to the second floor.

Raphael shook his head, shedding any remaining evidence of his infernal nature. 

This only proved one thing, that Ketheric Thorm had truly lost all manner of sensibility. He was a coward in every sense of the word, too afraid to even collect his daughter from the Last Light Inn. Despite the God of Death himself sitting on the old elf’s shoulders, feeding him with immortality as befitting the Chosen of Myrkul, he had grown weaker, stupider; instead sending those slaves of the Absolute to do his bidding. No wonder he sat on his crumbling throne in Moonrise, rotting away and wasting his true gift as he chased one meaningless quest after another. It was no secret Raphael once took pleasure in Kethric’s misery, feeding off his pain and suffering, but now the fool was just getting under Raphael’s skin, disrupting his grand ambitions. If he had never joined the other Chosen, Raphael would’ve been content leaving Ketheric to wither like a rotting flower. 

It didn't matter. Raphael had seen this story before, knew its ending. If only he could skip to the conclusion…

An icy breeze crept in through the window as Raphael watched the chaos continue, his eyes scanning the crowd for Tav and her companions. His grip tightened on the goblet as she flooded his mind, of what she could promise him, if his coercion went according to plan . He had grown tired of reading Korrilla’s field updates about the little mouse, finding her notes monotonous and lacking his usual artistic flair. His mouth salivated at the notion of getting to watch her work in real time, to see if this hero was truly worthy of his attention.

As if on cue, Tav dove out of one of the rooms upstairs, ramming against a bookshelf as she dodged an attack from a winged horror. The bookshelf fell on her, scattering miscellaneous scrolls across the upper landing. Tav eventually managed to free herself, drawing her sword and attempting to slash the ghoul in two. She missed the swipe by a margin, as if she was blindfolded. 

In retaliation, the winged horror attacked Tav, marking her across the face with its claws. She screamed, throwing away her sword and summoning a fireball. The spell hit the winged horror, but also caught part of the landing as it exploded upon impact. Within seconds the ghoul disintegrated and the fire spread to the surrounding walls. Tav threw her arms up in panic as she showered the fire in an ice spell, quickly calming the flames. 

Tav barely survived a fight against a weakling that should’ve taken her one, maybe two moves at most. Raphael let out a loud sigh, massaging the back of his neck. A lump formed in his throat, the sense of dread growing as it made its way to the pit of his stomach. Of all the creatures, in all the planes, it had to be that woman, that lost cause , who held the future in her hands. His future. 

Fate was a cruel mistress indeed. 

Two more winged horrors flew towards Tav and she yelped like a puppy, nearly tripping over herself as she ran back into the room she came from.

A strange warmth surged through Raphael’s chest at that sight, washing away all previous anxieties, as a rather boisterous laugh escaped his lips. Raphael seldom laughed in such a manner but it seemed the wine had loosened him up, perhaps too much, and he allowed himself to relax back into his seat. Yes, Tav was an imbecile, but he wouldn’t deny that she was quite an amusing creature.  

He let the laughter naturally trail off as he re-directed his focus to one of the other rooms. Raphael immediately caught the eye of Jaheira near the dormitory, struggling to keep a winged horror from ripping her neck apart. She fired a thunderwave at it, but despite the concussive blast, it didn’t stop lunging at her. She glared at Raphael, her brows raising in confusion as she fought off the ghoul. A frown grew on her lips, deepening the wrinkles around her mouth. 

Raphael tilted his head, smirking at her in return. 

“Get away from me!” A familiar voice screamed near the bar, stealing Raphael’s attention from the Druid.

He leaned out of his chair, searching for the owner of that voice. Mol. Raphael barely had a moment to register it was her before a winged horror snatched her by the waist, taking her in its arms and flying off into the darkness outside the Inn. 

Raphael crossed his arms, massassing his chin in contemplation. That cheeky little tiefling, he’d hate to lose that one. A nuisance to some, but to Raphael she was another auspicious opportunity.

A few nights ago, Raphael and Mol played lanceboard together until the wee hours of the morning. Raphael let Mol win, of course, but it was a close call, causing Raphael to change his tactics more than once. No creature had been that close to defeating him in a game since that priest, aeons ago. With more practice, and some clear guidance from Raphael, perhaps one day she’ll beat him fair and square. He saw something familiar in Mol, something that reminded Raphael of his younger self, scraping the barrel to survive. 

