#Mask Making Machine range

[eyenaku]

FOOL MASK (GITM BY @venomous-qwille)

Handbuilt porcelain with slip, overglaze, glaze, and gold lustre accents. Paint and lacquer detailing added post fire. Handsewn fool's cap and bells added post fire.

This mask is a part of a (loosely connected) mask series, all hand-built and fired using a range of different temperatures and techniques.

My favourite mask to date, Fool from Ghost in the Machine by the wonderful @venomous-qwille !! GITM is absolutely incredible and I cannot put into words eloquently how much I adore it and Fool so instead I made this mask! Hi!

My word was this mask a struggle to make. The mask itself is entirely one piece, and entirely porcelain!! That's right, those long thin rays are solid porcelain!! The eyes and tips of the blades are done in 22 carat gold lustre. All colouring save for the black and the satin sections of darker red on the face were done with only slips and underglazes. The red colour was correct without the paint, but I thought a contrast from the rest of the gloss would look nice :)

Made to scale, the mask measures 50.8x60.96cm without the hat, and 50.8x116.84cm with it! (20x24in without hat, 20x46in including hat). He is Large, but turned out absolutely lovely and I send my many many thanks to the kiln gods for producing him unscathed.

(naku & wall for scale)

(he's so big guys i have large walls (the top of my head is only slightly above the top of the bookcase beneath him) look at him at the wall it's nuts)

[ellaa-writes]

Gym rat König who fucks you in the locker room shower. (not edited)

He saw you first, walking up to the squat machine. Wearing tight black legging and just a sport bra. It was nearing midnight, König only came to the gym at night. Like a creature out of a horror movie, emerging from his crypt to do some weight lifting.

He couldn't stop staring, you must know he was staring. You probably did it on purpose, with the way your dressed, out late at night. Setting your water bottle down beside the machine you.

Watching you has you worked out, König long forgot what he was even doing to begin with. The heavy weights still in his hands, he let them drop to the floor without a thought. A loud thud rang though the gym, making you flinch and reel your head in his direction.

This was his opportunity, pulling at the bottom of his tank. He lifted it up to wipe off the sweat building on his forehead. Making sure his abs and chest were on full display. Hell he even flexed a little just to make sure you were looking. Hook, line and sinker, you snapped your head away as a blush crept up your chest to your face.

Today wasn't leg day, but for you it sure was. König sauntered over to the leg press machine which so happens to be right beside your machine. Giving it a quick wipe down before he looked in your direction and did his signature goofy smile, gummy and all.

"Haven't seen you here before." he called out to you, his accent thicker than usual. He was really laying it all on you. "I've been a few times but usually to busy." you replied back in between grunts. König watched has you worked up a sweat. Noticing your poor form and using that has an excuse to get closer.

"You're going to hurt yourself that way." he said nonchalantly, pointing to your back. You let the weights gently down as you sat facing him. "Leaning forward to much, watch I'll show you." he rose from his machine. Reaching you in one big step, he was so much bigger closer up. Like a skyscraper kissing the clouds, he had a surgical mask over the lower half of his face. But you still heard him like he was whispering in your ear.

You stepped back has König showed you the proper form. Doing one squat before he ushered you back to the machine. Helping you get the bar on your shoulders. His hand on your lower back, so big and wide and warm as hell. His other hand resting on your lower stomach, telling you to squat and you did. Feeling no pain as you did so, König asked "Better?" hands still on you. You just nodded your head, to dizzy to answer.

He stepped away but not far before you called out "If you don't mind, can you do that again. So I can get a better idea." König's heart started to pound as another sleezy smile spread across his face. He could show you a few more moves if you wanted, he said with a raise of an eyebrow.

Lucky for the both of you the gym was quiet dead that night. You, him and three others. He followed you back to the locker room, and into the showers. You shoved him in first, before following after and closing the curtains tight.

Konig had your leg slinged across his shoulder, your back pressed against the shower tile. The hot steam of the water filling the small enclosure. You other leg wrapped around his waist has he pounded your pussy.

He's whimpering and babbling in German, peppering your neck and chest in small kiss and bites. You nails digging into his back, panting like a bitch in heat. His thick cock hitting all the right spots, the tip bullying against your spongy cervix. His magic fingers working the bud of your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles.

The door to the locker room swung open, both you and König froze. His cock twitching inside your warm wet pussy. Listening to the sound of someone walking around, rummaging in their belongings before the always started up a shower.

Konig began to lazily pump his cock into you, slow thrusts that made your whole body buzz with need. You whined out causing König to cover your mouth with his hand. Leaning into your ear to shush you. And you tried, oh god you tried.

Letting his hand fall back down between your bodies. Working your clit once again and his thrusts became more focused and hard. The sound of the water pelting against the tiles drowning out the lewd noises coming from your stall.

You were so close, he could feel it. He was right their with you, snapping his hips harshly into your own. He was building you up until it all came crashing down. You bit into his shoulder to muffle your moan, your pussy convulsing around his cock. König could help himself, pumping his thick load into you. Grunting out before he bite his own tongue.

After a few silent moments between you to, the shower a few stalls over turned off. The curtain being yanked open and a few minutes later you bother were alone again.

He slowly washed his cum from your cunt, down on his knees. Looking up into your eyes he asked "Wanna go have a bite to eat?"

Thank you all for 600 followers!!

[submattsmxmmy]

Dead dove: do not eat 💖 Hiii, it's @ariestrxsh and this is my secondary account. Here is my contribution to kinktober. I know the Ghostface trope has been done so many times, but I figured it would still be a fun little smut to write in honor of Halloween.

👻🎀 content warning: smut, degradation, predator/prey dynamic, restraints, knife play, blood play, ghostface!matt, ghostface!chris, slutty!reader

👻🎀 author's note: idk if this would be considered a dead dove: do not eat fic, but it certainly contains some rather dark material, so i'd rather label it that way to be safe. also, my reader's slutty nun outfit may offend you if you're religious, so please scroll and don't read if it's going to upset you.

👻🎀 summary: you're throwing a halloween party at your house in a remote area. the night becomes like a thrilling, real-life horror movie after your friends, matt and chris both show up dressed as the infamous ghostface.

masquerade

"What are you guys going as tonight?" You asked Nick, Matt, and Chris as the four of you aimlessly wandered around the Halloween store that was littered with all the decor you could dream of for the party you were throwing later. You'd done most of your holiday shopping a few weeks prior, but you just needed a few final touches to complete the vibe you were going for.

"I'm going as Stu Macher," Nick responded, fiddling with some tacky Halloween decoration. "I'm going as Ghostface," Chris confidently replied, and your gaze softened as you pictured him in one of those sexy masks.

"Hey, what the fuck, Chris? I'm going as Ghostface," Matt slugged Chris in the arm. Your breath caught in your throat, and your lips fell open as you pictured them both in the Ghostface costume. "Relax. That'll make it more fun. Then no one will know who's who," Chris smirked. "People already have a hard time telling us apart," Matt rolled his eyes.

"What are you going as?" Nick asked you, ignoring his brothers. "Well, I'm going to be the only one out of the four of us who isn't going as a Scream character. But it's going to be a surprise," you told them, wandering over towards a giant cauldron that caught your eye.

"What are you going to use that for?" Matt asked. "Punch bowl! Isn't it perfect?" You asked, picking it up and cradling it in your arms as the four of you continued through the store. "Can you at least give us a hint about what you're going to dress up as?" Chris playfully poked you in the side.

"All I can tell you is, it's gonna be sexy, and you're gonna thank God when you see me in it. I'm trying to get laid tonight," you proudly stated as the four of you headed over to the checkout counter to pay.

Nick, Matt, and Chris dropped you back off at your place, which was out in the middle of nowhere, so you could finish setting up, and so they could change into their costumes. You thought it was fitting you lived in a secluded part of your town's national forest and didn't have any neighbors for miles.

You'd just finished putting out the last of the decorum when people started trickling in. You had fake spiderwebs strewn in every corner, a smoke machine, and a black light.

You were just thinking about how excited you were for the boys to see you in your glowing slutty nun outfit when the doorbell rang, and as you pulled open your creaky front door, you saw Nick covered in fake blood accompanied by a pair of Ghostfaces, the whites of their masks lit up by the black light. "Look at you!" Nick gasped as you gave them a twirl. Chris and Matt's eyes were immediately drawn to your exposed chest and your bare thighs.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface, don't kill me!" You jokingly shrieked, placing your hands on your cheeks and making a fake surprised face. "You look really good," one of them said to you. "So do you guys," you seductively replied, nibbling on your lower lip and looking at the three of them, but especially Matt and Chris. You had a bit of a thing for masked men.

They shuffled into your house, admiring the way you had decorated. More guests started arriving, and the party started to really take off. Nick started hitting it off with a guy you worked with who was dressed as a skeleton, which left you, Matt, and Chris alone.

"You guys wanna scare Nick tonight?" Matt asked menacingly, tilting his head in his ghostface mask, which had no business being as hot as it was. You bit your lip at him.

Chris could tell you were entranced by the costume. "Like the mask, sweetheart?" Chris asked in a deep, menacingly voice that was strikingly familiar to that of the original Ghostface, taking his 'prop' weapon and running the edge along your cheek, but the metal was sharp and cold. "Shut the fuck up. Oh my god, is that a real knife?" You asked him, staring wide-eyed at it.

"Yeah, why does that scare you? Or do you like it?" Chris said in a spooky voice. You narrowed your eyes at him. "Neither. You guys are so immature. Have fun scaring Nick. I'm gonna go enjoy my party and try to find someone to hook up with. Try not to cut anyone with that thing."

You rolled your eyes at them and pushed past them, trying to hide the effect they were having on you. Both sets of eyes traveled to your ass as you walked away. "Why don't we play a prank on her instead?" Matt inquired. "Yeah, she could use a little loosening up," Chris responded.

You couldn't deny that the way Chris had put that blade up to your cheek while he was dressed like that was having a rather strong effect on you, an effect so strong that you desperately wanted to turn back around, grab them by their solid black robes, and beg them both to rail you while they wore their Ghostface attire.

You'd always found them both attractive, but they were your good friends, and most nights that the sexual thoughts about them creeped into your psyche, you were able to will it away, or something you'd never admit out loud to - sometimes you'd just take care of the aching between your legs really quickly, and the thoughts would usually dissipate on their own, but tonight was different.

You could feel a damp warmth between your thighs as you sauntered off in another direction to greet some of your other friends, but even as you asked them how the party was and tried to get your mind off of the Sturniolo boys, you found yourself peeking over your shoulder, stealing glances at them, and losing your inner battle with yourself to fight off your urges.

It had been so long, and you were so horny.

"I think that guy over there is checking you out," your friend who had animals ears on nudged you and glanced off in the direction of the punch bowl you'd bought earlier. Your eye caught a tall man with zombie makeup on that you didn't recognize grabbing himself a cup of spiked punch, his gaze flicking up at you every few seconds. You thought he was kind of cute.

"Go talk to him," your friend urged you, lovingly squeezing your arm. You took one more glance in the direction of where Matt and Chris had been standing just moments ago, seriously considering trying to pursue one of them instead, but when your eyes scanned over the crowd, you didn't see either one of them. You'd missed your chance.

"Okay, fine," you whispered to your friend, rolling your eyes and working up the courage to approach him. You took a deep breath and headed in his direction.

"Hey, do I know you?" You asked, grabbing yourself a red solo cup and serving yourself some alcoholic punch. "You know, some would say your costume is offensive," he said, ignoring your question and motioning towards your exposed breasts in your very ungodly outfit.

"Then why don't you rip it off of me?" You flirtatiously shot back. He looked unamused with you.

"Hey, so, what's the deal with your friend?" He asked, taking a sip of his drink and his gaze looking past you to where you were previously standing. "Oh, my friend," you said in a slightly disappointed tone, realizing you'd just approached and been very forward with a man who had been interested in the girl standing next to you the whole time.

You started back off in the direction you came from, and your friend glanced over at the embarrassment in your expression. "What happened? Was he a dick to you?" She asked, concern in her eyes while she cradled your face. You could understand why he was looking at her instead of you.

"No, nothing like that. If you think he's cute, you should go talk to him. I'll be right back," you responded, feeling your face get hot. You pushed past a crowd of people to get to the bottom of your staircase, and you hurried up the steps before your tears could fall.

It wasn't so much that you were upset about not getting the guy. You weren't even that interested in him. It was a combination of a few things, really.

It was the humiliation of misreading the situation, the insecurity you felt about not being as pretty as your friends, and the constant self-doubt you had about whether you really were a slut like everyone called you and if any guy would ever want you again because of it.

Through your teary vision, your bedroom door caught your eye. You stopped dead in your tracks, sniffling and wiping away your tears as alarm bells went off in your nervous system.

Your bedroom door was wide open, and you swore you'd shut it before the first few guests had arrived. You walked through the door frame cautiously, overwhelmed by a sensation of having eyes on you, studying your surroundings to see if anything else was out of place.

You shrugged off the feeling of being watched, chalking it up to the fact that it was Halloween, and you had been watching a lot of thriller and horror movies in the couple weeks leading up to your party.

You made your way over to the bathroom sink, setting down your red solo cup on the cold countertop and peering at your reflection in the mirror. You didn't want to spend Halloween night sulking in your bathroom while your two hot best friends were downstairs, strutting around in their sexy Ghostface attire and probably finding other girls to sleep with.

You cleaned off the eyeliner that was smudging on your bottom eyelid, glued the corner of your eyelash back down, and readjusted your breasts in your costume.

After fixing the imperfections with your wardrobe, you decided you weren't going to let the night end without taking a stab at trying to have sex with whichever one of the Sturniolo brothers you saw first, excluding Nick of course. You were done pretending like you weren't completely taken with them.

Your gaze flickered over to the reflection of your partially open closet door in the mirror. Again, you could have sworn you'd left it closed. Filled with dread, you slowly tiptoed out of the bathroom, past your bed, and over to your closet. You rested your hand on the round, metal door knob and slowly pushed it shut.

You realized how ridiculous you were being, rolling your eyes at yourself and letting out a sigh at how jumpy you'd been lately. You turned back around and started to head out of your bedroom when all of a sudden, you heard the sound of the closet door creaking open again.

Before you could spin yourself around and identify the threat, you felt a gloved hand cover your mouth and a cold, sharp blade resting against your neck. "What's your favorite scary movie?" The way his voice came through sounding just like Ghostface had you both scared and turned on.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you let out an audible moan against his palm, causing him to pull his hand back. "What was that?" Chris accusingly asked, speaking like himself again. "What the fuck? How do you make your voice sound like that?" You asked in a shaky voice.

He chuckled in your ear, avoiding your inquiry. "Answer me first. What was that sound you just made?" Chris posed the question again. "Nothing. Real funny, Chris. Let me go," you responded.

Another figure appeared in the corner of your eye as Matt walked around in his Ghostface costume, shutting your bedroom door closed. Your heart dropped as you watched him lock it and make his way back over to you. "Let you go? Are you sure you want that?" Matt cooed, running the back of his gloved hand along your cheek and tilting his head down at you. You gulped.

"Is this turning you on?" Chris whispered into your ear. "Gross," you rolled your eyes. "Only one way to find out," Matt menacingly replied. "Why don't you check her, Matt?" Chris smirked under his mask.

Your mouth fell open, and a strangled whimper came through as Matt reached between your legs, lifting up your skirt and slipping his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Immediately, he felt the wetness leak through his glove.

"Oh, she's soaked. Her clit practically has its own heartbeat," Matt relayed to his brother, drawing circles on it with his fingers and talking about you as if you weren't in the room with them. "I bet she'd like it if we took care of that. Don't you think?" Chris wondered, dragging the blade across your collar bone and between your partially exposed breasts.

You couldn't hold back your delighted sounds as they both put their hands on you. It was like a dream come true. Your prayers had been answered. You'd fantasized about them each separately, but the idea of having them both take you on at the same time didn't even seem like an option until now.

"What's turning you on so much? The mask? The knife? The fact that it's me and Matt?" Chris cooed at you, pulling your top down to reveal your tits. He took the knife and started running the sharp edge against your nipples that stiffened at the touch. You immediately shuddered and let out a whimper.

"All of it?" Matt wondered, continuing to play with your pussy that was becoming wetter by the second. "Answer him, slut. What's got you all wet, hmm?" Chris growled into your ear. Of course, it hurt your feelings to be called that, but there was something about the way Chris said it so endearingly that it didn't seem like he was trying to do anything other than turn you on, and it was working.

"Nothing, it's completely unrelated," you lied, biting your lip to hold back another moan, but your attempts failed, and your head fell back against Chris' chest. You felt his hard cock against your backside, and it twitched at the way you struggled to keep yourself composed. "Yeah, mine's unrelated, too," Chris replied sarcastically, staring down at your tits as he continued to tease them with his knife.

You felt Matt's fingers slip into your hole as he started to fuck you with them. "You want us to stop?" Matt asked. You nibbled on your lip and softly shook your head no. "That's what I thought. She's such a little slut," Chris said to his brother. "Don't you know it's always the slut who dies first?" Chris rasped into your ear.

"Oh, she likes that," Matt cooed, feeling your pussy start to throb around his fingers. You tried to hide your reactions, but your body language couldn't keep your secret from the two pairs of Ghostfaces who manhandled you.

"You still never told us your favorite scary movie," Chris pointed out. "Blair Witch Project," you hesitantly answered. "Mmm. That's a scary one. Especially when you live out here," Matt replied. Chris leaned over to Matt and whispered something in his ear that you couldn't quite make out.

"Lay on the fucking bed, slut," Chris responded as they both let you go. "We're gonna go have a little chat in the other room, and you're gonna lay right here and behave," Matt ordered you. "And if you try to run, you're gonna be really sorry," Chris said, waving the knife in your direction.

They both disappeared behind your bathroom door. You heard the sound of Chris and Matt arguing behind the wooden barrier about who was going to have their way with you first, but you had another idea.

When they both emerged from the bathroom, you were gone, and on your nightstand was a note that read: "come find me in the woods, mr. ghostface. xoxo, your prey" with a heart drawn below the lettering.

"Oh, that sneaky bitch thinks she can be in charge of her own fate. We're gonna have fun with her tonight," Chris told Matt as he picked up the note.

They both disappeared out of the room, down the stairs, and out the backdoor towards the dense treeline behind your house with a flashlight Matt had snagged off your kitchen counter.

All they had to do was listen quietly for a few minutes beneath the blanket of stars and clouds, and then they heard you, crushing twigs and leaves under your weight as you tried to stealthily make your way through the forest.

All of a sudden, you were lit up by the flashlight Matt held in hands. "Gotcha," he said in a menacing voice. You froze and stared at them both, unable to move a muscle. "Think you're so slick, huh?" Chris asked in a low, sexy rasp.

"You know what would make this so much more fun? If she had to guess who's who while we take turns fucking her," Matt suggested, taking a few steps towards you. "And if she guesses wrong, we'll make her bleed," Chris laughed, closing in on you as well.

You'd never seen this side of the two brothers, but it excited you more than you were willing to admit.

You started slowly walking backward until you backed into a tree, and you swallowed hard as you felt its rough trunk under your palms, realizing you didn't have anywhere to go.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface. Spare me!" You whined, but you couldn't hold back your smirk as Matt pulled the knife out of his robe and cut your costume from your body. You gasped as the fabric fell the floor in front of your feet. You'd never imagined your night would go like this. In fact, this was hotter than anything you could have ever dreamt up.

"We told you that you'd regret running." It was that same ominous, threatening, and sexy voice that Chris had used earlier in the night, so that must have been him. "I thought we told you to behave," said the other, sounding just like the first one. Fuck, you thought.

You watched as the boy with the knife started to cut a hole in his robe, and your eyes widened, and your jaw fell open as you realized what he was doing. You watched as his dick poked through the black fabric, staring you down. He handed off the knife to his brother.

"Since you like to run, one of us is going to have to hold you still," the second one said pinning your wrists above your head with one hand with the other, he held the blade up in front of your face. You saw yourself in the reflection of the sharp metal accompanied by the man in the Ghostface mask beside you, and it sent goosebumps across your flesh.

He closed the distance between the weapon and your breasts, and he started tracing your nipples again with the knife's edge. Your chest rose and fell as your breath quickened. You peered at the boy who was settling between your legs, grabbing ahold of his big, veiny cock with his gloved hand as he started pumping it back and forth a few times, making sure it had reached its full potential.

He hiked up your leg, wrapped your thigh around his waist, and pulled your panties to the side before sinking it into your heat and stretching you out. "So tight," he groaned deeply, feeling the way you gripped his dick. You let out a few loud moans as you adjusted to his size, taking every inch of him.

"That's it. Take it like the slut you are," he gruffed, picking up the pace and wrapping his gloved fingers around your neck. "Like that?" The boy who was holding your wrists cooed as he dragged the sharp object across to your other peak.

You loved the way both Ghostface masks reflected your fear back at you as well as your pleasure, their empty eyes, and their contorted mouths, taunting you. You glanced back at the brother who was between your legs, focusing on his thrusts. His fast and powerful thrusts.

Every time he bottomed out in you, a desperate mewl escaped your lips, filling the atmosphere. The masked man started to mimick the sounds that poured from your mouth while his brother fucked you, and you adored every second of it.

You loved the way they were feeding your sick fantasies, holding you at knife point, wearing their sexy costumes, and fucking you dumb while they degraded you. Your sounds became louder, more urgent, and less inhibited. You could feel the intensity building.

"Scream for me, bitch," the man between your legs chuckled. His mean words, his hand around your throat, the movement of his hips, and the cold, sharp metal dancing across your skin were enough to cause you to snap.

You hit the point of no return, clenching around the mystery man's rod, sending him to the same fate shortly after. You could feel his twitching cock filling you up as your orgasm took its course, the two of you moaning in unison while you finished together. Your legs grew weak as you came.

"Oh my god, Chris. Matt. Whoever you are," you breathlessly panted. You thought for sure you'd be able to tell them apart by now, but you had no idea, and you found it all the more enticing.

"Such a good girl for me," he cooed, slowing down his thrusts, pulling out, and watching his seed flow out of you. He stared down in awe at the mess he made, taking in the sight and savoring it while his breathing pattern returned to normal.

"I've been waiting for this," the boy to your left said as he switched places with his brother. He took the knife, hooking it into your panties and slicing the delicate material, watching the fabric fall to the ground and revealing your pretty pussy to him.

Then he cut a hole in his robe like his brother had done, and you peered down at his gorgeous cock poking through the tear in the material.

He roughly pried open your legs, guiding them open with the blade. He dug into the inside of your right thigh with his gloved hand and rested the knife on your lower stomach. You couldn't keep yourself from admiring his big, throbbing dick, and you sharply inhaled as you felt him slip his tip into your entrance.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned as he bucked his hips forward, his entire length vanisihing into your tight hole. Your eyes flicked back up to his Ghostface attire, taking in the incredible view of being fucked by a man in such a sexy mask.

The man beside you restrained your wrists, pinning them above your head again. "Alright. Time to guess. Who am I?" The boy beside you asked in his creepy Ghostface voice, tilting his head at you as he tightened his grip. You innocently peered up at his mask, searching for some kind of hint in his demeanor.

"Chris, is that you?" You asked uncertaintly. "Wrong. Remember what happens when you guess wrong?" Matt cooed, running his gloved finger along the underside of your chin. Your eyes were glazing over, your lips fell open, and your cheeks were flushed.

Chris applied more pressure to the knife, running the blade along your lower stomach and drawing blood. You let out a satisfied whine as you felt the release of the knife cutting you. The warm, sticky red fluid glistened in the moonlight as it slowly dripped down your abdomen.

"So pretty," Matt whispered, brushing your messy hair out of your face and his eyes dancing between your desperate expression and the way the blood looked so beautiful on your skin. Moans began pouring from you again as Chris fucked you senseless up against the tree.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface. Harder," you begged, your eyes lazily rolling back into your head as your breasts bounced to the cadence of his thrusts. "Cock dumb little slut," Chris menacingly chuckled at your pathetic pleading, but he still gave you what you so enthusiastically craved, relishing in your desperation for him.

You loved feeling helpless and giving yourself over so willingly to both brothers as they used you for their own pleasure. Your whimpers became louder and fuller as you neared your tipping point again.

"Harder," you cried out again before your orgasm took over. Your gaze danced between both of their masks, and your pussy started rhythmically throbbing around Chris' cock as he delivered a few more monumental strokes. You felt a wonderful, relieved feeling in the pit of your stomach as you came unraveled under the control of both boys.

Your brows pinched together, your knees weakened, and your stare began to lose its focus until you couldn't concentrate on anything except for the pure pleasure and ecstasy coursing through you. You were pumped full of Chris' cum as his cock twitched inside of you, and as you came down from your intense adrenaline rush, you felt all your muscles relax.

Both men chuckled, removing their masks and revealing their identities to you. Sure enough, you had guessed wrong. Chris leaned in and chuckled into your ear.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. You may have guessed wrong, but we're going to spare you. You're worth way more to us alive than dead."

[sweetheartsaku]

(BLLK) wherever u go i won't be far to follow

𝜗𝜚 BLUE LOCK VARIOUS: LILLIES.

a/n: [fem!reader] GAIS GAIS GAIS dew we fw the bllk posts 🤤it seems yes!!!!!! sorry for the tag !!@infpdoll @amelielovess for u<3

— characters: chigiri, rin, bachira

part one ! ♡ isagi, kunigami, nagi, reo

chigiri hyoma ; H.S.K.T - leehi, wonstein

can we imagine him sitting on the bathroom counter as you gently massage the jade roller across his face after a face mask. his hair is freshly washed (you brushed it 100 times on each side) so the room smells like peony and coconut, shower is foggy and little bits of his crimson baby hairs seeping out of his headband (〃´𓎟`〃) don't forget to kiss his forehead!!!!!!!!

gives the best?? massages???? maybe it's because of his high maintenance leg, used to doing it on himself so when you groan in pain after a scenic date, he most definitely wastes no time rubbing all the sore out of your legs

PEAK of his day is when he first wakes up and you guys brush your teeth next to each other, he knows sooner or later he'll be under your grasp as your thumb lightly rubs under his eye, rubbing away all excess sleep while your other hand runs through his hair.

secret kpop stan chigiri... totally not self-projecting HUH WHAT WHO SAID THAT what is a kpop stan uhm ! is a gg stan, gets defensive when someone discredits his faves and most DEFO a kiss of life (julie biased), le serrafim (sakura biased) and itzy (yuna biased) fan. probably owns a twt fan acc, i said what i said 🥰

by the way, don't tell him you notice when blush graces his face when you delicately graze the side of your finger across his lashes.

rin itoshi ; soft spot - keshi

rin itoshi who goes completely quiet when it comes to you. not because he secretly doesn't like you or anything, but quite the opposite (=´∇｀=) ! when he sees you, he's completely speechless and ends up staring at the girl who just stole his heart (for an uncomfortably large amount of time). when he sees almost anybody, he always has some sort of venom to spit but when he sees you, he can barely find any words for love 🥹

FACE MASK VICTIM NO.2 !!!!! lowkey flinches a little (affectionate) because he more used to the hot eye masks he gets at the convenience store, when the cold peach mask makes contact with his face, he gets a lil shiver nd' it's the cutest thing

idc how generic i sound HORROR MOVIE DATES!!!!!!!! i'm so here for horror nerd rin, i find it the cutest thing on earth and i just just just. waiter waiter one glass of rin please ! if you're scared (me), he tells you when there's a jump scare and covers your eyes when there's gore or when there's a freakazoid on screen

loves to sit in silence and play horror games too, whether it be the bathhouse, platform 8, as long as it's with you <3 secret valo/splatoon sweat

face scrunch when you push his bangs back n' give him a peck at the crown of his hair (;´□｀)/! not a physically affectionate guy but with instincts as sharp as his you wonder why he just lets you pepper his face with kisses...

baby face.

bachira meguru ; never ever getting rid of me - waitress, the musical

HUGS FROM BEHIND!!!🥹 puts his hands in front of your eyes and tells you to "guess who!!!" but not in a super senior way but more like a "y/nie y/nie guess who guess who!!!!!" way. he's such a cutie patoot i'm dead

music taste range is INSANNEEE biggest fan of babymetal, knows every lyric to hitorie or 2019 genre gacha sabrina carpenter die-hard, white girl radio enjoyer i don't make the rules (me too bachira, me too.)

LOCKS IN AT THE ARCADE (he hasn't won anything yet. key word YET!!). his attention span per machine is very limited but tries his absolute hardest into getting a plush he noticed your eyes wouldn't stray from and stays there for a while, persuaded he's guaranteed to get it. "look, look y/n!!! it's right there i'm sure i can get it. one more try?" same with gachapons. how can you not love this man

PDA lowkey isn't a thing and tackles you when he feels fit. loves to spin you around and does not give a damn if you have two left feet, an unconditional loverboy and is just the cutest (precious) (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

i am going to bake him into a cupcake.

matching absolutely everything!!! keychains, exchanged shoe laces, patches, bracelets. on the topic of fashion he love love loves when you wear things that are a little odd (this is for the fashion girlies) like mismatching tights, oddly coloured charms on necklaces and/or chunky glasses :3

finds minion facebook memes and laughs.

[atenea585]

Let Me Know First!

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: You thought you were alone in the bunker, but something in you told you otherwise. Where is Sam when you need him most?

Word Count: 2,023

Tags/Warnings: allusions to sex, established relationship, mask on

You were with your headphones on, listening to music while reading one of the many books in the bunker. Although it had been a little less than a year since you had entered the supernatural world, you had not stopped wanting to learn about the different creatures and everything it meant to date a Winchester. It took a while for Sam to confess to you the dangers in the world (besides the ones you were already aware of, of course), and you understood (after a few minutes of not believing him at all and thinking that you were really bad when it came to tastes in men).

"Oh, hell, not again."

"What?"

"Forget it.”

You were alone, the Winchesters having to attend a case despite your desire to want to spend Halloween with your boyfriend. And you looked for a way to distract yourself. Coffee on the side and a book about the history of vampires while you listened to calm music to focus.

But as soon as you turned the page, frowning as you concentrated, you thought you heard a noise that didn't seem to belong to your music. You looked away from the book and lifted one of your headphones, looking around you. There was nothing and the aforementioned noise was not heard again.

You shook your head and put the earphone back into place. Maybe reading so much about the supernatural had driven you to madness. You sighed and put the book aside, getting up with your coffee cup in hand, noticing it empty, and heading to the kitchen. You hummed the rhythm of the song as you placed the cup to wash. It was at that moment when you heard that noise again, and this time, you decided to listen to your instincts and took off your headphones, leaving them aside while you looked around. You walked slowly, straining your eyesight and hearing for anything unusual. You peeked your head out of the kitchen, looking up and down the hallway before leaving.

But what the hell…?

On the floor you noticed small drops of something red that made a path towards the library where you were recently. How is it possible? That wasn't there a few seconds ago. You arrived at the library and it occurred to you to grab the book you were previously reading. You knew it wouldn't do you much good, but at the moment it looked the closest and would give you some advantage.

The lights went out, turning on the red emergency lights, causing you to have to squint to see anything.

"Fuck this." You mumbled, pulling out your phone and calling Sam. After a few seconds, his answering machine rang. You called him again, getting the same result. "Oh, come on, Sam!" At this point you started to get nervous, feeling paranoid as your breathing became more labored, but you tried to stay calm, just like Sam had taught you.

"No matter how stressful the situation is, you must remain calm."

"How could anyone stay calm when they are about to be killed?"

"Just think that if you don't calm down and make a plan you will die."

"Oh, yeah, that… That definitely helps."

"To serve you."

You took a deep breath and counted backwards in your mind when a loud noise was heard behind you, causing you to jump and turn around. To hell with staying calm. You were never good at it and you won't start now. There was another noise at the end and you looked at that one. Your hand shook as you decided to call Dean, your gaze lowering for only a few seconds.

Serious mistake.

Because when you looked up again (the phone already dialing) you saw it. Near your face the mask of the killer from a famous slasher movie franchise stared at you, without moving.

"This is Dean’s other other cell... So you must to know what to do."

You hung up the call and slowly lowered the phone, Ghostface's head tilting to the side. You noticed he was holding a knife with a red tip dripping with red liquid. He was tall, really tall, in a way that made you remember Sam. He was wearing a black shirt and his muscles were causing the fabric to tighten, although you couldn't focus too much on that. You couldn't really think about anything at that moment, fear and panic had paralyzed you.

He seemed to notice your state, because he slowly moved his hand and grabbed your cell phone gently, as if not to make you react. He put it in his pocket and you yelled at yourself to react.

He raised his hand again, but this time resting it on your cheek. And something in you lit up, your boyfriend's words returning to your mind.

"Just think that if you don't calm down and make a plan you will die."

Maybe not the words one would think of at a time like this to react to, but they were enough for you. You raised the book you still held firmly in your hand hard and fast, hitting it on the side of his head. You heard him grunt in pain and you hit him again with more force, causing him to hunch to the side and giving you the chance to run.

Although Sam had taught you how to fight hand to hand you had never used it in a real situation. You preferred to help the guys by staying in the bunker and searching for information on whatever they were hunting. Likewise, you weren’t going to confront someone with bare hands who had a weapon, whatever it may be. You didn't even know if he was human, even though he looked like one, but you preferred not to risk it.

You ran through the hallways, your thoughts racing past your head, but you focused on one.

"What happens if I don't have any weapon?"

"Then you run away until you get one."

"Well, sure, but what if there aren't any in sight?"

"In that case, you turn any object in sight into your weapon."

You walked into the room you used with Sam. Little by little it began to have your style, like the floor lamp that you saw through a display case one day when you were out with Sam for a walk through town. You grabbed it with both hands and stood behind the door, a bead of sweat running down the side of your cheek as you closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing.

Be calm, make a plan. Breathe, in and out, make a plan. Relax your body, make a plan.

A rustling sound was heard and you opened your eyes. When you don’t have a plan, it’s time to improvise.

You landed a blow with all your strength on the stranger's back, the first blow knocking him off balance, but not enough to make him fall, which was your goal. You gave him another one, this time causing him to fall against the bed and drop the knife.

"You fucking psychopath, I'm going to kill you!" Adrenaline coursing through your body as you delivered the third blow with the lamp to his stomach. And you were prepared to give him the fourth, not even feeling the exhaustion of your actions, when he placed one hand in front of him, the other on his stomach while his body was twisted into itself.

"W-wait, wait!" He said quickly. "It's me!"

You frowned, the voice vaguely familiar, but that wasn't going to stop you, not when you had reached a point of pure rage.

"Fuck you, I don't know you!" You lifted the lamp to give him another hit.

"No, wait!" Did he beg? Did he think he had the right to do it?

He moved a hand towards his mask, slowly removing it so as not to scare you. You opened your eyes in surprise.

"But what the…?"

Sam looked at you nervously, pursing his lips at the pain he still felt in his body.

"Yeah…Hey..."

"Hey?!” You exclaimed in disbelief, still holding the lamp firmly. "You come here, with that freakin' mask, chasing me with a blood-stained knife... And all you can say is Hey? What the hell, Sam?!"

"Listen, I know it looks bad-."

"Oh, it looks terrible!"

"But everything has an explanation!" He nodded, sitting up on the bed, stretching with difficulty to grab the knife from the floor. "First of all, this knife is fake, and so is the blood." He placed it against the palm of his hand, proving that it was indeed a fake. You raised an eyebrow curiously, but you still looked annoyed. "Can you please lower that lamp?"

"Not until I decide whether to knock you out or just lightly damage you."

He took a deep breath, one arm extended around his torso.

"I did it ‘cause that's what you asked me to." At your confused look and noticing that you would recriminate him again, he continued. "It was after watching Scream. You told me you'd like to try something new. Something like putting on a mask and chasing you and then…" He trailed off and slid the fake knife to your feet.

"But not like this!" You remembered the conversation and lowered the lamp, placing it back on the floor. "I mean, yeah, I wanted this, but at least know when it would happen."

It's not like your sex life was bad (not at all), but that didn't mean you didn't want to try new things, experiment to see if both of you were comfortable.

"Yeah, well…" He took a deep breath. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Hell it was." You admitted. "Although in another way."

"But I'm glad you used what I taught you." He stood up, walking towards you. "We could say this was a test."

"Yeah, well, when a masked man as tall as a mountain shows up, I think it's pretty normal for your instincts to kick in." You shrugged. "What about Dean? And the case?"

"Dean knew about this and I asked him not to take any calls from you." He crossed his arms, looking at you carefully. "And there never was any case."

You huffed and looked around.

"Were the lights really necessary? I can barely see you."

He smiled softly and took another step forward, uncrossing his arms.

"Better environment."

"Wow, you really thought of everything."

"I'll admit that the idea excited me a little too." He placed his hands on your waist.

"Oh, really?"

"Mhm." He nodded, leaning slightly towards you until your faces were inches apart. "But I can turn the switch back on if you want." He was going to leave when you grabbed his arm, stopping his movement.

"No, I like this… Environment." You murmured, briefly looking down at his lips.

He smirked before kissing you, softly at first. You placed your hands on his shoulders and he wrapped his arms around you. He lowered his hands to your butt, giving it a squeeze, but before he could continue you pulled away.

"W-wait, wait."

"Something’s wrong?"

You smirked and walked towards the bed, grabbing the mask.

"Yeah… You don’t have your mask on." You threw it to him and he caught it out of the air. You sat in the middle of the bed, your eyes on him as you scooted until your back touched the back of the bed. "The knife too."

Sam smiled, clearly enjoying the change in the atmosphere. He bent down to grab the knife under your watchful gaze before standing back up. He put on the mask, his eyes radiating a playful lust, being the last thing you saw of his face. He closed the door behind him with his foot and flexed his shoulders, his neck creaking, and the mere sound made your thighs clench. You licked your lips, already loving where this was going and definitely noticing the change in his attitude to a darker one.

"What’s your favorite scary movie?" He asked in a deep voice before advancing towards you.

Sam Winchester One Shots

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[universitypenguin]

Chapter 29

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: In the aftermath of the incident, Lloyd grapples with his emotions and begins to wonder about their future.