At that moment, Mol’s contract practically fell into his lap. Although Raphael didn’t draft the document yet, they had a preliminary agreement set in place. He had strategically left the rest up to Mol, leaving her with the decision of whether or not she wanted to make such a risky bet on her future. But as with all decisions Raphael placed in front of his clients, she was free to choose the only option she had left.

Yes, Mol would need saving, that was for certain. The hour was late, but Raphael still had some time to kill before his next appointment. Why not make the most out of it? A little improvisation would do him some good. He was a saviour, after all.

Raphael’s eyes went back to Jaheira, curious to see how she was getting on with her struggles. The Druid was now on the floor, dazed from a strike against the head. The same winged horror loomed above her, within seconds of making the final strike.

“Might as well…” Raphael whispered resignedly, shrugging. He rose from his seat, straightening his posture as he snapped his fingers. A wooden beam instantly fell from the ceiling, crushing the winged horror like an insect, its guts splattering across the wooden floor.

Jaheira instinctively curled up into a ball as the beam destroyed the ghoul, preparing herself for the inevitable. After a moment of stillness, when she was sure the rest of the ceiling wasn’t going to collapse, she peeked through one of her arms, slowly unravelling. She crawled away from the dead monster, staring at the corpse and back at the ceiling in confusion. 

She stiffened, as if feeling Raphael’s gaze on her, and slowly turned in his direction. Raphael nodded, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. You’re welcome. 

The Druid shook her head, her eyes narrowing, lips snarling as she gave him a scathing look in return for his generous display of chivalry.

Their moment promptly ended when more screams came from the upper landing. Jaheira jumped to her feet, running towards the action without a moment's hesitation.

Raphael hummed an old melody to himself as he turned away from the ongoing action, sparing a final thought for Tav. Good luck, little mouse. They’ll be reunited soon enough.

And with that, the Devil snapped his fingers, whisking himself away to Moonrise Towers in a theatrical display of sparks and embers.

---

Raphael groaned as he trudged through the never-ending corridors of the Mind Flayer Colony, his boots squelching with each step, disappearing into the jelly-like consistency of the flooring. He shivered in disgust, holding his limbs close to his body. That cursed place was a disgrace to all living things, assaulting practically every one of his senses. Raphael picked up all sorts of rancid scents from the hills of rotting corpses and the sour stench of the Elder Brain itself, lurking somewhere even deeper below him. He knew the Absolute cultists were vile creatures, the scum of the earth, but he would’ve preferred any torment to this. He’d even consider having a face-to-face meeting with his beloved father rather than continue subjecting himself to these horrors any longer than necessary. 

He followed the bloody hallways, unsure what other disgusting things awaited him as he searched for Mol. He eventually entered a location that resembled a laboratory, strange instruments he had never seen before occupied most of the room. An assortment of body parts and torture weapons were also thrown about the chamber like forgotten toys. Blood trailed down the walls like a waterfall, still wet from their victims. It was a madman's playpen. Raphael hissed, instantly recognising the handiwork from the disorder in front of him. Balthazar, that wretched necromancer. He should’ve known. At least Raphael had the dignity to clean-up after himself when he tortured his clientele. He quickened his steps, barely spending another second in the lab before he moved on, not wanting to risk contaminating himself any further. 

Soon the Devil stumbled into a tadpooling centre, identical transformation pods lined the edge of the room, taking up practically all available wall space. Raphael took a step forward, his eyes scanning every pod for a sign of Mol. He felt his breath catch when he recognised the shape of a small silhouette in a pod at the far end of the room. It was roughly the same height as Mol, with two little horns sprouting from the skull…

He clapped his hands, rubbing them together in excitement. Alas! 

Raphael darted towards the pod, peering inside it to confirm it wasn’t an illusion. Mol was unconscious within, her body slumped to the side. Her eyepatch was missing, no longer hiding the gaping hole where her eye would’ve been. Mol’s face was puffy, her body bruised and covered in blood, likely tortured before being thrown in there for transformation. 

He sighed, tilting his head back in relief. 

Raphael raised his hand, preparing to snap his fingers, when a voice sang out from the pod next to Mol. 

“That one put up a fight…” 

Raphael froze, turning towards the neighbouring pod. His eyes widened, glinting with excitement when he realised who that mysterious voice belonged to. 

Mizora was crammed inside the pod. Her wings were folded and tangled, barely giving her any room to breathe within the confines of that Illithid cage. Usually so high and mighty, quick to treat even the mightiest Devil’s like dirt under her heels, she was now reduced to a measly insect in a jar. 