Word Count: 4,605  

Warnings: Mention of adult content such as sex and drug use. Non-explicit references to child abuse, which is made clear by a character’s reactions and implied by their internal reflection, but not discussed in specific or graphic terms.

Author’s Note: Thank you for coming back to read this, despite my long absence! Full Author’s Note can be found here.

Masterlist 

Lloyd wasn’t where he should be. 

He should be sitting at your bedside, like men did when the women they loved were injured. Instead, he stood by the window. His gaze was fixed on the leafless silhouettes of the tree branches outside, drawn there because if he was looking at them he wasn’t looking at you, swathed in bandages and draped in sheets that bore an unsettling resemblance to a shroud. 

Injured felt like too plain of a word to describe your condition. You’d rammed a car head-on into a concrete barrier at high speed and a moment later, Westin Tafferty had shot you in the head at close range. The doctors said the bullet had grazed your parietal bone and fractured your skull, triggering internal bleeding. Within minutes of arriving at the hospital you’d been rushed into the operating room for an emergent craniotomy.

Now, you were sedated in a coma and no one could say if the surgery had been successful or not. The carefully titrated medications flowing through your I.V. masked any sign of improvement or deterioration. As long as the sedatives infused, you remained trapped in a stasis where no one could tell if you were healing or slipping away. Until they dialed back the drugs the state of suspension would persist. He’d asked, but no one was willing to estimate when they’d begin tapering off the medication–or if that was even part of the plan. 

Behind him, the ventilator hissed. Lloyd twisted his neck, trying to ease the tension as his eyes drifted over the landscape. Your room overlooked the courtyard, which wasn’t much to see, especially after the weekend’s turn in the weather. Skeletal tree branches stretched toward the sky, stripped bare by last night’s windstorm, which had brought in an unexpected cold front that settled into a hard frost. Just yesterday, the leaves had been turning yellow. Today they were scattered in a thick carpet over the grass. Your day nurse had told him it was the earliest frost since 1979. Lloyd hadn’t offered a response. 

In fact, he’d barely registered her remark at all. Information hadn’t been sticking in his mind lately. Between the car accident, the shooting, and the discovery that Westin Tafferty had been stalking you all along, his brain had short-circuited. The machinery in his head was broken. Synapses fired sluggishly, like a circuit board trying to transmit a signal through frayed wires. His thoughts flickered, dimmed, then disappeared.

He twisted his neck and scanned to the left, his gaze colliding with a reflection in the glass. The image was distorted but he could make out your form lying in the hospital bed directly behind him. Monitors were packed around your bed. A screen displayed your vitals, another showed wavy lines related to breathing, and one monitored intracranial pressure. A drain connected to your skull through a thin tube—that was a left over from the operation. He’d been curious about it but hadn’t asked. After two days in the ICU, he’d learned it was sometimes better not to know. On the other side of the bed, an infusion pump was hooked to the I.V. in your forearm, along with a ventilator.

The machine noisily breathed for you. He’d grown so used to its rhythmic—whoosh, thump…pause… hiss—that the sounds faded into the background. Looking at your reflection in the glass was easier than actually looking at you. It softened the bruises that had deformed your features and hid the traction splint on your left lower leg. But the ventilator’s whir was a constant reminder that a machine was all that stood between you and death. Lloyd inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. He took a long breath, drawing the air in deep to ease the sudden wave of nausea. His phone buzzed.

Expecting it was your mother or Vivian, Lloyd fished the device out of his pocket. The message was from an unsaved number.

I’m at the nurse’s station. Which hallway should I take?

Lloyd frowned and scrolled through the messages. He’d exchanged about a dozen texts with this number over the weekend, the details of which were fuzzy in his memory. It took some scrolling to realize the number belonged to Jen Kyzansky. Right. He remembered now. Jen had promised she’d stop by after work and it was five o’clock. He’d asked her to visit after an exchange with your day nurse, who confirmed that coma patients could sometimes hear people. Not always—but in some cases. 

He could barely stand to look at you in this condition, let alone speak, so he’d called in reinforcements. For all his personal dislike of the woman he was supremely confident in her ability to carry on a one-sided conversation. She would keep it positive and upbeat and talk about things you’d enjoy. You needed Jen right now, not him. 

He sent instructions to guide her through the maze of hallways and stepped outside the glass booth the ICU considered a “room” to wait for her arrival. A moment later, someone carrying a giant vase of flowers rounded the corner. Though he couldn’t see the person’s upper half, he recognized the tailored oxblood trousers. Jen shifted the flowers to her hip to read the room placards. Before he could call out, she spotted him and picked up the pace. When she was an arm’s length away she stopped, her gaze sweeping up and down his form. 

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t smirk, as he’d expected. “When was the last time you slept?”

Lloyd shrugged. He tried to sneer–after all, it was the customary greeting between him and Jen–but his features wouldn’t cooperate. To his dismay, her expression softened into something that looked suspiciously like sympathy.

“Go home. Take a hot shower and a couple Benadryl. Once you’ve slept, you’ll feel better.”

“Will I?” He’d been aiming for sarcasm but a waver of apprehension snuck into his voice instead. 

Her chin lifted. “Yes, you will. Call someone to drive you home, or at least drink some coffee. Driving tired is as bad as driving drunk.” 

Lloyd obeyed. At the end of the hall, he glanced back to see Jen sitting beside your bed. Jealousy cut through him. It was irrational, given that he had all afternoon to do what Jen was doing now, but unfortunately he couldn’t look at you for more than thirty seconds without wanting to throw himself off the roof. 

At the elevator bank his gaze drifted to the window as he waited for the car. It offered a different perspective on the same barren trees he’d stared at from your room. In a few months they’d be reborn, sprouting new buds and leafing out. Nature healed itself, even after the most brutal storms. He had no such ability. His wounds didn’t heal; they stayed with him, out of sight, but always festering under the surface. Lloyd scrubbed a hand over his face. Wallowing in self-pity didn’t do you any good. It wasn’t good for him, either, as painful emotions tended to corrode his self-control. He could feel the chaos welling up and worried that he wouldn’t be able to contain it much longer. The stitches of his composure were straining, threatening to tear apart. 

How could he ever support you if he couldn’t control his own emotions? He’d sent Jen in as his substitute for a task as basic as sitting by your bed and talking. He was useless—he couldn’t even look at you! You needed him right now, and he couldn't even look at you. He was a coward, and not because of the fear, but because he was letting it dictate his actions.

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

The elevator took him down to the lobby. As Jen suggested, he stopped by the coffee shop and ordered a London Fog. It was late afternoon, and aside from him and the barista, the shop was empty. That made sense. At five o’clock on a Monday most people were still at work, stuck in traffic, or picking up their kids.

Nothing played over the speakers and the weight of the silence pressed down on him. Lloyd sat down at a table to wait. He listened to the hum of the espresso machine, the soft clatter of metal instruments as the barista stirred his tea. His thoughts drifted back upstairs, comparing the quiet sounds of the coffee shop to the symphony of whirling, hissing, and beeping that filled your room. If you were here, you’d have ordered something so sugary and caffeinated that it ought to come with a Surgeon General’s warning. 

“Lloyd, your London Fog,” the barista called.

He collected his drink and turned to face a jarring sight—a group of nurses gathered in a loose semi-circle on the other side of the glass partition separating the shop from the hallway. They all wore the same unmistakable shade of green. Over the past few days, he’d learned the color coding system of the hospital’s scrubs: navy blue for ICU nurses, burgundy for lab techs, pale blue for surgical staff, and a garish shade of sea-foam green that identified this group as trauma nurses. His grip tightened around the cup, the heat seeping through the paper doing nothing to thaw the sudden chill in his fingers. The sight of the trauma nurses triggered a flood of memories, sharp and uninvited. 

The drive into the city. Detective Roth’s hands tight on the steering wheel as he wove through traffic. The flashing dash lights in the silent car, no wail of sirens overhead because those were only for official emergencies…Walking past the destroyed trauma bay, its floor littered with the debris of plastic packaging and soiled gauze, as a gray scrubbed man mopped blood off linoleum tiles. Meeting your parents in the waiting room of the surgical suite. The doctor entering, asking if anyone was ready to see you. Your mother, crying, too distraught to accompany your father to the post-anesthesia unit… Vivian suggesting Lloyd go with him instead…

Dishes clattered in the sink, snapping him back to the present. Lloyd pulled his gaze from the nurses and moved to a table, deliberately facing away from them, but the image of those green scrubs lingered in his mind.

For the past seventy-two hours, he’d clung to the hope that you would wake up, that somehow you’d shake off a traumatic brain injury as if it were nothing more than a common cold. The sheer absurdity of such magical thinking grated on his nerves, but he couldn’t stop the optimistic thought from creeping in. Being irrational didn’t change the facts, though, and two days later your diagnosis remained unchanged: critical but stable.

The word “stable” circled in his mind. He rolled the word silently over his tongue, as if repeating it would make it easier to accept. Stable meant things weren’t getting worse, but it didn’t mean they were getting better either. It was a fragile reassurance, one that only made him more anxious the longer he sat with it. The fact that you were stable didn’t offer any hint of what came next, whether you’d recover or languish in this state forever. Instead of easing his fears, the thought of your impending recovery opened up an uncomfortable set of questions, chief among them: where did your relationship go from here? 

Recent events had solidified one fact—whatever this relationship was, it wasn’t casual. Not anymore. He couldn’t deny it, not when he’d spent days by your bedside, received updates from your family, and been added to your list of emergency contacts. The lack of questioning about his presence from either of your parents symbolized how entrenched your relationship had become. Vivian likely played a role in that, but it reinforced the same point: he was more than just your friend. What exactly he was remained unexamined as of yet, but it was only a matter of time.

There was an eighteen year age gap between you. While he’d packed for college, you’d turned two weeks old. Your future was filled with hope and potential, any path was open and ready to be explored whenever you craved something more. He’d wasted his future already, thrown it away on bad decisions, mental instability, and addiction. The gap between you wasn’t just measured in years but also by directions; your lives were moving along different paths. You had spent this spring considering your options for law school and Lloyd had mapped out a tax-efficient withdrawal plan for his retirement funds. 

He wasn’t blind to the fact that the age gap was part of what had drawn you to him. You’d wanted sexual experience, and he had plenty to offer. His sophistication and confidence were traits you appreciated in him, even as a friend. Sometimes he wondered if it was him you were drawn to, or the feeling of security he provided. You’d had too many responsibilities handed to you too early. He was good at taking charge. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the attraction stemmed from. Doubt gnawed at him. Did you want him, or did you just want someone competent, who made you feel safe? He wasn’t the only man who could meet those needs. Lloyd wished he could pretend otherwise, but he couldn’t see how both your futures could coexist in the long term.

The chime of the door announced the admission of two new patrons to the coffee shop. A pair of nurses in pink scrubs entered, giggling at some private joke as they formed a queue at the counter. Labor and delivery nurses, Lloyd guessed, judging by their uniforms. Their conversation quickly confirmed his assumption and in the tight confines of the shop, he couldn’t help but overhear them. 

“I almost called him her dad,” the brunette said. “He’s like three times her age, it's the obvious way to go!”

“Melanie flagged the chart with a note.” 

“Yeah, but by the time I saw it the word ‘dad’ was already halfway out of my mouth.” 

“You really called him her Dad?!”

“I tried to change it to Dale. The transition was not smooth. Not at all. They stared at me like I was crazy. Then I made up some B.S. about how he looks like a Dale—”

Her friend snickered. “Girl…”

“Shut up! The man has white hair! He’s lucky I didn’t call him Grandpa.”

The other shook her head. “Can you imagine having a kid with a guy that old?”

“No thanks. You?”

“Pfft, absolutely not.” She wrinkled her nose. 

“Neither of them thought this through. The risk isn’t worth it.” 

“Hell no,” her friend agreed. “The odds of all that scary genetic crap is like six times as high with fathers over forty.”

“What about fathers over eighty?” the brunette giggled. 

“You know it’s harder for guys to get someone pregnant once they’re over forty?”

“It’s like nature’s way of cutting the old timers off.” 

“Not if they’re persistent!”

They both laughed. 

Lloyd pulled out his phone and pretended to be occupied. The nurses quickly exited the shop after their orders were filled, but they’d given his thoughts a new path to wander down. There was a good chance that you’d want a family someday, given how healthy and tight-knit yours was. You were good with children. The idea of you not being a mother was somehow unfathomable to him. A chill ran down his spine. He could easily imagine the same story he’d just overheard being told about him. 

It wasn’t wise to become a father after a certain age, Lloyd mused. He cringed and shook himself, disturbed by the seriousness of the thought. There was no reason to consider such things. He had decided long ago that he didn’t want children. The Hansen line would end with him, and there would be no heir to carry on the family curse.

His mind drifted to Zach’s comment about vasectomies and his insinuation that Lloyd was keeping his options open by not getting snipped. Suddenly, that accusation hit too close to home. Being in a relationship with a much younger woman opened the door to that possibility, and you’d both been complacent by relying on only one form of birth control for the past few months.

What if you asked him for a baby? Would he be able to deny you what you wanted, even knowing the risks? He winced. No. He couldn’t be a father. He didn’t have the temperament for it, nor the energy it demanded.

You deserved to be with someone who could give you the full experience of parenthood—someone younger, willing to endure sleepless nights, with the stamina to chase after a toddler. He couldn’t picture himself running after a child at his current age, let alone keeping up with a teenager. By the time your child graduated high school, he’d be at least sixty, if not older. You needed someone with more life ahead of them than he had to offer.

Maybe you didn’t want children. For a moment, the thought sparked a flood of relief. But guilt came fast on its heels, crushing the tiny flicker of hope. How could he even think that? It wasn’t his decision to make. He had no right to wish you’d give up something as fundamental as motherhood just to accommodate his shortcomings. You might be willing to accept the limitations brought on by his age and past, but he couldn’t ask that of you. Your future didn’t need to be burdened by his realities. 

He wished he didn’t have to think of these unpleasant things, that time could freeze everything as it was and your relationship could stay vague and undefined forever, but time marched on and there was no escaping the truth. Being with him came at a cost, and you’d already paid the price. If not for your friendship with him, Court Gentry never would have known your name. If Lloyd hadn’t turned down Court’s request for help—not once, but twice—you wouldn’t have been drawn into his reckless scheme to expose the spy at Bishop & Howard. 

Then there was Westin Tafferty. His grudge against Lloyd had made you a target. Without that connection, Tafferty wouldn’t have spent months harassing and stalking you. He wouldn’t have tried to kill you. The worst part was that Lloyd still couldn’t remember meeting him; whether Tafferty hadn’t made much of an impression or Lloyd had been too high to recall their introduction was up for debate. But Zach had confirmed the truth: Tafferty had spent twenty years working for the NSA and he’d crossed paths with Lloyd on more than one occasion. Detective Diskant had recovered the flash drive you’d hidden and spent the weekend piecing things together. There was plenty of evidence, enough for three life sentences, but Tafferty had vanished.

Even forgotten memories from his past haunted him—and by extension, you. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t untangle the past from the present. You’d had a brush with his past in Singapore, then again in Qatar. Apparently, those close calls hadn’t been warning enough, because this time the consequences had really caught up and now there was a machine breathing for you. 

Lloyd’s tea had gone cold, but he was still deep in thought when Zach entered the coffee shop. His leather jacket creaked, stiff from the cold, as he sat down in the opposite chair. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” Zach said, unzipping his jacket. He regarded Lloyd with a knowing gaze. “You look like you’re plotting something. Care to share?”

“I’m not plotting anything.” 

Zach’s eyebrow twitched, and Lloyd sighed, amending his statement. 

“Not now at least.” 

Zach leaned back in his seat, lacing his hands behind his head. “Alright.” 

Lloyd grunted, picked up his tea and sipped, wincing at the bitter taste. 

“Is that tea?”

“Yes.”

“Disgusting.”

“It’s one less addiction to manage,” Lloyd said. 

“Mmmhhh.” 

Silence fell. Zach didn’t speak. He maintained the same relaxed posture but his eyes watched Lloyd with the intensity of a hawk watching a mouse. It was a pressure tactic that worked wonders in the interrogation room. Lloyd disliked having it used on him and felt ridiculous for wanting to fill the lingering silence, yet the thoughts bouncing around in his head had to go somewhere. He weighed the risks and decided that Zach was the safest option.

“Do you ever think about…kids?”  

Zach braced his elbows on the table. “No. I settled that issue a long time ago.” 

Lloyd rubbed his jaw, scowling at the itchiness of the three-day stubble he hadn’t found time to shave off. 

“Nurses were just in here talking about congenital issues with older fathers, the odds of it and such, that’s all.” 

Zach waved his hand. “You’re borrowing trouble.” 

“I’m not saying I want kids,” Lloyd rushed to clarify. 

“Spare me the bullshit. Let’s talk about it. You’re twisting yourself up over statistics without considering the rest of the picture.”

“What do you mean?”

“How many Gulf War vets, who were exposed to God-knows-what in Kuwait, had kids? And most of them were fine, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’ve researched it for decades and still can’t find a strong link. Genetic problems depend on a lot of factors.” 

He must not have looked persuaded because Zach continued. 

“How many twenty-five-year olds vape? Eat a diet of pure junk food? You’re healthier right now than most younger men could dream of being. Hell, you’re drinking tea.” 

Lloyd scoffed. “I don’t drink coffee so I’m off the hook?”

“And you eat turkey bacon, which is pathetic and un-American, but to each their own. Seriously, if it’s bothering you, get your sperm tested.”

“Do what?”

“Get your sperm tested,” Zach said, as casually as if he were reminding Lloyd to check his tire pressure. 

“Sperm testing? They do that?”

“Yeah. I had mine tested before and after my vasectomy.”

“Checking it right now wouldn’t matter much. Princess and I are in different places in life. By the time she’s ready to have kids…” Lloyd trailed off. 

“Deposit it at a sperm bank, they’ll put it on ice for later. Of course that’d take all the fun out of things, but it heads off the worst-case scenario.” 

Lloyd let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as Zach’s logic cut through his spiraling. 

“Get your head on straight and focus on what you can control,” Zach said. 

“Which would be?”

The blond man’s face turned serious. “I have news.” 

Lloyd arched his brow. 

“Westin is dead.” 

“Since when?” 

“His body was found this afternoon—a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

Disgust hit first, followed by a surge of regret that twisted into concern. The disgust came from the fact that he hadn’t brought about Westin’s death by his own hand. Regret came from knowing, intuitively, how Westin’s death had played out. His eyes locked with Zach’s who read the unspoken assumption in them.. 

“I didn’t do it.”

“The others?” 

“No.”

“What about…”

“Possible,” Zach said. “No one knows where Gentry disappeared to, but I have a source that thinks he’s still in the city.”

“I might have something on that.”

“Care to share?”

“No.” 

“I take it you’re going to try and talk to him one-on-one?”

“Maybe.”

Zach snorted. “Because that went so well last time around.”

“Has anyone claimed the body?”

“No. They asked Bishop to identify him. Diskant said the scene was clean. There were no fingerprints other than Westin’s on the gun.” 

“There are still loose threads,” Lloyd said. 

“If you mean Aiden, he’s been arrested. Bishop has a friend at the district attorneys’ who says he’s going to be charged with espionage tomorrow.”

“Not the loose thread I was thinking of, but that’s good to hear.” 

“Tell me where the other loose thread is and I’ll take care of it,” Zach offered. 

“No. He’s worth more to us alive than dead.”

”Are you up to talking to him? Because you look like shit.” 

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Screw you.” 

He shoved back from the table, snagged his empty cup and headed for the trash can. At the counter, he was about to toss it when something in the gleaming back panel of the espresso machine caught his eye. His blood froze at the sight of a familiar face staring back at him.

Joe. 

Somehow, Joe Hansen had crawled out of the grave and back up to the land of the living. There was no mistaking that face. The deep purple circles under his eyes, the dry, reddened skin partially hidden by a heavy five o’clock shadow, and bloodshot eyes from too much whiskey left Lloyd paralyzed for a moment. When his mind kicked back into gear, his first thought was almost smug: I knew you were too mean to die. But when he looked over his shoulder, there was no one behind him. Zach had stepped out to take a phone call. The shop was empty. His gaze turned back to the reflection. The eyes weren’t brown. They were crystal blue. 

It wasn’t Joe. It was him. 

He hadn’t shaved since Friday and had the scruff to prove it. A sleepless weekend explained the bloodshot eyes and dark circles. The wind and cold, combined with neglect of his skincare routine, had stripped his skin raw, leaving it cracked and red like a drunk’s. He looked as if he’d gone on a three-day bender instead of spending the weekend in a hospital room. He looked like Joe Hansen—even more so than usual. 

Lloyd stared at the reflection until his eyes couldn’t focus anymore. It didn’t make a difference. The image was burned into his brain. It wasn’t just their physical resemblance, it went deeper. The need for control, the volcanic temper. The chaos he’d spent his whole life trying to keep at bay. He crumpled up his cup and tossed it into the canister with more force than he’d meant to. A heavy weight settled in his chest. No matter how hard he tried to outrun it, Joe’s blood still ran in his veins. He’d rather die than admit it, but the truth, that he and Joe were fruit of the same tree, was inescapable. 

He stepped out of the coffee shop into the cold. Its icy bite was nothing compared to the pain of the knowledge that was sinking into his bones. He couldn’t keep you in his life, not in good conscience, not knowing the evil that lurked inside of him. The leaves crunched under his feet and the sound was like a physical reminder: nothing lasts forever. Your relationship had already stretched long beyond its season. No matter how much he wished otherwise, soon the pieces of your lives would no longer fit together. You’d outgrow him. Once that happened, any attempt he made to patch up the seams would cause it to unravel further.

The revelation cleared his mind, though his heart felt ten degrees colder. His chest throbbed, but at least the mental storm that had raged for days finally broke, leaving a hollow stillness in its wake. There wasn’t a choice for him to make, only a truth for him to accept. Your relationship was temporary and it would soon draw to a close. He couldn’t risk holding you back or allowing his past to endanger you again. The facts were clear cut, black-and-white. There was a wrong decision and a right one.  If he wanted you to have the future that you deserved he had to do the right thing.

He had to break things off. Whether it broke his own heart didn’t matter.

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

Coming Soon - Chapter XXX

Masterlist 

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[buildgrist]

I wrote this last year on Twitter, but since Empty Spaces has sort of abandoned ship, I'll post it here too:

"Funeral"

A woman's whole life changes the first time she sees a combat doll.

First-person, combat doll setting by Twitter user mars_phobos_L1

CW: Harassment, violence, military context, blood, personality changes, conditioning, surgery, unreliable memory

Story below cut:

1.

I washed out of combat training almost immediately, but it wasn’t enough to get me off the hook. I’m sure you all know how it goes – just because you can’t fight doesn’t mean you can’t support the ones who do. If you can’t carry a gun, you can fix a gun, if you can’t fly a plane, you can fuel a plane.

Nothing wrong with that, of course! It’s simply efficient use of resources, and I’m certainly in no place to criticize that, especially not given my current status, so to speak. But even then I wasn’t exactly bothered by it -- I would have rather not been conscripted at all, but maintenance would be safe and interesting and I was already pretty good at it.

2.

The first time I ever saw a combat doll was when I was at the range, trying to get in enough practice to pass my pistol qualifications. I didn’t even know she was there, at first - there was no fuss, no fanfare - but as soon as her handler started barking those sharp, staccato orders I realized what was going on.

I looked over, of course. I know, we’ve all been taught not to make eye contact with the dolls because they might take it as aggression, but how could I not be curious? Can any of you say you wouldn’t be tempted to take a peek?

I hadn’t expected her to not be wearing her mask. All the publicity photos, all the technical diagrams, all the battlefield footage always shows dolls with their masks on, so I assumed that was just their usual state – but no, I was wrong. That was her natural face, with her implant jacks and her surgical scars and her delicate-looking skin. I truly hadn’t expected her to be so pretty…

She caught me looking, of course. Dolls are the apex predators of the battlefield, and noticing a maintenance trainee staring at her was trivial in comparison. She met my eyes before I could look away, and then I couldn’t look away. I knew nothing except her eyes and my heart pounding in my ears, and I had no idea what was coming next… and then she grinned at me.

That grin did something to me, something strange and frightening and wonderful. It felt like lightning running down my spine, like watching a sunrise after being blind my whole life, like finding my way out of a forest I’d been lost in since birth. I was never the same again.

3.

I needed to know who she was, of course. She could pick off targets faster than my eyes could follow, with a perfect bullseye every time. Her handler ran her through everything in our arsenal, and more besides - pistols, rifles, machine guns, throwing knives, on and on - and she was perfect every time. How could I have not wanted to know more after watching a display like that?

Well, apparently, that made me the weird one in the battalion. Everyone I asked about her just shrugged or gave me sidelong glances. Why would they want to keep track of which doll was which, they asked? They were all equally frightening, after all. What did it matter what the shark swimming next to you was named?

It took more than a week - and a couple cases of beer - for me to find out who I’d seen. My buddy on the security team had seen the handler’s name and done some quick research, and he was willing to pass on that information… for the right price, of course.

Victoria. Her name was Victoria, and the next thing he said to me was “be fuckin’ careful around that one,” which didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me at the time. We’re taught to use caution around all dolls, combat or not, why the extra warning?

Because, he told me, there were stories about the Victory-class dolls. They weren’t the fastest dolls or the most powerful dolls, but they were notoriously unpredictable, and dangerous even to their allies. I won’t get into the details right now, that’s not what I’m here to do - but some of your classmates went pale the moment I said her name, so ask them about it later.

But what did that have to do with Victoria? I had to ask, because I used to be a little slow on the uptake sometimes. In case any of you haven’t put all the pieces together: Victoria is the first Victory-class, the flagship, the template upon which all others were modeled – and that meant if there was some fault with the Victory-class dolls, some flaw in their design or their conditioning, Victoria would definitely have it.

4.

Even with all he’d told me, and all I’d learned on my own afterwards, I still couldn’t get her off my mind. Not that I was thinking about her every second, or even every day, but that moment never quite left my mind. I’d lay down and try to sleep, close my eyes, and behind my eyelids I’d see that bare face, that grin, and my heart would start pounding all over again.

By the time we were given our assignments, I knew what I was going to do. I knew what I had to do. I got the cushiest possible position – 8th Supply Battalion, well away from any combat zones, where the greatest danger would be a private driving a forklift drunk. The perfect position to serve out three years of compulsory service and go back to my old life, right?

Except I didn’t want it. I hadn’t wanted it since the moment I’d seen her.

As soon as we were dismissed, I went straight to the commander’s office and asked for a transfer – which they don’t usually do, of course, but he was willing to hear me out anyway, so I told him I needed to be on Victoria’s maintenance crew. Once he was done laughing he asked me what I was really there to ask for, and I repeated my request. I explained to him that I was serious, that I wanted, needed more than anything else, to be assigned to maintenance for Victoria.

He didn’t understand – which is no surprise, because I don’t think any of you do either. Why would I have wanted to be transferred to the only role that had higher casualty rates than front-line infantry, right? Truth be told, I didn’t understand either, and I still don’t. There’s nothing I can point to, no specific reason, just this surety that I belonged there and nowhere else.

Someone needed to do maintenance on the dolls, right? Why shouldn’t it be someone enthusiastic about it, someone fully committed to their role? I don’t know if my argument won him over or if he was just tired of listening to me, but in the end he just shrugged and wrote out my transfer orders: maintenance crew, Victory-class combat doll “Victoria”.

I still remember what he said when he handed me the orders:

“It’s your funeral.”

5.

Just because I’d volunteered for the position didn’t mean I was any less nervous when I first reported for duty! The rest of the crew had already been giving me a hard time - I was the squeaky-clean new girl, fresh out of training - but honestly, they weren’t why I was nervous. That was just some laughs and some hazing, nothing I wasn’t used to by that point.

No, I was nervous because of the six-plus feet of exquisite purpose-built killing machine standing in the middle of the maintenance bay.

The thing is, though.. the reasonable thing would have been to worry that Victoria was going to kill me, right? That’s what you’d be afraid of, that’s what any sensible person would be afraid of! But it wasn’t what I was afraid of.

I’d done my research, I knew the numbers, and I was certain - beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt - that I wasn’t going to survive three years in her maintenance crew. I’d made my peace with that before I ever even walked into the commander’s office.

I was worried that Victoria wasn’t going to like me.

6.

I know that probably sounds bizarre to you - after all, nobody worries about whether their tank likes them, right? - but trust me, it was absolutely the biggest thing on my mind. So much so, in fact, that I decided to introduce myself to her immediately! Why hang around hiding behind the rest of the maintenance crew when I could just walk right up to her and make a good first impression instead?

So that’s exactly what I did. Right into the maintenance bay, right past the rest of the crew, right across those painted lines on the floor… one foot in front of the other, listening to the pounding of my heart until I was within arm’s length of an active combat doll.

I took one more deep breath, accepted that it could have been my last, and gave her the usual introduction: name, rank, and role. She just stared at me, with those intense eyes I remembered so well, and I offered a little bit of extra politeness – just a simple little “I look forward to working with you, ma’am.”

7.

The moment the words were out of my mouth, she grabbed me by the collar and dragged me in, my body pressed up against hers, and as I stared up at her in shock and fear and excitement, I heard her voice for the first time.

“You’re cute,” she said.

There were teeth in my neck before I could even make sense of her words - combat-specced teeth, the kind that can slice through bone - and it was unbearably painful… but also something about it felt right. I was helpless in her grip, completely powerless, and I realized that I’d wanted that all along.

I saw her true face for the first time, then. That flat, blank non-expression she’d been wearing when I walked up to her had simply been another mask, another disguise… and she’d let it fall away. As she licked my blood from her lips, I understood – she was a hunter, a predator, hungry for more and strong enough to take whatever she wanted… and I was her prey.

I suspect your instructor would kick me out of this class immediately if I described what she did next, so I’ll just say ‘she had her way with me and I had no desire to stop her.’ You’ll have to use your imaginations for the rest… or come find me sometime and I’ll be happy to tell you all about it!

8.

Anyway, even though it seemed like I’d made an excellent impression on Victoria, the rest of the maintenance crew was pretty clear that I’d made a pretty poor impression on them. As soon as we were off-duty and the dolls had all been escorted back to their bunker, they made their feelings known in a very direct fashion.

I got off easy, they told me, pointing out maintenance staff for other dolls. One man had a bloody bandage where his ear had been, and another was completely unresponsive – just blankly staring at a wall. In comparison to things like that, a bite and some fucking was downright gentle for a Victory-class doll!

The crew insisted that I’d better not expect special treatment from Victoria to mean they’d give me special treatment too – I protested that I’d never once expected that, but I don’t think they were listening to me by that point. From all the shouts and cursing, it seemed like they were upset that I, the death-wish rookie who walked right up to a combat doll and introduced herself, had been treated more gently than maintenance staff who simply wanted to carry out their duties safely.

I tried to answer them, I tried to explain that all I’d done was to be friendly and polite, that I’d just wanted to treat Victoria with the respect she deserved. They didn’t like that answer.

Nobody told me about this, so I’ll pass it on as a warning to you just in case: maintenance crews aren’t just wary of their dolls, they’re downright resentful of them. From their perspective, the dolls are the thing that stands between them and getting home safely, and they’re not particularly fond of people who see the situation differently.

I, not knowing this, made some helpful comments about the dolls not being our enemy, about our purpose being to support the dolls so they can carry out their Purpose. Shortly thereafter, in a totally unrelated event, I slipped and fell down a staircase – completely by accident, of course.

I’d been hoping that the maintenance crew - and the staircase - had gotten all the vitriol out of their system by then, but it only got worse. Someone had found out that I’d volunteered for the maintenance crew, while they’d all been unwillingly forced into that position, and it was all over. That was all the proof they needed to decide I wasn’t like them in some indescribable way. They might not have been able to explain how, exactly, I was different from them, but they all agreed that I was, and they all wanted to make that my problem.

9.

I next saw Victoria for post-mission diagnostics two days later. The procedures would be routine, and yet the crew was far more anxious than they had been for our previous visit to the maintenance bay. A doll just back from an operation, having spent only a few minutes being gentled by its handler before being sent off to maintenance, was the most dangerous kind of doll as far as the maintenance staff was concerned: all keyed up on adrenaline and battle stimulants and potentially unsure as to whether or not it was actually safe or still on the battlefield.

The crew all talked like they were off to the firing squad, and I had no idea what to expect as we all walked down to the hall… especially when they all hung back, in ones and twos and threes, lagging behind me while I walked up to the maintenance bay first.

I was the tribute, the offering, the fresh meat tossed to Victoria to sate her hunger - and oh, did she ever take the bait. She ran to me, snatched me right off the ground, and sprinted back to her designated zone as if to convince everyone she’d never left.. except now she had me clutched in her arms, her deadly teeth tracing up and down my neck, that beautiful voice giggling in my ear.

The maintenance team had to conduct their diagnostics around me, in the end. Victoria simply didn’t want to give me up, no matter how they tried to convince her -- and I had absolutely no desire to argue with that. Where could I possibly have wanted to be more than her arms?

In fact, I didn’t want to leave her arms. Even once our duty shift was done and she’d turned me loose, bloody and weary and deeply content, I lingered in the maintenance bay as the others fled for the mess. I knew what was waiting for me there - the same thing that had been waiting for me since I first met Victoria - and I wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.

10.

I hadn’t expected her to notice me hanging around - surely I was unworthy of her attention, right? - and yet, as I lingered behind, she spoke to me for the second time. “Not joining them?”

“No ma’am,” I told her, quietly enough for nobody else to hear. I hadn’t meant to say anything else, but the prospect of having a sympathetic ear was just too much, and the words just tumbled out of me. As she stared down at me with that blank expression, I explained how the crew had decided I didn’t belong, and how they’d been treating me since – the punches, the kicks, the fish in my bunk, the thousand other little reminders that they’d decided to hate me.

Eventually I ran out of words and found myself simply staring up at Victoria. She hadn’t said a single thing the entire time, and her expression was the same unreadable blankness that I’d seen before. While I tried to figure out whether she was sympathetic or simply bored, I suddenly realized that she’d met my gaze, staring into my eyes as if she was looking for something. I couldn’t imagine what she was looking for - and, truth be told, I still don’t know what it was - but I stared back up at her and let her look for it.

I guess she found what she was looking for - or perhaps found an absence of the wrong things - because she simply grabbed me by the arm and practically dragged me right out of the maintenance bay. What was she doing? Where was she going? She ignored my questions, of course, so I stopped asking them and simply walked along with her in silence.

You probably haven’t seen a doll bunker yet, but they’re extremely sturdy – downright overengineered, even. They’re even more heavily reinforced than munitions bunkers, and the only route in and out is through an extremely sturdy-looking steel door. It’s the sort of thing that makes the vault doors in heist movies look like tissue paper… and that was the door Victoria had led me to.

Even though I’d walked to the bunker with her willingly, I couldn’t help but protest a little as she swung the bunker door open. I had been told, upon my assignment, that only handlers and commanders were permitted to enter the doll bunker – all support staff were required to stay out in order to avoid ‘unnecessary manpower shortages’. Not that that stopped Victoria, of course! She simply picked me up by the back of my uniform like an uncooperative pet and tossed me right through the door.

11.

Have you ever walked into a room and found eight combat dolls staring directly at you? Sixteen eyes fixed on you, unblinking, like cats that have just spotted a mouse? Presumably not, but if you’re very lucky - or very unlucky - you might get to someday.

That’s where I found myself as the bunker door slammed shut behind me – gracelessly picking myself up off the floor under the hungry gaze of eight combat dolls. They waited a moment, graciously permitting me to get back to my feet, and then… well, I guess the best way to describe it is to say each one started trying, in her own way, to draw me away from my host.

Not a word was spoken, but carnal offers were made, and one or two dolls began to creep toward me as if stalking prey – and then suddenly they all froze at once. I couldn’t receive dollchat yet, so I didn’t know what Victoria said to them - and even now she just giggles when I ask! - but whatever it was, it was enough to convince the other eight dolls not to steal her guest away.

I spent that night in her bunk. I didn't do a lot of actual sleeping, of course, but the moments I did get... having a combat doll holding me close and murmuring sweet reassurances in my ear was maybe the safest I'd ever felt in my whole life. To be told I'm safe now, that the squad will look out for me, that I'm theirs forever…

12.

I hardly ever left the bunker after that. I would have never left, if I’d had the option, but there were still two things I was expected to handle: work and food.

I was still a member of Victoria’s maintenance crew, expected to be present for those duties, and since the necessary hardware was in the maintenance bay, that was where I had to be too. My first duty shift after being taken to the bunker, I’d hesitated – I was even more uncertain about showing my face around the rest of the crew now, after all! Victoria had just returned from a mission, so she would be waiting for me there, but I still had to get from the bunker to the maintenance bay on my own…

Before I figured it out myself, one of the other dolls took pity on me. She took my hand in hers, as if I was a child, and led me to the maintenance bay herself. It was permitted - after all, she was being escorted by maintenance staff - and nobody dared to say she couldn’t stand by while we Victoria received her post- mission diagnostics and I received an entirely different kind of post-mission attention.

I’m not sure if the crew ever appreciated just how much lighter on them she was when I was around, you know? I don’t know if they even noticed, or if they were too busy hating me. It didn’t matter, though – when we were done, Victoria and the other doll walked me back to the bunker, hand in hand, as if they were concerned I’d stray – or flee, perhaps, but there was already no chance of that.

If any of you ever get invited to a bunker, be aware: there’s nothing for you to eat. There is food for the dolls, although it’s terribly bland, but those meals are measured out to the last bite. Even once the whole squad had fully accepted me as their own, they still didn’t have anything to give me – every bite of food for me was one less for them, and dolls are always hungry.

The only way for me to get food would be to get it from the kitchens myself. I’d have to brave the hallways solo, avoiding any other staff, and throw myself on the cook’s mercy in the hopes that they’d be willing to let me take something back with them – and I’d have to do it two or three times a day! It’d be absolutely miserable, right?