Oh, this was going to be delicious . 

Raphael stood in front of the pod, tapping on the glass with his index finger. He waved flamboyantly at Mizara, proudly wearing a smug smirk on his face. 

“My, oh, my. Look what the cat dragged in. Are we having fun, Mizora?” 

“This isn’t how I was expecting to spend my evening, so no .”

Raphael leaned back, crossing his arms thoughtfully. 

“Hmm, yes. I can imagine your disappointment. Riding on Zariel’s coattails has taken you far, it seems. Where is your faithful leader now?” 

“You will hold your tongue,” Mizora hissed. 

“Must be eating you up inside. Poor thing .” 

Raphael extended his arms, bringing a hand to his forehead as he began dramatically looking around the room, pretending to search high and low for Zariel’s whereabouts. 

“Zariel?! Oh Zariel…?!” Raphael paused, cupping his hand towards his ear as he waited for an answer. “Wherefore art thou…” 

 “Forever the jester, never the king.” Mizora spoke through gritted teeth, leaning towards the glass. 

Raphael bit the tip of his tongue, using all his power not to show any reaction to Mizora’s words. Her comment cut deep, sliding beneath his thick skin, just like Mizora knew it would. He clasped his hands behind his back, hiding the fact that the tips of his fingers glowed red, pulsating, on the brink of casting a rain of Hellfire down on her. That pod was about to become Mizora’s coffin if he didn’t control himself. 

“Mock me all you want, Raphael,” Mizora continued, that venomous grin growing larger as she glared at Raphael. “Once Zariel gets word of this, your little escapades are over.”

“Oh I beg to differ.” Raphael laughed, quickly recovering his confidence and stopping Mizora’s smile short. “And shall I tell the Archduchess how one of her most prized servants foolishly let herself get caught in the Shadowlands, of all places? Overwhelmed by… what was it again? Shadows? Shadows, really? My, how the mighty have fallen.”

Raphael laughed uproariously, tears forming on the corner of his eyes. He placed his hand on the pod to catch his breath. 

“Oh, I do look forward to seeing you finally cast out of Zariel’s inner circle, forced to beg for her love, her affection, scrounging for scraps like the miserable half- devil you are. You are slacking, my dear, maybe it's your obsession with that Blade of Frontiers, hm? I’m sure there is a list of growing tasks on your plate that you have been shoving aside just for him, no?”

Mizora lashed out at Raphael like a rabid wolf, hitting her face against the glass. 

“Tsk. Have you no ounce of decorum, Mizora? Even now? A pity…”

Raphael turned away from Mizora, walking back to Mol’s pod.

“Don’t you DARE! I will make sure Z–”

Raphael snapped his fingers, silencing the cambion. He breathed deeply, basking in the newfound quiet that filled the room. 

Back to business. 

Raphael wet his lips, considering the tiefling for a moment. If he delayed any longer she’d be at risk of becoming a useless mind flayer, something not even a Devil of his stature could amend. Yes, he’d lose a deal, a soul, but he had enough of those already. What he craved, wanted more than anything was a chance at mentorship. He could barely remember the last time he recruited someone so young, someone bursting from the seams with potential. Mol was the perfect clean slate for Raphael’s endeavours, a mortal who was practically begging to receive Raphael’s guidance. With Mol under his wing, she’d be raised to her full potential by the time she was in her teens. Who knows what she’d achieve in adulthood… 

He snapped his fingers, throwing open the door to Mol’s pod. Her body slumped forward, but Raphael was quick to catch her, holding the tiefling in his arms like precious cargo. 

Satisfied, Raphael glanced back at Mizora. She was screaming, clawing against the glass of the pod. Ugly tears streamed down Mizora’s face as she continued yelling, her meaningless words lost in the silence. He stared at her, curious as to what she was saying; most likely begging for his help, in between all the infernal curses. He smiled proudly in return, joy filling his heart at how easily he had put Mizora in her place.

“Ta-ta…” 

Raphael gave Mizora a final wink before spinning around. 

A fiery portal appeared in front of him and he stepped through, leaving Mizora alone in her misery. 

---

Nearly two days passed by the time Mol started to show any signs of life. She finally stirred, twisting in her bed, as if stuck in a never-ending nightmare. Her sudden movements pulled Raphael’s attention away from a meddlesome contract he had been drafting. He placed the quill in its holder, rubbing the bridge of his nose, relieved to finally have a moment’s respite from his growing infernal duties. 