As it turned out, that was practically a nonissue. The kitchen staff recognized me on sight - word spreads quickly, especially when you’re escorted to the bunker by two dolls! - and realized that we could solve each other’s problems: I needed food, and they didn’t want to interact with the dolls. If I could come out of the bunker to receive each day’s rations, rather than the staff needing to hand-deliver it directly to the dolls, they’d be more than happy to throw in each day’s worth of meals for me! Teamwork and problem-solving, that’s what we’re trained for, right?

13.

With food resolved and my duties sorted out… well, one day started to blur into the next. There are no windows in a doll bunker, after all -- there’s no sense of time unless you’ve got a chronometer built in, and I sure didn’t. I slept when they let me, I did as I was told, and every time the rations were delivered I felt a little more like I was walking through a dream.

The kitchen staff stopped looking straight at me, eventually. It wasn’t that they were afraid of me - I was no doll, no battlefield predator - but something about me unsettled them. Maybe my body language had changed – after all, I’d been spending more time around dolls than humans, even I could tell that I was picking up their mannerisms, that I was absorbing the way they spoke and moved and held their bodies.

Or maybe it was something else. Maybe there was something in my eyes. I had prostrated myself before the squad and worshipped them for the goddesses they were. I had licked blood from a doll’s body without ever stopping to wonder who it had belonged to. I had given myself to them over and over, even after my stamina was exhausted and I could do little more than accept their desires.

They had made me theirs - with pleasure and pain, with fear and adoration - but they decided I was ready for more.

14.

I’d tell you it was a day like any other, but I don’t even know if it was a day. It was just another moment in the bunker, a moment of laying on a bare concrete floor, my limbs tangled with giggling dolls who simply couldn’t bear to let their plaything go… and then it wasn’t.

They hauled me up off the floor and pushed my back against the wall, one on each side of me, and the rest of the squad parted as Victoria approached, as the doll who’d claimed me first stood over me once more.

“You’ve been fun,” she told me, “but you can be better. We want you to be better. Don’t you want to be better for us?”

Even after all the time I’d spent with them, I still hesitated. I knew what they meant, and I had learned exactly what it entailed. The surgery, the conditioning, the experience of not being human anymore – but wasn’t I already seen as no longer human?

Victoria saw that hesitation, she saw the fear in my eyes, and stroked my head like a pet. She promised me she’d stay by my side the whole time… and she promised to do my conditioning herself.

How could I say no to that?

15.

The surgeons broke me. There’s no way to sugarcoat that. Even without all the modifications combat dolls get, having an arrhythmia control device implanted in your chest without any anesthetic is simply more than any human can bear and stay sane – so I didn’t. I screamed, I struggled and I let myself fall apart.

Victoria put me back together. She reminded me how much I liked being helpful, and how much I enjoyed being useful. She dug up my memories of how much I loved each and every member of the squad, and she made those memories into the core of my personality so I could never, ever forget again. As for the rest of my memories… well, I told you this whole story, didn't I? But everything before the dolls took me in feels distant, removed from me, as if they're someone else's memories instead of my own. It's better that way – I have a whole new life and a whole new family to love.

Speaking of which, Victoria had a surprise for me once I'd recovered, a way of celebrating me as the newest part of their family. One at a time, each doll got up on one of the bunks like it was a makeshift stage and delivered maudlin, overdramatic speeches about the person they imagined I had been before, and we all giggled along together.

In the end, it was my funeral after all.

16.

There you have it, that's the whole story. That's how I went from being just like you to being who I am now. Your instructor wanted me to share it as a warning, a cautionary tale, and I'm sure for most of you it is. But for one or two of you, if it appeals–

Yes, sir?

Understood, sir.

Thank you for your time, everyone! May fate preserve us! Good luck on your quals!

[pallysuune]

Summery: Most of the villagers were afraid of Mortarion, but you, one of the people he had saved from his father's grasp, couldn't help but be drawn to him. You grow closer to him, and, after a celebration in town one night, he's curious about a few things he observed, and you're more than happy to indulge him.

Pairing: Mortarion/Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, people treating Morty badly, smut, first times

A/N: I just really love Mortarion, okay? A good part of the beginning is referenced from The Buried Dagger, because why not? XD

Word count: 4314

They shunned him. Maybe too many of them remembered when he had stood alongside the monsters the Overlords sent. Or maybe it was just because he looked different. You could still remember the first moment you saw him, and that made it hard to fear him. 

You'd been foolish, out too far from the town, in a field trying to finish before the night set in. You were gathering ears of corn, and you really didn't want to have to return tomorrow, so you were working later than you should have. Still, you had thought you were safe - until the horse attached to the cart laden down with your harvest started stomping and snorting and making a sound you'd never heard from it before. You hadn't stopped to think, you'd turned to run. But it was already too late. An undead stench washed over you. Claws grabbed you, and you were pulled away. 

You and other captives were put inside some sort of machine, a crawler that inched its way up the mountain, carrying you all to the Overlords for whatever reason. You recognized a few faces among those around you. Elias Wrinn from the farm down the way. Lanie Kren from the bakery. Calas Typhon from the town. People were avoiding the last. Everyone knew him, and everyone knew he was wrong somehow. 

Yet, where everyone else seemed to be despairing, only Calas was looking around with bright, alert eyes. He was thinking, and he was not yet defeated. 

You'd shifted a little closer to him. “Do you have a plan?” You whispered. 

His eyes had darted to you, but he didn't speak. 

But he did have a plan. One that hinged around an old breathing mask, a rusty piece of metal, and Necare’s own attack dog. Mortarion. The reaper. 

It was probably best he hadn't told you his plan. You would have thought he was insane. 

It wasn't long later that he whispered, “Cover your head,” to you. You glanced at him and then did so, tucking your head between your knees and wrapping your arms over it. 

A few heartbeats later, an explosion ripped through the crawler. You were choked by smoke that smelled of gunpowder and sulfur. You covered your face with your hands, coughing, when a breathing mask was shoved into them. You looked up, squinting through the burning smoke, to see Calas, with a mask of his own, shoving on the hatch at the top of the crawler. He slammed it with his shoulder once, twice, three times. It buckled and swung open, clanging. Calas was the first one up and out, and soon enough, everyone else was scrambling out, too. 

As you climbed up and out, you saw a fortress of slick gray stone, and attop the battlements, you saw him. A tall, gaunt young man standing there, staring in shock at you and the other humans. His long black hair clung to his face in the moist vapor of the upper ranges. Calas was already running toward him, shouting. 

You didn't have long to watch Calas, though, as the monsters of the Overlord bore down on you and the other humans. You screamed, dropping your breathing mask. Acidic, poisonous air assaulted your lungs, and you dropped to your knees, coughing and scrambling for the mask in the mist. You found it and pressed it to your face, dragging in hard breaths. 

Everything was a nightmare of screaming and blood and unliving limbs. People died around you. Claws shredded the back of your shirt, but, mercifully, missed your skin. Amid the chaos, there was a gunshot. You looked past the press of bodies and found him, Mortarion, Necare's son, had jumped down into the boggy ground in front of his keep. He was… 

He was killing the golems. 

He was helping you and the other humans. 

The monsters turned toward him, sensing that he was the bigger threat at the moment. You could only stare, your heart pounding in your chest as he and Calas were swamped by the monsters, and yet kept fighting. Mortarion had a chain with a hook on the end that he swung with lethal precision, gutting and ripping and crushing. Beside him, Calas fought with a piece of rusty metal, and a kind of power that only the Overlords used. You could understand now why the others had avoided him for so long, but at the moment, you couldn't help but be thankful for that power. 

Mortarion decimated the monsters, and the few left broken ranks and ran for the denser fog higher up. Sirens howled from the mist and when you looked, you could see the orange bobbing of lantern lights. 

The Overlord was coming. 

“Hey!” Someone called out your name, and your head snapped around. Elias Wrinn was the one hollering for you. He and a few of the humans who had survived were scrambling onto the platform of an intact transport crawler. He was motioning you to follow. You staggered to your feet and hurried over, as the old farmer reached down to help pull you up. 

No sooner were you aboard than the vehicle began to slide back down the mountain side. 

“Wait, what about them?” You asked, twisting to look at the woman at the machine's controls. Calas and Mortarion were both still standing in the bloody field, looking up toward the coming army. 

The woman only set her mouth in a grin line. 

You threw yourself against the side of the crawler, leaning out as far as you dared, even as Elias grabbed at you to keep you in. “Calas!” You cried. 

His head snapped around, followed a moment later by Mortarion's. Both of them just looked at the crawler and you humans, making no efforts to follow. You saw Calas turn to speak to Mortarion, but you were too far to hear what was being said. You tried to cry out again, but neither of them seemed to pay any attention. Soon enough, the crawler had descended a ridge and you couldn't see them anymore. 

You sat back heavily, your heart leaden in your chest. They had saved you, and you all had just left them there. 

But you didn't ask the other survivors to go back, either. You were ashamed, but you wanted to live. Enough to turn your back on them. 

You remembered that feeling hours later when Mortarion and Calas had stumbled into town.

The townspeople had always been a little wary of Calas, and that did not change now. To make it worse, they all knew who Mortarion was. The townspeople argued. Many were afraid that Necare would come and kill all of you now, for rebelling against him. Others wanted Calas and Mortarion out to death. You and the other survivors spoke up on their behalf, though, arguing how they had saved you, how you would all be dead and without them. But most folks still didn't want them in town. In the end, Elias suggested letting them both stay in a rundown stable at the edge of the township, with some firewood and food. 

For days, the whole settlement waited for retribution from the Overlords. You watched day in and day out as Mortarion stood just outside that stable, looking to the mountain, unmoving as a statue. A sentinel of some kind. Waiting like all the rest of you. But nothing happened, and eventually things returned to normal. 

But for you, the memory of running and leaving them behind never left. The guilt pulled at you. There was what drove you to make your way out to the stable with a small basket of bread. You stopped outside the closed door and raised a hand to knock, but before you had the chance, it was already being pulled open. You started and looked up into eyes the pale yellow of the sky at dawn. Mortarion looked down at you, his long hair hanging in front of his face. He was thin and gaunt, and yet there was something about him that was attractive anyway. 

You took a step back, lowering your eyes from his, and held up the basket in your hands. “Um… I brought bread.”

He looked down at the basket in your hands, and then took a step back, letting you step into the stable. 

Calas was sitting next to a fire pit. He looked up at you as he stepped in, a brow arched. He had a distinctly unimpressed look on his face as you stepped closer. “What’s this then?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice soft. You set the basket down, and glanced toward Mortarion as he moved over to the fire again. He peered down into the basket, but didn’t reach for it. “You both saved us. And we repaid you with this.” You glanced around at the stables. 

Calas snorted. “It’s not surprising.”

“No, but it��s still wrong,” you said firmly. 

He opened his mouth to argue with you when Mortarion cut in, “Thank you.”

Calas snorted and reached for a piece of bread. You lingered there awkwardly, unsure what to do. Mortarion sat down at the fire, and they both looked up at you. Calas’ expression turned exasperated. “Well? Sit down, then,” he huffed. 

You hurriedly sat down. Mortarion handed you a bowl of watery stew. 

And that was how you found yourself eating dinner with them. It wasn't the last time, either. More and more, you found yourself venturing out to the stable after your work to eat with them, or just to talk. You realized very quickly that Mortarion, for how dangerous and incredibly intelligent he was, had no idea how to be a person.  He spent a lot of time just watching the townspeople, like he was trying to figure them out. One day, he simply walked out of the stable and began to help in the fields, pulling a huge curved blade from a broken threshing machine to use as a scythe. He didn't ask permission, and no one tried to stop him. He worked so much faster than anyone else, soon enough you, and many of the other workers, were just following behind him, gathering up the wheat he cut down. 

That night, the townspeople celebrated having such a good harvest. The community hall was filled with laughter and music for the first time in so very, very long. Even you joined in, letting yourself relax for a night, safe among the other people, in the firelight that kept the mist and monsters away. You ate and drank, and sang loudly with everyone else. And when the night grew late, and people were paying less attention, you snuck some food that you could take to Mortarion and Calas in the morning. 

You slipped out the back with your stolen treasures, determined to make sure that Mortarion was thanked, as he was the one to make this all possible. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you realized you weren't the only person behind the community building. But the sounds of breathy moans soon reassured you that they weren't paying you any kind. Flushing a little, you hurried back home. 

You were busy the next day, and didn't make it out to the stable until late afternoon. The food you had snuck was still good, so you packed it all up and headed out. You found Mortarion just returning from the field, his hair braided loosely, and a scarf around his lower face and neck. He pulled it down casually as he watched you approach. 

“I brought you some things,” you chirped with a smile up at him, swinging your basket. 

His expression was as guarded as always, but he nodded, stepping inside and holding the door for you. As you came inside, you realized he was alone. 

“Where's Calas?”

“He went to the blacksmith. Some of the tools needed sharpening,” Mortarion answered. His voice was deep and rumbling, and incredibly pleasant to your ears. 

“Well, he can have some when he gets back, then,” you declared. 

You saw Mortarion's expression soften just a fraction as you smiled at him before beginning to unpack what you'd brought. Smoked meats, bread, cheese, and, as a special treat, a loaf of cakey bread with dried fruits in it. 

You and Mortarion sat and ate. After a few moments, he spoke up. “I saw your people celebrating last night.”

“Yeah. We've never had so much of the harvest in so early. It gives us a chance to process it for storage better. It's a huge help to us, and we owe it all to you,” you smiled. 

You thought you caught a pleased look in his eyes before he glanced away. “ I heard something rhythmic and lilting from the hall.”

Pausing, you considered the comment. Lilting? “Do you mean singing? We were singing pretty loudly last night, I guess.”

“Singing,” he repeated the word slowly. 

It struck you like a punch to the jaw, and you found yourself just staring at him. “Do you… do you not know what singing is? What music is?”

He didn't answer. You were aware that he didn't like admitting he didn't know something, but the answer was obvious. He didn't. Singing was one of the few light things you and the other people there had. One of the few things that brought some joy and happiness during long hours in the field. You couldn't imagine living a life without knowing what singing was. It broke your heart to think he had lived such a barren life. 

“Do you… would you like me to sing for you?” You asked softly. Normally you wouldn't, but things were different with him. Your desire to share this part of humanity with him was stronger than your fear of being judged.

He looked over and met your eyes, and nodded. 

It took a second for you to think of a good song. You set down the piece of fruit studded bread, took a breath, and began to sing an old lullaby for him. Mortarion turned his whole attention to you, his eyes focused and bright, as if he was in wonder at what he was hearing. The attention brought more heat to your cheeks. 

When you finished, the two of you sat in silence for a moment. Just long enough for you to begin to get awkward. You were starting to wonder if you should leave when Mortarion cleared his throat and turned to you. 

“There is something I wanted to try, if you don't mind,” he said. 

You offered him a smile. “Of course.” Maybe he has seen the dancing the night before? The thought sent a flutter of warmth through you, bubbling and buzzing. 

But it wasn't a dance he asked for. Instead, he shifted closer to you and, before you could really register what was going on, leaned in and smacked his lips against yours. It was awkward and a little aggressive, as if he was treating it like an attack of some sort.

You were too stunned to respond before he pulled back, a frown pulling at his chapped lips. “That was not as pleasant as it looked,” he said, more to himself than to you. 

A huff of a breath left you roughly as you looked at him incredulously. “O-of course it wasn't! You're not supposed to do it like that!”

His eyes narrowed, and for a second, you remembered why everyone was still so scared of him, even if you pushed aside the question quickly.

“Here, let me…” you trailed off and scooted a little closer to him. 

Gently, you cupped his cheek and leaned in slowly. He tensed slightly, but did not move away. Your lips brushed his, before you pressed them together again, softer this time. Your lips slotted with his, coaxing them into kissing you in return. It took a moment before he finally began to relax, his arms curling around you to draw you close to him. Leaning into his chest, the hand on his cheek slid back to comb your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head. 

You had to admit, he was a quick learner. 

It didn't take him long to catch on, adjusting how he kissed you to what you seemed to like most. Though, when your tongue brushed his bottom lip, he did jump slightly, adorably. He mimicked the little lick, and you opened your mouth, letting his tongue slip inside. He gave a low, surprised moan, pressing closer to you. 

He took his time exploring your mouth, and slowly his hands moved over your body, until you were trembling in his lap. His fingers brushed your lower stomach and lingered there. By now, you had a good idea what it was that he'd seen - the same moaning couple you had hurried away from. You had been embarrassed hearing it then, but now you were practically vibrating, waiting to see what he would do.

“There is more,” he breathed against your lips. His fingertips dug into your stomach ever so slightly. 

You nodded breathlessly, your lips ghosting against his with the movement. Your whole body felt hot, a buzzing desire settling in your core. “Go on.”

You pressed forward into another kiss. Mortarion sighed. His fingers slid lower, beneath the waist of your pants and into your underwear. A thick finger brushed over your outer lips slowly, tracing them. A groan left him in a gusty sigh as he felt how wet you were. 

His finger brushed your clit, sending a spark of pleasure through you. You gasped, your hips bucking up against his hand. He pulled back from the kiss, staring at your face in awe as he repeated the motion. You whimpered, your whole expression crumpling with pleasure. He rolled his finger over the bud a third time. Your hand flew down to grab his before he could continue and it got to be too much. He froze the second you touched him, his eyes darting up to yours. 

“Like this,” you murmured, even as your face burned hot, embarrassed and horribly turned on, both. Still, the last thing on your mind was stopping, so you shifted a little closer to him, turning to put your back against his chest, so his arm curled around you. You slid your hand down to cover his,  wiggling your pants down a little lower around your knees to give more room for you both as you spread your legs a little bit. You couldn’t see him with how you were sitting now, but you could still practically feel his eyes on you. 

Your hand pressed gently over his, guiding one of his fingers past your wet folds, sinking into you. He followed your movements diligently, as you  pushed both your finger and his into your pussy, working them in and out of you. You moaned, your eyes fluttering closed as you melted back against his chest. He began to take over, controlling the rhythm as you just kept your hand pressed over his, following his every move. 

“Mortarion,” you sighed breathlessly. 

You could literally feel him shiver behind you. 

He leaned down, his cheek pressed to the side of your head, his eyes focused unerringly on where your fingers disappeared into your heat. He began to move faster, and you followed his lead as he pressed a second finger into you, stretching you even more around him with the most delicious sort of pleasure. You couldn’t keep yourself quiet any longer, moans spilling from your lips as he fucked you quickly with his fingers, the palm of his hand pressing against your clit. Your hips bucked, grinding against it, desperate for more friction as you squirmed and trembled in his arms. It felt so good, every thought driven from your mind except the feeling of him around you and inside you. 

Your moans raised to a high whine, desperate, close already to your peak. Mortarion tilted his head slightly, practically nuzzling at your hair. He pressed the heel of his hand against your clit, plunging his fingers deep into your pussy. It all just became too much. You keened as you came around his fingers, shaking in his arms, your sex spasming tight around both your fingers and his, still buried  in you, soaking you both with your release. He kept fingering you through it, drawing it out until you were pulling at his hand, throwing your head from side to side as it began to become too much. 

He slipped his fingers out of you as you slumped in his arms, panting, shivering with the aftermath of your pleasure. He lifted his hand to his lips, licking them curiously, tentatively, before giving a hum and beginning to suck them clean. You tilted your head to watch him, heat coiling through your blood at the sight of how eagerly he sucked your juices from his fingers. Still leaning back against him, you could feel how hard he was, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants and pressing against your ass. 

A shiver ran through you as you registered the feeling. Oh, you wanted him. Badly. 

Managing to marshal your somewhat shaky body, you sat up and turned toward him. His eyes snapped immediately to you, intent and sharp. Not wary, like they usually were, but still very focused. You wet your lips and reached for his pants, untying the laces with trembling fingers. He didn’t stop you, but you heard his breathing pick up as you pulled his pants open. You reached in, your fingers grazing his length. He groaned. His eyes sliding shut. You curled your fingers around him to pull him free. You stroked him, looking down to watch a bead of precum ooze from the tip. You swiped your thumb through it, drawing a shiver from him again. 

Wetting your lips, you used your free hand to pull off your own pants and then climbed onto his lap, guiding his cock to your entrance. He groaned, his hands going to your hips and gripping hard. You rubbed him against your pussy, soaking him in your slick wetness before pressing his cockhead against your entrance and slowly beginning to sink down onto him. 

“Oh fuck,” you breathed, at the same moment he moaned lowly. 

His arms wound around you, pulling you flush against his chest, holding you there. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin as he panted softly and pulled you slowly down onto him. He was thick, stretching you, filling you impossibly full. His hips rocked up, again and again, in short little thrusts until he was finally balls deep in you. You could swear you felt him all the way in your throat. You were breathless, like his cock didn’t leave any room in your for air. You closed your own eyes, soaking in the intimacy of the position, and the feeling of his body. Your arms wound around his neck, threading through his hair. He lifted you and then thrust up into you again. He shuddered, swore, and then his frayed patience finally broke. 

His arms tightened around you as he surged up, thrusting hard into you, fucking you quickly and roughly. You squealed, scrabbling at his back, clinging to him desperately. It was all you could do as he fucked you. 

Took you. Claimed you. 

Already, you knew nothing would ever match up to this. No one would ever match up to him after everything. 

You threw your head back, keening, bucking your hips back as best you could against his. He breathed your name, curling into you, his lips pressing to your neck. It became a chant, a mantra, the closest thing to a prayer he would ever say as he whispered your name again and again, interspersed with soft pleas and encouraging coos. You were barely able to register the words. The pleasure was too much, your mind driven blank by the feeling of his cock inside you. 

You came around him suddenly, keening, your nails digging into his shoulder. He gave a shuddering groan as he slammed up into you, and then ground deep, savoring the way your pussy squeezed and fluttered around him, letting it drag him over the edge too. Heat flooded you as he came, pumping his seed deep into your. 

Slowly, you both came down from the high of your releases, panting softly. You were trembling in his arms, exhausted, but floating in the lingering pleasure. Mortarion’s breath slowed, but he was not at all inclined to release you, cradling him close to his chest. “Stay here tonight?” he murmured. 

You nodded, snuggling deeper against him. 

It took a few moments before you finally slipped off his lap, prompting twin groans from both of you. You cleaned up as best you could, got dressed again, and settled in his lap once more. 

By the time Calas returned, night had set in, and you were asleep in Mortarion’s lap. He paused in the doorway, looking at the two of you with his brows arched. Mortarion looked up at him, as if challenging him to say anything about it. With a snort, Calas looked away, his eyes landing on the basket of food you’d brought with you earlier. He moved over, nudging it with his toe. “Did you at least leave me some?”

Mortarion’s expression softened slightly, and he shifted you in his lap, curling you close to him as he moved over a little himself, making room at the fire for his friend. “A little.”

There was another snort as he sat down, pulling the basket in front of him and beginning to look through it, as a comfortable, companionable silence fell over the stable. 

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: End of the Line Gen 1 pt.87

3 hours later

Kason sat behind his desk with his head down. The fire had been put out and the workers had all been sent home for the day. The servo was destroyed and worst Rufus had been taken to the hospital. Kason called Mercury when they lifted Rufus into the ambulance and pulled off without him, claiming that he couldn't ride along because he wasn't family. Kiersten and M arrived at the hospital shortly after. Kason hoped to be there soon, he felt obligated to be with Kiersten, waiting for Rufus to wake up, but for now, he was needed at the office to square things away with the fire marshals and police.

When he'd spoken to M last the doctors had assessed Rufus's injuries. They ranged from 2nd-degree and minor 3rd-degree burns and a bump on the head. What they were most concerned about was the smoke in his lungs and the fact that he was still unconscious. The doctors put him into a medically induced coma in case he awoke and had injuries they were unaware of. Still, their top priority was to make sure his head injury was simply superficial and not something more severe.

Kason pushed the image of his friend's helpless body on the cold metal floor of Servo Hold 2. He had one more task to take care of and wouldn't leave without completing it. He took a deep breath as someone knocked twice followed by the door opening.

Kason: Come in.

Paris strutted in and stood in the center of the room. Following the incident, she'd refused medical attention, so when Kason dismissed the rest of the office for the day he'd asked her to stay behind for a while claiming he needed to get her statement for insurance purposes.

Paris: I've already told the police everything I know.

Kason: Have a seat Ms.Amyot.

Paris smiled as she sat down in one of the plush white chairs across from him.

Paris: Mmm, I like the way that sounds.

His insides twisted with disgust at her flirty tone. When he looked at her all he saw was her standing at the back of the crowd smiling as Rufus fought for his life. He forged forward fueled by his suspicion.

Kason: We need to talk about your performance up until this point.

Paris: Sure.

She shrugged, her tone suggesting she was bored as if the conversation didn't pertain to her. It was as If she'd forgotten she'd attacked Aria just hours earlier. She was aggrogant but he was about to cut her down to size.

Kason: Ms.Amyot, your work with the servos and other machines is okay at best. You miss about 40% of your deadlines and your attendance needs improvement.

Paris: Okay. Is that it? Is that really what you called me in here for or did you miss me while you were away, Kay?

He continued, ignoring her lastest failed attempts at seducing him.

Kason: You're rude to the clients and don't work well with the rest of the team. Computer Engineers and Mechanics alike.

The corners of her mouth dropped and she narrowed her eyes.

Paris: Excuse me. It's not my fault that your mechanics are babies and your computer techs are like teenage nerds.

Kason: You belittle and berate your co-workers. You make inappropriate advances and comments to your higher-ups and clients. Paris, I think it's safe to say you are the problem here.

She jumped up from her seat, he could see her mask of control slipping, but Paris was determined to regain the upper hand even if she had to play dirty.

Paris: So what! What are you going to do about it? Hmm. Keep me as an intern? Ha! Greg would never, my father will be sure of that. As for you, you're a nobody. Insignificant just like Madison, just like Rufus, just like your wife.

He clenched his fist at the mention of Rufus. Her hate for M was old news. But she'd never given Rufus a second glance previous to the company dinner party.

Kason: If I find out you had anything to do with what happened to Rufus. I promise you will regret the day you met me.

The threat seemed to get her attention and all traces of humor left her voice.

Paris: No one, makes me regret anything, Kay. No one.

Her lack of denial furthered his suspicion and deepened his hatred. He smiled knowing he would get the satisfaction of ruining her day as she had ruined so many others.

Kason: Well maybe this will make you regret coming to Brindelton Bay. Paris, Your fired.

Checkmate.

Her reaction was priceless.

Previous Next

Beginning

Poses: Josie Throwing in Anger

@ratboysims sitting and talking

[wyvernest]

Miguel vs very angry reader? Miguel is usually the one who is grumpy and broody but for a change has to deal with his usually cheery lover being unbelievably Moody and angry!

lo siento, mi alma

pairing: miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader

warnings: angst, comfort, fluff, happy ending, miguel kinda being a dick

summary: coming to miguel for comfort leads to a fight, his duty coming right between you

Usually, you would feel so happy and excited about visiting Miguel at HQ. You'd find yourself smiling so stupidly on the way there, surprised with your reflection in a nearby skyscraper, instantly reminded that you're so in love with him. 

But today wasn't one of those days.

Today, your monthly hormonal storm has decided to mess with your mood and patience in a way you weren't looking forward to. Usually, you'd feel more clingy and emotional, yearning to be close to your boyfriend, to be held by him, to cry in his arms because you were out of your favourite snacks. 

But then again, today remains odd among the usual habits.

Today, you felt anger boil in your throat, ready to burst at the slightest inconvenience. And plenty have already tested it. Miles scared the crap out of you by swinging an inch from hitting you, right before scurrying away with an echoed "Hello!" that rang so stridently in your ears. Peter also intercepted your wish-to-be-hidden trip to HQ, unsolicitedly informing you about the last thing Mayday ate, how cute she looked, and how she's been learning to use her webs with more agility. You held back your bubbling nerves, deep down knowing he only meant well.

Finally inside Miguel's extensive laboratories, you look up to spot the platform he usually inhabited empty. 

Great. Fucking hell.

And because expecting something good to happen and then having it snatched from you like a chocolate from a toddler makes you unfathomably angry, you feel hot tears sting your eyes.

You had wanted the comfort of his embrace so bad. It was the only thing that could've soothed your mood. So you found a flat surface to sit on and wait, probably one of the many machines and equipment he spent his whole time creating and testing instead of giving you the attention and love you craved so much, you thought.

It wasn't long before a long, sharp, red blade cut through the fabric of space, followed by the familiar silhouette of your beloved boyfriend. His mask dissolved away, revealing a terribly tired face, hair messed up and cheekbone slightly mauve with a forming bruise. 

He sensed you in the room, not bothering to offer you anything more than a turn of his head in your direction to meet your eyes before sprinting to his platform. Layla also glitched into the room, relaxed as usual. 

You squint, making out "canon divergence RESOLVED" on one of his screens, some hope blooming in your heart at the thought that maybe now he'd have time for you. But before you can inhale to speak, he opens up another portal.

You can't believe it. He didn't even speak to you, like you aren't his heart and soul, as he had told you so many times. 

So you snap.

"Miguel!" You shout, quick and harsh, wanting him to feel a fraction of the frustration that's gutting you right now.

He doesn't flinch.

"I'm busy. Wait for me at home." He speaks with authority and the confidence of a man who knows it wouldn't take much to make you listen to him.

You feel your pulse quicken, heart stuttering with anger and bewilderment.

"That's how much my emotions matter to you?" You shout up to him after a second of weighing his words. "That's the support and consideration I get?" Your voice cracks and you hate that he now knows how affected you are.

"I'm not even a fucking priority at this point. I'm at the bottom of the list."

"I can't deal with this right now. I still have the damage the last anomaly has done to deal with." He raises his voice at you, the words vibrating through the laboratory.

"So I'm on hold until Miguel O'Hara is fucking available? Will you also notify me so that I can present myself back to HQ, sir?" Your tone is dripping venom, sarcasm and sour tears threatening to burst into streams down your cheeks. You do, consider, in the back of your mind, that you're exaggerating. But the way he dismissed you is not an easy thing to get over. No greetings, no emotion, no nothing.

Just "I'm busy.".

No excitement to see you after a mission.

How are you any different than any other spider-person bothering him then? Where is the love he has for you when he's working?

He grinds his jaws together, not wanting to say something he doesn't mean, that he'll regret later. He knows you're particularly sensitive today, but he can't allow himself to soften right in the middle of a job. It's not how he works. He gets distracted.

"I said go home, cariño." He doesn't even face you as he speaks, as if you're a child throwing a tantrum.

You feel small. Irrelevant. He isn't even touched.

"Oh I will." You yell through a sob, your pain arrowing right through his chest.

"Only not to your home." 

You storm out without looking behind. Your ego soared and anger kept rising to your senses. 

You knew you wouldn't break up, or even move out. You just wanted him to feel something. 

You wanted to see him want you. To see him make the slightest gesture towards wanting to keep you by his side.

But the doors closed shut behind you, and you found yourself walking slower, just to give him some time to run after you.

He didn't.

You did your best to hide your teary eyes and runny nose, not wanting to deal with any unwanted attention, any questions, anyone knowing that you and Miguel just had a fight.

You didn't want anyone else's attention but his, and it killed you to acknowledge that.

You got home, finally breaking into tears. You let yourself fall face down into his pillow, still seeking the comfort he never gave you. The smell of him, the imagined, simulated warmth of his embrace.

He had a duty, you know he did. You just wanted to be more than a chore to him. You wondered if this relationship really was for you, head spiralling into the hormones, stress, and wrath. 

You, a needy, extremely loving girlfriend, with a man like him, with a full time job that entire universes depended on. You loved him, you really did. But you loved yourself too. 

The train of thought drifted towards sympathy as the flames of rage ran cold within you. Maybe you were too hard on him. Maybe he really did have urgent things to tend to, and was just trying to keep cool. He hasn't always been the best at showing emotions. 

You whine softly into the pillow, the scent of him flooding your already fluttering heart.

You don't know how much time has passed. You felt your tears dry on your cheeks and your eyes puffy. A creak of the bedroom door makes your heart beat right out of your chest, yet you attempt to stay calm. Heavy footsteps near you, before you see his shadow engulf your shape on the white mattress. 

He hesitates, looking at your quivering body, knowing he should haven't arrived earlier.

If only he could.

Your brows shoot up in surprise at the sight of a bouquet of roses he places on the bed next to you, but you don't get to think of what to say as he kneels at the edge, encircling your waist in his arms, placing his head on your shoulder, close to your own.

"Lo siento mucho, mi alma. Forgive me."

You snivel, humming a fragment of his name. He shuffles closer, seeing no retreat from you. He brings his lips to your stained cheeks, pecking over the salty traces. 

You instinctively shift into his warm embrace, chasing the comfort and touch you had wanted all day. 

"I'm sorry," you begin, "I shouldn't have-"

"Shh, no need" he stops you, pressing a sweet kiss shy of your lips. "No need, mi vida."

His arms tighten their hold around you as he pulls you to his chest. You grab at his biceps, pulling him on the bed. 

"The roses-" He whispers, hurriedly.

"Miguel!" You whine, entrapping his waist with your legs. He complies without another word; suit on, flowers still on the white sheets. With his massive body wrapped around you, finally content, you drift into a sweet slumber.

"Lo siento."

His voice rings low and quiet in your ears as you fall asleep, head on his chest.

translations: Lo siento mucho, mi alma - I'm terribly sorry, (my soul)

a/n: before yall beat my ass for the angst this is the best depiction of miguel x reader x anger issues from both that came to my mind, really hope you like it😭

[badnoahmens]

I Took Your Keys, It Was Me - Part 4

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Words: approx. 3.7k

A/N: This fic has been a sloooow burn, so maybe it’s time to change the pace? Thank you to everyone who has kept up with these updates to far, I’ve been uninspired and your kind words have been the only reason I have been writing this 🖤

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

The noise of sirens rang in your head, bouncing in your skull. It took minutes before the blur from eyes started to fade away, the sounds of the world coming into the correct frequency.

There was something sharp and uncomfortable poking into your side which made you squirm, still unable to fully open your eyes.

There was a crackle and some movement to your left, murmurs growing louder as each second ticked by. There was a trickle of warmth running down your face, your arm, and now that you think of it, most of your body.

The sharp pain to your left grew stronger, causing you to lurch forward and scream, the sudden pain contorting your insides into an excruciating puzzle.

The buzzing grew louder, and the lights surrounding you shone brighter than a second ago. There were noises of people and machines and cars and just about everything else that made your head spin even more, making the dizziness unbearable.

Without thinking, you twist to the side, upheaving the contents of your stomach onto the floor, leaning through an opening that wasn’t there a second ago.

You could feel arms pulling and twisting at you, and you couldn’t do anything but succumb to their will.

As the tugging of limbs pulled you from a twisted metal cave, the trance of consciousness wavered, and eventually fell silent.

The incessant beeping is what awoke you, the tight restrictions of medical tubes wrapping your arms came next. Your eyes blink slowly, bringing into focus the white clinical walls that surround you. A shadowy figure was by your side, details of their face too distorted from your blurred vision to make out who it was.

As you begin to twist, the figure moves, coming closer to you, making it easier to make out their features. It’s your friend, the one you haven't seen in weeks, the one you thought that you should tell about your dates with Noah, the same friend who came to the Bad Omens show with you way back when - all of two weeks.

Her face looks like fear being masked by a fake sense of confidence, it was easy to tell that she was putting on a brave face as if not to scare you.

She calls your name, and you respond with a slight smile.

“What on earth happened?” she asked, voice laced with worry, a hand finding their way to rub soothingly on the bare skin of your arm.

“I think…. My car… I pulled out in front of someone?” you ask, still unsure yourself, finding it difficult to make sense of the flash of memories from that moment.

She takes a moment, looking over your bandages, the tubes sticking out of you, and the drip that steadily held the pain at bay.

“Well that was kind of a stupid thing to do” she laughed, and gave you a look that you were all too used to.

You chuckle in response, her humour was something that always made you smile. The sarcastic jokes between you two growing up had become the love language of your friendship.

It was in this lull of silence that there was a knock at the door. Both your heads tilted to view who entered in.

You have a fond smile, as much as you could manage in this state, to Noah as he walked in, who looked like his eyes almost fell from their sockets. With a quick few steps, he was by your side, sitting opposite your friend.

If Noah looked shocked to see you, your friend looked like she just saw a ghost. He face didn’t move a muscle, eyes glued to Noah as she watched him take in the image of you in the hospital bed.

It was then when it clicked; you still hadn’t told her about everything.

It had all happened so fast, and you thought you were doing the right thing. Keeping your meetups private was you trying to be respectful of Noah.

Right now though, it would probably be best if your best friend had known what you had been up to.

Noah calls your name, bringing you out of the daze you were in. He looks at you with a worry stricken face.

“It’s okay, I’m okay… I think” you trail off. Your hand pats the top of his, that was hesitantly wavering on the side of the bed. Just as you feel the awkward silence begin, a doctor enters, flashing a glance between the three of you.

“You’re mostly right” he said, referring to your comment. “Lost a bit of blood, got a few cracks in the ribs, and you were severely dehydrated.”

The doctor seemed very relaxed about the state you were in, giving a strange sense of comfort. If he was calm, then you should be too.

“You’re going to need a hand moving around though. Your abdominal muscles will hurt like hell for a while. Is there someone who can assist you with daily tasks?” He asked, flicking through the clipboard of notes that hung by the end of your bed.

“Yes, she’ll be looked after” Noah responds, before even letting you speak.

“Great! You’ll be discharged soon. Take it easy and come back for a check up in a few weeks” the doctor stated, then exited the room.

“Noah…” you look at him, but he simply shakes his head.

“I’m the reason you’re here, I’ll be the reason you’ll recover just fine”. He sits back in the chair, glancing at the machines by your side. His jaw clenched as he looks away again.

“It’s not your fault” you say almost sternly, shifting as you try to sit yourself upright. The pain that tears through your abdomen makes you gasp and fall back, wincing and squeezing your eyes shut. It takes a moment for it to settle, and once it does, you let out a shaky breath.