They were in a cosy guest room, located in his House of Hope and within a comfortable distance from the Chamber of Egress. Raphael seldom entertained guests who merely sought to spend the night, and much to his disappointment, that room was used only on the rare occasion. 

Unlike the rest of Raphael’s domain, the guest room was decorated sparingly, with only a single ornate floral painting hanging over the large bed. The artwork showcased a vast field of daffodils, a piece Raphael painted from memory. When he found time slipping from his fingertips and unable to escape to the place it inspired, he stopped in this room, losing himself in the painting and the memories it elicited. 

Save for the rosewood desk Raphael occupied in front of the bed, stacked high with various contracts and tomes, there was no other furniture in the room. A small balcony sat opposite the door, showcasing sweeping views of the mountainous landscape of Avernus and the River Styx below.

Raphael had stayed by Mol’s side since bringing her to his home. With Korrilla too busy watching Tav and her companions, Raphael trusted no one else with the task and had no choice but to keep a watchful eye on Mol himself. So, like a good mentor, he naturally brought the work to him, spinning his webs of influence even then.

Mol’s twisting quickly turned to violent thrashing, the sheets tangling around her small frame as she continued writhing, her face contorting in pain. Sweat glazed her forehead as she began muttering to herself frantically, all incomprehensible words. She pleaded to someone, something… Raphael inched forward in his seat, watching her curiously. Was she about to transform? Was he too late? He held his breath and waited. 

The tiefling abruptly shot up in the bed, screaming at the top of her lungs. She panted, gasping for air as she looked around the room. There was a pause, the silence feeling like an eternity, as Mol’s breath steadied. She blinked, rubbing her eye, and taking in her new surroundings. Her remaining eye came to rest on Raphael. Her eyebrows attempted to climb up her sweaty forehead at the sight of the cambion, sitting there calmly surrounded by scrolls and documents. 

He smiled, nodding reassuringly at her confusion. He soon settled back in his chair once realising his newest protege wasn’t in danger of sprouting tentacles.  

“Ooooooh...” Mol said, looking out towards the balcony. It was almost as a confirmation to herself, an understanding of where she was. That she was safe. 

The tiefling stretched the rest of her worries away, pushing her limbs out in front of her like a cat. 

“So, it seems that you’re in my debt, Mol. How are we to solve this? Hmm?”

Mol opened her mouth to respond and quickly closed it, her brow furrowing in thought and frustration. 

“I could've gotten out of there on my own, you know. I had a plan!”

“From my perspective, you were within seconds of becoming a sack of tentacles. Unless that was part of your scheme… you’ve proven to be quite resourceful in times of distress. I will give you that.” 

“Hey, I fought off that big smelly fat man before he knocked me out. Smashed a bunch of those weird looking brain thingies too. I don't need anyone to save me!” 

“Oh really now?” Raphael sniffed quietly, walking towards the balcony. He rested his hands on the stone railing, admiring the views of Avernus as he pretended to be disinterested in the current conversation.  

I don’t need anyone to save me. 

Raphael had uttered similar phrases throughout his entire existence. He had grown to rely only on himself, for safety and success. It was the only way to avoid any more disappointment, any more loss from his previous failures. After being cast out of Cania, deemed an embarrassment and unworthy of even his father’s love, he was forced to shape his own path, create his own future. Raphael had no one to thank but himself. And his father, he supposed. If it wasn’t for Raphael’s hatred towards Mephistopheles, he wouldn’t have ended up so successful in the first place.

“But I guess… I should thank you, Raphael.” Mol shrugged, scratching the side of her head uncomfortably. 

She suddenly gasped, feeling around for her eyepatch. She swiftly covered her missing eye with the palm of her hand, hiding it from Raphael. 

There was another pause as Raphael waited, hoping he didn’t seem too desperate, too eager to solidify this deal with Mol. He wanted her to be comfortable and willing to give up anything. She needed to make the first move.

“I bet you want to talk about that deal, don’t you?” Mol asked.

Raphael nodded, the smile on his lips growing. Bingo.

“I’m all ears, Mol. A Devil is always ready to discuss business.”

“But… what if I’m not ready?”

At her words, Raphael turned around, snapping his fingers. A raging portal opened back to the Mindflayer Colony, showcasing a man in a pod. He was mid-transformation, his skin disintegrating into a bloody explosion, tentacles sprouting from his mouth.