As your eyes peel open, you look back at your friend. It was as though she was frozen. A statue. Eyes still locked on Noah, mouth slightly ajar.

“Is he the one who hit your car?!” she whispered, looking at you in a not-so-hushed tone. Her expression looked almost angry as she glanced at him again.

“No! No that’s not it!” It almost made you laugh, which hurt your chest.

“After the show the other week” you wince again, pushing in your arms to straighten yourself up. “Noah and I got talking. We've been talking.”

Her eyebrows raise in disbelief and she leans in close to you.

“Are you telling me you went on a DATE. And this has been going on for WEEKS?!” She attempts to whisper again, failing to hide her shock from Noah.

“We caught up yesterday… and today…”

Her reaction was yet again priceless. This time, along with the wide eyes, a smile graces her face, seemingly overcoming her star-struckness as she leans back in her chair.

“Do you know how insane this sounds? Like, this is actually crazy” she was now talking as if Noah wasn’t even in the room. She continued, “so, you’re dating the frontman of our favourite band?”

Your smile was all the answer she needed. She squealed in excitement, bouncing out of her chair to readjust her legs.

“You have to tell me everything about-“

She was cut off by Noah clearing his throat, a smug smile on his lips, even if he was still avoiding eye contact.

You mouth an “I promise” to your friend, who nods understandingly. She then stands, gathering her things into her bag and propping it over her shoulder.

“I’m only a phone call away. I mean it. If you need anything.” She stated matter-of-factly. You nod, squeezing her outstretched hand, before she bids her farewells and exits the room.

“She seems like a great friend” Noah comments as the door closes.

“She is. Been by my side forever” you say. Toying with the flimsy white hospital blanket. “You know you don’t need to help me. I know tour is still going and-“

“There’s nothing you need to worry about. It’s all been handled” he says calmly, intertwining his hand with your fidgeting one, looping his fingers between yours.

“Thank you” you say with a shaky voice. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were scared.

Over the next few hours, there are a few more visits from nurses, making sure that the injuries weren’t serious and that you were in the clear to leave. They seemed relieved when they saw the way Noah held out his hand for you to steady your balance. Despite a feeble attempt to walk on your own, he was insistent, and you couldn’t deny that it was indeed helpful to have him there.

He helped you into a cab that was ready and waiting, and you gave the directions to your home.

The cab ride was quiet, but Noah kept his hand in yours. He was careful as to not squeeze too hard as to hurt the bruising, and rushed as fast as he could to hold the door open for you when you finally arrived home.

You step from the cab and gather your belongings in a small bag, which Noah promptly takes for you and slings over his shoulder. You huff in response.

“I’ll need that so that I can unlock the front door.” You hold out a hand expectantly, but Noah ignores it. Instead, he runages through the tote, shuffling back the phone, wallet, even a stray tampon, and then raises the keys triumphantly. A few silver keys dangled, paired with your old key ring and the key to your car.

“I remember these!” He said happily as he reminisced on the story of how you met.

“That seems like forever ago” you reply, following as Noah walks towards the door, swinging it open and motioning his hand in front of him.

You step through the threshold and into your living room, glancing around to see the scattered mess that you had left pieces of clothing strewn carelessly by your bedroom door, after the fiasco that had made you be in such a rush earlier that morning. It was a little embarrassing, but with the feeling of drowsiness starting to set in, it didn’t really bother you that much.

Noah walks past you, placing your bag of belongings into the small island that was the center of your kitchen. He notices the yawn you let out and walks over to you, gently placing his arm over your shoulder and pulling you into a hug.

Your arms curl up to his chest as you rest your shoulder on him, his heartbeat steady beneath his shirt. Your eyes close, and you let out a breath, feeling content for the first time in hours.

“You should probably get some sleep. I’ll be right here if you need anything.” His grip tightens, and then loosens, as if to gesture to you to do as he says.

And you were not in the mood to argue. “Make yourself at home” you say, looking up at him drowsily, and he offers you a sweet smile back.

Without anything else said, you turn, heading straight for your bedroom. With the door closed, lights off, and finally under the covers, it didn’t take long to fall into a deep sleep.

It might have been the pain killers, the dark room, and just because you were flat-out exhausted, but it was hours later when you finally woke up.

There was no way of knowing what hour it was, your phone was somewhere else and the sky outside was a dark veil of a blue-black. Tip-toeing to the door, it creaks open, the light from the kitchen and living area still alight.

The clock on the wall shows the hands pointed at 12:45AM, and the TV continued to play a show that you hadn’t seen before. You walk towards the lounge, trying your best to be quiet on the hardwood floors as you could see an arm slung sleepily over the edge of the lounge, but fail once something twitches inside you, tugging at the injuries. You let out an involuntary yelp, falling forwards, arm only just catching the back of the sofa. Your other arm curled around your torso, clutching as though you were trying to hold yourself together. Tears started to well up and you were breathing heavily, huffing to try and control the searing pain that was starting to spread.

You startle Noah as he jolts upright in a panic, his hair completely strewn. His eyes are still half closed as he stumbles to his feet over to you, tripping over his feet a little. When he reaches your side, he helps you, taking a hand in yours, the other hand resting on your shoulder, semi-carrying your weight to lead you to sit down.

He steadies you as you lower, sitting while letting out a shaky breath. He still had your hand, clutching your fingers between his as your heartbeat finally started to come down to a normal pace.

Noah’s face was still covered in shock, processing what was happening around him. He looked concerned, hesitant to move, to touch you or help in any other way.

“I’m…. so…. sorry…” you huffed between breaths.

“S’okay” he murmured in response, clearly still half asleep.

“I can’t believe you’re still here” you say, looking at Noah, who met your eyes. It was an attempt to fill the silence growing in the room, and to distract you from the throbbing still occurring in your ribs.

“I wasn’t going to leave you here on your own.”

“You have things to do, shows to play. You can stay here, of course, but don’t you need to leave soon?”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” It was the casualness that he said it, that made you worry.

“What do you mean by that?” You ask, and he smiles, looking down at your hands.

“Everything has been sorted.” He comments, wriggling his fingers, turning your hand over in his.

“You’re awfully vague for someone who has everything planned out,” now you’re watching your hands, Noah begins to trace the lines of blue veins he sees under your skin.

“You didn’t cancel, did you?” It was almost embarrassing how fast you came to that conclusion, but he chuckles.

“No, the show is still happening. It’s not that far of a drive. Everyone else is heading in earlier, and I’ll meet them before the show starts.” He places your hand down, lifting his arm to rest over your shoulder. “And so will you.”

You look at him, unsure of what he was going on about.

“I don’t ha-“

“Like I said. It’s sorted.” He gives a small eyebrow raise as if to imply ‘I win’.

You, on the other hand, determined to flesh out as many details, pressed on.

“So how will we get there?”

“Car.” Noah was quick to respond.

“Who’s car?”

“Hire.”

“How long of a drive?”

“‘Bout an hour.”

He was looking smug now. You thought quickly to come up with more questions.

“What about after the show?”

“I’ll drive you back.”

“You’re not doing that.” You demand. That was too much on him.

“Yes I am.” He sounded like a stubborn child.

“It’ll be too late.”

His head rolls to the side, looking directly into your eyes.

“I’m a big boy, I can drive at night.”

It might have been the confidence that oozed from his voice, or the fact that he just called himself a ‘big boy’, but you felt something flip inside your stomach, a heat rising up to your chest, red bow flushing your cheeks with a hot glow.

All you could offer was a smile, looking back into his dark oak eyes. The way he was looking at you made you feel the safest you had ever felt.

Something came over you, and you held your breath, eyes slipping closed as you lean in, ever so slightly to Noah.

It could have been a hug, a kiss on the check, or something more mundane, but Noah knew this was an invitation. One he happily and needily accepted.

His lips meet yours, keeping his pressure light, but you needed a little more than that. You leaned more into the kiss, and he read the message loud and clear. His body shifts so that he’s facing you, leaning back and pulling you with him to sit atop his lap. Your lips are moving a little faster now, starting to part ever so slightly, so much that you can just feel Noah sweep his tongue over your lip. You reciprocate the action, holding onto either side of his face with your hands, knees now pinned on either side of his torso. Your lips part again, this time offering your tongue, and Noah opens needily. His breath is hot on your face as he tries to hold back every nerve in his body from taking this too far.

His head shifts closer to you, doing what he can in such confined space to bring you closer to him. His mouth moves with intent, like he was controls g each micro movement of his.

With the slightest tilt of your head, Noah’s lips crept to the nape of your neck, leaving a trail of fire where his lips and tongue darted across your skin. His hands gripped at your waist, digging into the sensitive skin being exposed from your shirt being tugged up just a little. His thumb rubbed carefully as though to say sorry, even though he wasn’t apologetic in the slightest.

All your mouth could do, while Noah’s lips were now starting to run down to your collarbone, was hang open. The sensation, the heat, and the overwhelming fire inside you made it impossible to move, just in case if you did then all this would stop.

Noah watched the way you were falling apart, and he loved every second of it. He had been waiting for this moment for so long, he wasn’t going to hold back anymore.

When his mouth returned to yours, you followed his lead. Tongues were dancing intricately and intensely with each other. Heavy breathing would waft in brief periods when either if you needed a second to catch your breath, so the other would find something else to do with their mouth.

His hands are tight on your hips, fingers trailing up and down under your shirt, leaving the slightest of red marks from the pressure. It took everything in you to ignore the glaring pain that burned in your ribs, the feeling of fire ripping from both sides made your breath stop. Your head lifts a little, slowing down your passionate kiss, but Noah raises his head with yours, although as to make the moment linger for just a while longer.

You hated to do it, but there was no choice. The already existing bruises and injuries, paired with the lack of oxygen from not breathing properly was enough to make you lightheaded. You would have doubled over if you hadn’t already been laying horizontally.

You pull away, shifting so your hands are in fists on either side of Noah, bundled up and pressed into the thick fabric of the lounge. Eyes are tightly squeezed shut to focus on controlling your breaths.

Noah watches as a panic starts to rise.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-“

“Noah, shut up.” You bark. His rambling makes it harder to will yourself to sit upright.

You push yourself back, now kneeling back in your legs, perched on Noah’s lap. Brushing your hair from your face, it takes a moment to steady yourself, but after twenty seconds, your eyes open. The pain is starting to subside.

Noah looks like he was in trouble. He held his hands up in surrender beneath you. Eyes blown wide as he took in the sight of you sitting precariously close to a certain something he had no control over in his pants.

He begins to shift beneath you, pulling himself up onto his elbows, eyeing you warily.

“Was that too much?” He questions.

One of your hands goes to rub the side of your face, eyes droop closed. You nod in response to him.

“It just hurt a little.”

You hadn’t noticed the tear that slipped out until it rolled down your cheek and fell onto Noah’s white shirt. His hand rubs up and down your arm to comfort you. With another shaky exhale, you open your eyes. Noah is being careful, despite his own desires at the moment, he looks at you as if to find the answer to what you need in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

“For comforting you, or for kissing you?”

“…is it too weird to say both?” You both chuckle at the awkward remark. “I guess making out while you have injuries from a car accident isn’t the best way to have your first kiss together.”

Your legs slip off Noah, standing slowly and straightening out the clothes which had become so very twisted in the moments before. Noah sits up too, tugging at the sweatpants so they sit better, before reaching for a pillow, placing it gently on his lap.

You raise an eyebrow at him, before letting out a gutsy laugh. His eyes widen and looks to be shy all of a sudden.

“What?! I’m trying not to ruin the moment!” He states, but you can’t respond, still laughing at the innocence contrasted with the reason.

“Look, there’s other ways to get rid of it” he murmurs beneath his breath, teasingly, yet cautiously. His eyes are on you, wondering if the lewd joke had pushed the boundaries.

There was no denying the fire of lust burning in you, the way he made you feel made you weak at the knees.

“If it weren’t for these injuries, I’m sure we’d be finding out what those ways are.”

The somewhat directness from you caught him a little off guard, and it turned him on even more. He had to shift in his heat and readjust the pillow just to make his arousal a little less obvious.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his flustered state, and the way he looked away from you when you turned to see his reaction. He even raised his hand, biting down on a finger in an attempt to distract himself.

You laugh again, knowing full well nothing else could happen. These injuries were cockblocking you to the extreme. As inviting and tempting as he was, the pain wasn’t worth it. He knew it too.

After the moment had passed, Noah shifted again, moving the pillow so it sat by his side. He padded it, and you lay down, placing your head on the pillow. His fingers start to tangle with your hair, pulling and twirling the loose threads that were strewn across your face.

The low murmur from the TV was enough of a lullaby, paired with Noah’s careful caressing, that you drifted off to sleep soon enough. Noah stayed awake for a little while longer though. He watched the way your eyes fluttered behind their kids. The way your face would twitch or twist as your dreams u folded before you. He also noticed the way your body relaxed when he gently placed a hand on your side, thumb rubbing careful circles to sooth you.

Just as he was about to fall into a slumber, we was on the brink of a dream state himself, when you utter his name. A loving smile graced your face, and it made Noah’s heart swell tenfold. He knew, after this moment, he would do anything in his power to keep you.

Part 5

[the-glorious-evolution-fanart]

It's crazy how cringe Arcane S2 Viktor is. He's a Machine Herald without the "machine". It's just like calling Mordekaiser as the "Iron Revenant", and taking away the "revenant". It makes no sense at all, and destroys the whole character. It's like making Jhin with his face visible, when everything that makes Jhin himself is the anonymity of his face.

Suffice to say, I'm disappointed, and if they choose to make Arcane Viktor as the in-game one with the VGU & Rework, I'll quit playing Viktor. I don't want to play as another corrupt mage like Brand or Xerath. I want to play as a cyborg man from Zaun. Closest we have is Urgot, but even then, he's not a ranged character. Camille? Again, close range character, and from Piltover. And they're not quite the same as Viktor, who is fully set on prosthetics, and helping people, and being a scientist who builds golems.

It's like Viktor will become a completely different character, and I'll continue to prefer his current LoR version as the in-game canon since I love that version of him right now. Welp, guess the only place where we can play as his original version will be LoR. Such a shame.

The whole plotline of "Piltover-Zaun becoming one against Viktor's and Noxus' armies" makes me cringe so hard, you have no idea. Weren't we supposed to have an animation series about Piltover and Zaun? When did it become about "Noxus vs Piltover and Zaun"? But I liked Jayce. He's become Giga Chad, basically. Sure, doesn't fit his S1 character, but which character stayed loyal to their S1 versions? I didn't like S1 too because it didn't set up the base for Viktor becoming the Machine Herald at all (not into robotics, no comment on human emotions, etc.), or for Jayce to be an arrogant guy who's very hard to work with. No, instead we had their "better" versions. It makes me so angry. 😭 I'm not even starting with what kind of abomination they've turned WW into. He's supposed to talk. Not act like an animal %90 of the time and just speak one word the whole season.

Swain crows and Mel allying with LeBlanc was cool, ngl. Doesn't make a lot of sense as to why Swain doesn't move a finger to stop Ambessa and her army whatsoever, but whatever. Also what was the "subtle foreshadowing" they did on the last episode? Geez.

Ambessa fighting scene is literally what happens in every movie: the guys who are shooting all the time suddenly stop and let the main character(s) kill them. What a classic.

Betrayal wasn't expected but didn't surprise me.

Viktor model is just outright cringe. Mask looks ridiculous. Hair looks ridiculous. Cane? A whole another level of ridiculous. Voice not at all Machine Herald's. Human face still visible under Reddit Upvote button, disgusting. Halo of runes(?) behind his head, forced Biblical stuff. Has magical husk slaves like Evelynn in LoR who has the ability to fly and infect, apparently. SUS. He also has gone to the full "people shouldn't have control" mind-set, which I don't appreciate since even the Convergence Comic Viktor at the start was hating the cult, blaming them for twisting his ideology for their own sick beliefs. His third arm just looks like a horrid monster from S.O.M.A. game, but in a really bad way. Also wow, Viktor now apparently has the power to telekinesis.

Wow, apparently Caitlyn is such a powerful and lucky(!) character that she can fight while being stabbed by a dagger. Wow. Not plot-armor at all.

I appreciated how Ambessa's men literally do nothing to help their commander, which should have happened since Noxians use any and all means necessary to win. They used Singed's chemical weapons during the invasion of Ionia. Guess they forgot about their own principle: "Guile" 💀

WW can teleport now?! Wtf. Also impenetrable skin. They're really going for that "Shuriman Ascended WW", huh? Everyone can fly now, apparently.

Wow, galactic god Viktor. So cringe. Old Viktor. Viktor paradox. How worse could it have been?

Aaand, "happy" ending because why not. 💀

Jinx using herself as a bullet? Now that's a first. Was Jinx's death supposed to be sad? Sorry, I was cringing over every other thing wrong with the act that I couldn't find it in myself to feel bad.

What I didn't understand is how did Orinna came to be??? Hello??? Can we get an explanation please??? Because she's not the Orianna we know at all.

NOOO THEY'LL DESTROY NOXUS NEXT!!! NOOOOO 😭😭😭

^^^ it's over.

Orianna got injected with Viktor's and Warwick's blood I guess, so now she has 3 dads!

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 9: Lactation

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 8971

Afab!reader, noncon, mentioned/implied abduction, lactation, milking machine, medical kinks, injections, human experimentation, breast expansion, breastfeeding, possible body horror elements depending on how you want to look at it, general horror/ psychological horror themes, let me emphasize again that this is VERY non consensual 

A/N: okay, this one is dark. It might be upsetting or uncomfortable to some so PLEASE read the tags and pay attention to your own comfort levels before clicking the read more. It’s Dottore and you should expect the worst, so honestly just multiply that by 5 before you make your decision to read or not ndkvndke

⭐

You were hand selected from a group of other women and girls. Neither the oldest or the youngest, you’d fallen somewhere in the middle. It had been a diverse selection, ranging in size and shape, and even physical maturity, but he chose you out of all the rest. You’d watched him summarily dismiss the matrons standing in line with little more than a glance, outright scoff at the ones who hadn’t even hit puberty yet, as if they disgusted him, and then wave off the girls who were thin and malnourished. It was impossible to tell what he was looking for at the time, especially when it had come down to you and a few others who were healthy and ripe; old enough to be of marriageable age but not so on in years that your bodies were showing signs of aging yet … but you’d long since come to realize the answer for yourself. 

After that humiliating selection process and the equally invasive exam that followed, your world receded to a fine, pinprick of existence that consisted almost exclusively of cold metal equipment and him. Sterile and unpleasant, he touched you with impartial hands encased in powdery gloves while he conducted his preliminary experiments in the cold laboratory where he kept you like an animal. When not on his exam table or hooked up to strange, whirring machines that you did not understand the purpose of, you were securely locked inside a cage in the corner. You’d been foolish enough to think it somewhat nice and even comfortable at first, since it was bigger than the one you’d had to share with all the others after those masked deviants took you from your home. He even provided you with a blanket so you wouldn’t catch a chill and expire before he was through with you — or so he’d said —  but the appeal had quickly faded. It was impossible to stay optimistic when you'd been in here so long that you were even starting to forget what the outside world was like. 