“I can send you straight back if you wish? You can put your plan to good use, I’d be curious to see how you manage.”

Mol viciously shook her head, shivering. 

“Gods, you’re good.” 

“Shall I close the portal or…?”

Mol nodded and with another snap, the portal faded. 

“I will have you know, Mol, this house was built from nothing,” Raphael dramatically gestured to the walls around him, treating the moment as if he was on stage in front of an audience. “I didn’t come this far by merely playing fair. I only show the reality of what is to come without my aid. I’ve been known to bend a few rules, or two, in my favour. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Maybe you can show me some of those tricks one day.”

“Would you like that?”

Mol nodded again.

Snap! 

A blistering contract appeared before Mol, pulsing above the bed.

“Consider it done.”

“And uh, that other thing we talked about?”

“All in the contract.”

Mol hopped to her knees, crawling towards the contract in excitement. She raised her hands, reaching towards the quill but Raphael flicked his wrist, causing the writing instrument to vanish. 

“It's never wise to sign without reading the fine print, Mol. Let this be your first lesson under my patronship.”

“Nah, I trust you. Oh, actually wait…  can I add one more thing before I sign?”

“I’ll allow it.” 

“Can you do something about this ?”

Mol lowered her hand from her eye, pointing towards it.

Raphael walked towards Mol, tenderly placing his hand on her head. She looked away, biting her lip, as her cheeks grew red in embarrassment. 

“I’ll give you this one for free. Now read the contract. You never know who, or what, will try to deceive you.”

Raphael patted Mol’s head, sparks flying from his fingertips as her face was briefly covered in them. 

“Ow! What the–!” 

The sparks dissolved from Mol’s visage, revealing her restored eye. She gasped, jumping up and down on the bed. 

“This might be the best thing that has ever happened to me… since… robbing those Druids and getting loads of gold!” Mol looked down at her hands and squealed in joy, observing her nails, looking at each finger, and making fists and other silly gestures with her hands. “Actually, no, I lied… this is way better!” 

“Now read.” 

Mol sighed, her posture deflating as she sagged into the bed with disappointment. She reached for the contract, bringing it closer to read.

Raphael resumed his position behind his desk, watching as Mol took her sweet time going over the contract. Her face became more serious as she concentrated, squinting her eyes and frowning as she mouthed each word from the text. When she was finished, she glanced up at Raphael, grinning. 

Snap! 

A quill appeared in her hands. She wasted not even one second as she signed her name on the dotted line. 

Raphael clapped his hands and the contract disappeared in a ball of flames. The Devil spared no expense from his usual whimsicality, even for Mol. 

“Well, I don’t feel any different…”

“In due time, Mol,” Raphael turned away from her, returning to the work that remained piled high in front of him. 

“So… what happens now?”

“Might I suggest you start your work in the sewers if you are to achieve these rather ambitious goals of yours?”

Mol grimaced. 

“I was hoping it would be more… instantaneous. I’ve had enough experience working in dirty, grimy places.”

“There is more to be found down there than meets the eye. Power means many things, one of which is connections . If you want to be running the Guild one day, it’s high time you start inserting yourself in their business. Know their rules, study their actions, and in time you will learn how to break them, mould them to your vision.” 

Mol’s eyes brightened as she listened to Raphael, her eagerness growing like a volcano on the verge of an eruption until… her stomach grumbled, rather loudly, echoing throughout the room. 

Raphael lowered the scroll he had been reading, shooting Mol a cold stare. She returned his look with a sheepish grin. 

“I don’t suppose you have any… food down here?”

Another snap, this one strangely angry sounding.

A new table appeared in the middle of the room, filled with a plethora of snacks and luxurious food Mol had no doubt never laid eyes on.

“Gods! What a spread!”

Mol dove towards the table, devouring the food like a rabid dog. He would’ve normally found this behaviour repulsive, nothing ruined his appetite quicker than a mortal who could not control their temptations. But Raphael found comfort watching Mol, holding back a laugh as she tore the meat from a chicken leg. He would teach her proper manners soon enough.

“Say, no offence, but can you send me back when I’m done?” Mol spoke through a full mouth, “I mean, to Baldur’s Gate. I’m not a big fan of Avernus…”

“You better get used to it, Mol.” Raphael responded, dabbing a quill in some ink, “you’ll be seeing the Hells far more often, I guarantee it.”