You couldn’t tell how much time you’d spent there, unsure if only several weeks had passed or if months had flown by without your noticing. It could have been either, and he never responded when you asked. He never said anything to you, only at you. The Doctor in the frightening bird mask. As cold as any of the steel equipment he touched you with and just as silent as the machines, he merely conducted whatever trial or objective was on the schedule for the day and then left. You weren’t even sure if he had a name, but if he did you certainly didn’t know it. 

He’d also never asked for yours. 

The Doctor called you ‘Specimen’ when he bothered to refer to you at all, sometimes murmuring instructions to the exceedingly rare assistant that would stop in from time to time to help him with tasks. Either to get you hooked up to another set of plugs and monitors, or to strap you down to the table for him. You were much too scared to actually struggle or fight but it seemed to be the way of these things, so you allowed them to secure leather straps over your ankles and wrists without a fuss. He never hurt you beyond temporary discomfort when he’d take stabbing metal pincers to your breasts and notate the measurements with a low hum, or slip an uncomfortable metal device inside your cunt to spread you open. This, you could accept. You tried to tell yourself it was probably still better than what the others were experiencing, wherever they were, and the pain never lasted long anyway. 

But then came the day where he wheeled a small tray over after already securing you in place on the chilly metal slab in the center of the room, and you just caught a glimpse of what was on it. Needles. That wasn’t so strange. He took blood samples from time to time, to do what with you had no idea, but … these syringes were full of something. A mostly clear fluid that looked only slightly murky in the glaring overhead light. He was going to inject you with it. 

You understood this on an intrinsic, innate level of comprehension but still maintain your obedient silence while he putters around with whatever else was on the little tray. It’s not like he would have explained anything to you even if you’d asked. It’s only when he finally turns to you and wipes a cold, faintly clinging swathe over one side of your breast do you start to realize that something is not quite right here. The smell of antiseptic floods your nose all at once and you gasp, jerking against the bindings holding you down. 

It’s no use though. The leather is entirely unrelenting no matter how much you anxiously jostle your wrists, and all you can do is lay there, watching with big, frightened eyes, as he thoroughly wipes the area clean. It was so chilly in the lab that your nipples were already stiffly coiled but the one he’s clinically wiping down with that damp cloth seems to pebble to an even finer point that makes you whimper low in your throat. The Doctor had touched you like this before, many times in fact, so you didn’t understand why your body was reacting like this to him. Almost like it knew something you hadn’t yet realized … 

When he brings the first needle close to your tit you panic even though you try not to. But he merely clicks his tongue at you, murmuring something under his breath about behaving as he reaches out with his other hand to cup the swell of your breast and still you. Your toes curl at the sensation even as you anxiously shake your limbs, so scared and wracked with uncontrollable shudders your chest heaves under his hold but he doesn’t even give it a moment's pause. One second the sharp needle is arching through the air on a sure, steady trajectory, and the next it’s sinking deep into your flesh. 

A hurt, gutted little moan escapes you, hot tears flooding your eyes while you watch him swiftly depress the plunger. It only takes a few seconds for the syringe to empty and he leaves you wildly gasping for breath when he withdraws it from the skin before turning back to the tray. 

You can’t process any of it as he sedately moves around the table to come up on the other side and repeat the process. It’s like you’re suffocating, looking up at him in horrified confusion and disbelief. What the hell was he injecting you with?

“Wait …” It's little more than a timid mouse squeak. 

Softly tutting at you, The Doctor quickly wipes the area down with a second antiseptic wipe and then bends over your chest to bring the next needle close. “Hush now, Specimen. I’ve got you.” 

The sharp point pricks into the meat of your breast and he lets out a low, faltering breath as it sinks in. You lurch on top of the table, too restrained to actually pull away, but it does little to stop you from devolving into hysterical, heaving gasps. You didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. But if your frantic reaction concerns him in any way he certainly doesn’t show it as he straightens up, eyeing you from under that horrid mask for a long moment before humming a brief sound. 

“Perhaps Specimen needs a sedative for today. We don’t want you hurting yourself carrying on like that, do we?” 

Chuckling faintly at the way you wordlessly squawk and shriek, he steps around you again to dig in a drawer on the far side of the room. You’d never admit it but you were so gripped by wild, mindless panic, very nearly choking on it, that you’re almost a bit relieved when he returns and injects another shot into your pinned arm. Almost immediately a false, manufactured calm starts to wash over you and you readily relax into it, happy to let your mind drift off rather than be forced to face the reality you were living. 

*~*

The next day finds you strapped down again, but this time with the upper half of the table propped up so you could sit. You’d woken up sore, your chest aching so fiercely it made you wince and seethe each time you moved, and having the weight of your breasts settle without any support like this was just making it worse. If you could have brought your hands up to elevate them and lessen some of the pressure you would have gladly done that but your wrists remained locked next to your hips. 

The Doctor takes his time giving you the usual examination as he always does, checking your temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, etc until he finally gets to the end and sets his clipboard aside. You cautiously watch him reach out then, twitching when he tentatively prods the underside of one breast with a blunt knuckle. He doesn’t miss your reaction even though you’d tried to conceal it, scared of what he might do with that information, and he noises a brief sound of interest as he brings his other hand up as well. 

Simultaneously, he nudges both of your tits to lift them slightly but not actually support them, and you hiss through tightly clenched teeth. You were already starting to feel lightheaded, a bit nauseous. The deep ache you felt was so close to being unbearable that you can’t help but react even when you know he’s only going to turn it back around on you. 

“My, how interesting,” He murmurs to himself, sounding really quite pleased with this result. “You’re already this tender, Specimen? It must be working even quicker than I thought … looks like I made the right choice when choosing you for this experiment. Aren’t you happy?” 

You want to ask him what experiment, desperate for any information at all, but you bite your tongue, already knowing full well he wasn’t going to explain anything to you. All you can do is helplessly watch as he pokes and prods, and paws at your chest until you can’t hold it back any longer and stinging tears track a wet path down your face. Your chest was so sensitive and sore it felt like he was jabbing you with blunt knives. 

Softly laughing under his breath, The Doctor lifts his hands a little higher and just brushes over your stiff nipples. You choke at the instant, blinding sensation and jerk back against the table so hard it clatters in response. It was all you could do just to keep drawing air into your lungs. You were so oversensitized it hurt! 

“Please,” You somehow manage to grit out. “Stop it!” 

“How precious,” He purrs, low and mean, as he takes delicate hold of the hardened buds between thumb and forefinger. Just holding them for the moment but even that is enough to make you writhe in place, thrashing against the bonds as much as you physically can. “You know, this is the kind of feedback you just can’t get with animal test subjects. All they do is scream and bleat, but you …” 

He leans closer — so close the curved beak of his mask almost touches your face — and you suck in such a ragged, threadbare gasp that it seems to claw at your throat on the way down. Trembling like a leaf now, you just stare at him. Fixated on the spot where his eyes should have been. You can catch only a very small glimpse of the corner of his mouth like this, and you’re more than a little unnerved to find he’s smiling. Delighted. Pleased. 

You just shake even harder. 

“Isn’t it nice that we can communicate like this, Specimen? You can beg me for mercy and I can laugh at you for being stupid enough to try. Why, if I suddenly find myself feeling generous I could even attempt to have a conversation with you.” Pausing, The Doctor appears to give that a moment’s consideration only to softly click his tongue at length. “Probably not, though. I doubt you have anything of interest to say.” 

Before you can even think to respond or formulate a convincing argument for yourself, he abruptly pinches down on your nipples and you shriek. Jerking back against the table only makes your tits bounce and pull at your sore teats where he’s still got them squeezed between his fingers, fresh tears welling behind closed eyes. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever felt. Even worse than the barbaric looking contraption he’d wedged inside your cunt and used to stretch you open when he first brought you here. You’d thought nothing could compare to that discomfort but you were now realizing just how bad it could really be. 

In this manner he spends what feels like many agonizing, endless hours just toying with your breasts; tugging and pulling, and twisting, until the sharp sensitivity somehow exceedes the threshold of comprehension in your mind and dwindles to a dull, mostly numbed but still aching throb. You’re distantly aware of it but too strung out to give it voice anymore. You barely even register the sound he makes when he finally breathes out a quiet sigh of satisfaction and pulls away, leaving your chest screaming in the aftermath. All you knew was that he was stepping away, leaving you to the agony … 

But then he comes back, and a broken little sob bursts out of you when you recognize the two needles in his hand. Whatever this experiment was, it didn’t look like it would be over any time soon. 

~*~ 

The next few days continue in the same manner, repeating the same process over and over again until you almost start to become acclimated to it. The Doctor visits you once in the morning to make note of your vitals and jot down whatever remarks on his clipboard before leaving you to waste away in solitude until midafternoon. Another round of vitals and more note taking, then another session of having him paw at your chest until tears were streaming down your face and, finally, another shot in each breast. He leaves you for the rest of the day until his final check in late in the evening when he makes his final notations and then secures you inside your cage for the night. It all would have been rather humdrum at a certain point except … 

Except that by the end of the first week you start to notice certain changes in your body. You’d thought it was your imagination at first, just a result of the injections and all the brutish pawing he insisted on doing for no reason you could conceive, but your breasts were in fact getting bigger. Swelling to the point that it was noticeable and you couldn’t write it off as a mere flight of fancy. Even worse though was the way your nipples had likewise become puffy and constantly stiff, like they were in a perpetual state of arousal. It was all very strange, to look down at your own chest and see yourself looking like that, but The Doctor was nothing if not pleased. 

He marveled over the results to no end, constantly remarking on how well you were reacting to the treatment and muttering under his breath that it wouldn’t be long now. You didn’t dare to ask until what, really not sure if you even wanted to know, but it’s not as if he would have told you anyway. Utterly helpless, all you could do was try to grin and bear with it for as long as you were able to, hoping that this trial would soon come to a close. 

But of course you’re not quite so lucky, and at the start of the second week he suddenly introduces double dosages of that mysterious substance he was injecting you with. Instead of one in both breasts, you now got two in each and with that increase so too do the results start to speed up. 

Your chest is not only growing bigger, you're more than a little horrified to realize one day, but heavier too. Initially you think they’re one and the same, and you were feeling jittery panic over nothing. But then you’d touched them, lifted them in your palms to lessen some of the strain, and it had occurred to you that your tits weren’t just filling out … they were swelling with an internal pressure, like something was building up under the skin and the resulting inflation was forcing them to expand. You couldn’t make any sense of it. Not only did you just not understand what was even happening in the first place but you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around why he would do this to you. What was his goal? Were these really the results he’d hoped for, or had something gone wrong? 

Trying to tell yourself you were still likely faring better than any of the others you’d shared a cramped little prison cell with or any of the women you’d stood in line with to be evaluated like livestock only goes so far. It soon becomes especially hard to consider your situation a lucky one when the daily breast massages steadily turn into a truly tortuous experience. Where you’d once been simply too sensitive and tender, there was now the added sensation of having too much pressure without any way to relieve it. You sob all throughout these little sessions now, groaning and heaving against the exam table while he squeezes and pinches, tugging on your raw teats until you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind. It gets so bad that even after he leaves you to your own devices you find yourself rubbing your chest in a blithe attempt at easing some of the constant ache there. 

That’s how you eventually figure out what’s really going on. 

It’s the start of the third week (you’d made it a point to keep track from that first injection) and your tits are so heavy and swollen they look like they’re ready to burst. Fighting back harsh, body wracking sobs, you desperately run your hands over them even though it’s done you little in the way of good up until now. It’s like an instinctive urge though, something deep in the primal part of your brain compelling you to massage your breasts even when it just causes you more discomfort. But you can feel something building in them and you’re half delirious with the thought that you would soon find relief if you just kept at it long enough. 

The first wet dribble almost goes unnoticed. You think it’s a mistake. A bead of sweat, perhaps, or maybe even a faint little droplet of blood where your nipples felt so chaffed and sore. But when you look at your fingertip only to find a clear, somewhat thick consistency clinging to the skin, you feel faint with disbelief. Try to convince yourself that it’s not what you think it is, that you were excreting literally anything else — anything at all, but … the proof smacks you across the face when you bring it up to your mouth and take a cautious lick. 

It was sweet and bitter at the same time, and more than just a bit cloying and you’re suddenly left with the crushing realization of what he’s done to you. 

~*~ 

For the first time ever, you fight him tooth and nail when it comes time to strap you down to the table for your midday exam. It’s difficult with your chest so swollen and heavy that every shuddering movement hurts, but you still manage to hold out until he’s forced to call for backup. You feel rather proud of yourself for that up until two sets of hands descend upon you, grappling to get you secured in place, “without harming the Specimen!”, he’d irritably snapped. 

It seems to stretch on for many, many minutes, but at last they manage to buckle a restraint around one of your wrists and it becomes frustratingly easy for them to get the rest. You’re left panting and heaving, shooting daggers at The Doctor as well as his assistant when they step back to sort themselves out. The younger man was nursing a bruised jaw where you’d successfully caught him with your elbow and The Doctor … you’d almost knocked his stupid mask off his face, and you regretted not being able to see him without it as he tersely readjusts it’s placement. Maybe next time though. There was always a next time with him. 

Finally drawing himself up, The Doctor impatiently tugs at the cravat around his neck where it had twisted askew before barking at the other man. “Get the table up. I want the Specimen sitting for this.” 

His assistant rushes to obey and you narrow your eyes at him in warning, still gasping for breath as he comes up next to you. Bending down, he reaches under the table to fiddle with some sort of lever or mechanism and then moves to incline the top half of the table, slowly inching you up until you’re left staring directly at The Doctor. He’s standing at enough of a distance that you can see his mouth under the curved beak, and you’re quite pleased to note he’s scowling at you. Good. A bit of frustration was well deserved after what he’d done to you. 

“Now then,” He finally intones, low and dangerous, as his assistant reaches back under the table to lock it in place. “Might I ask just what it is you think you are doing today? I was so sure you knew better than that.” 

It takes you a moment to realize he hadn’t asked you a rhetorical question for once and was actually expecting an answer. You were so unused to him acknowledging you in any way that for a moment you’re not quite sure how to respond. 

“Why don’t you start by telling me what it is you’re injecting me with.” You finally spit. 

The Doctor tips his head to one side, looking so much like a curious carrion bird in his beaked mask and feathers that it actually sends a chill down your spine. “Do you really think you’d understand if I told you? How ridiculous.” 

Your cheeks start to grow warm, but you pull yourself up as much as you’re able to and try again. “You’re a monster! What did you do to me?” 

“That’s better.” Simpering, he roughly yanks at his coat to straighten it and then strides forward. Your already erratic heartbeat picks up at his approach but you can’t pull away when he comes up alongside you and reaches out to rather disinterestedly grab one of your tits. Sharp splinters of pain immediately shoot through you and you wheeze, looking down at his hand on your chest in dull disbelief. “What I did to you is rather simple, really. If you want my honesty so much then let’s just say I’m a little surprised you didn’t start to figure it out sooner. Even someone with rocks for brains should have noticed the correlation when their body started to undergo sudden change. I mean, really. Are you that oblivious or are you just trying to get under my skin, darling Specimen?” 

He emphasizes that last bit with a tight, incensed squeeze on your chest, and you outright choke when a tiny little spurt of discharge flies from your nipple. Going so completely still it’s disconcerting, The Doctor simply stares down at you for a long, tension filled moment. Then, to your reeling surprise, he abruptly lets you go. 

“I see,” He eventually murmurs, tapping a gloved finger to his chin in thought. “So that’s what finally tipped you off. We’ve already made it this far in the experiment so it simply wouldn’t do to kill you now and have to start over from scratch … but we’ll have to adjust the parameters. Specimen is far too erratic to be left to their own devices anymore. Might even need to be put under permanent sedation until the final test results are obtained.” 

Muttering under his breath, The Doctor turns from you to pace the room in deep consideration and leave you violently shuddering on the exam table. You didn’t want to be permanently sedated … just the thought alone is almost enough to send you spiraling into full blown panic. Although you’d welcomed its comforting embrace once you were far too alert now to willingly slip under like that. You needed to think of something. Quick. 

“I’ll cooperate - -“ 

“Your cooperation means less than nothing to me.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip, making you cower in place. Suddenly turning on his heel, he stalks towards you again and you can do nothing at all when he slips his hand under the heavy weight of one breast so he can lift it in consideration. “Specimen should be close to full production levels at this rate. Another day or two, I suspect.”

A heavy silence settles over the room, interspersed only by your labored panting and the nervous shuffle of the assistant somewhere behind you. But The Doctor is perfectly still while he seems to weigh the options laid out before him, his blunt thumb brushing idle circles over the straining swell of your tit while he thinks. You’re certain the waiting is going to kill you. 

“Dimitri!” He abruptly snaps, startling both you and his assistant, if the tiny yelp behind you is anything to go by. “Prepare the machine immediately. I know just what to do with this one.” 

*~*

With your hands secured behind your back, you’re led from the enclosed section of the lab you were usually kept in and into a different section that housed far more complicated machinery than you could reasonably process. You’d never seen so many different kinds of knobs, buttons, circuits, control panels, hanging wires and thick cable power lines in your life. Half of it you hadn’t even known existed until being brought here, but your relative familiarity with the banks and complicated components in the other room did serve as an effective baseline to at least understand that what you were looking at was far outside your sphere of comprehension. 

Even the tall cylindrical machine The Doctor’s assistant pulls you up to is so far beyond anything you could reasonably wrap your head around that you have no idea what it was supposed to do. You feel a bit like an oblivious sheep being peacefully led to the slaughter, but there wasn’t much you could have done about it even if you did know what was happening. 

Leaving your side, the assistant scurries over to the control bank and starts to fiddle with various levers on the panel, evidently fine tuning the parameters of the output as the strange machine starts to sputter louder. You momentarily consider making a run for it, weighing your odds of escape with your hands tied behind your back, but then The Doctor steps up behind you and takes a pinching hold of your elbow to give you a brief, teeth rattling shake. 

“Did you know,” He says rather amicably, at complete odds with the rough treatment. “Mammalian births are some of the most successful in nature. Even putting aside mankind, they’re among the most common class of animal and for good reason. Tell me, Specimen. Do you happen to know why that is?” 

You give your head a mute shake, a little too unnerved to play this game with him, and he barks out a clipped, humorless laugh. Yanking on your arm, The Doctor drags you closer to the heaving machine until the sound of it seems to swallow you whole and set your guts to vibrate. Suddenly finding yourself more scared than you’d ever been, you instinctively try to backpedal but he all too easily holds you in place. 

“It’s the milk, you silly little nitwit. It promotes growth and development, in addition to a wide variety of benefits to brain functionality.” Grinning a sharp, eager smile under his mask, he reaches up with his unoccupied hand to tug at a clear tube sticking out of the machine. Your mouth drops open when it jerks loose with a loud, forceful suck of air but nothing comes out, not even a peep. You were starting to have strong suspicions what this machine was used for and yet — you didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. 

Turning to you again, he holds up the open ended tube piece and tauntingly waggles it at you. “Now, answer me this … do you have any guess as to what happens to developing infants if they’re denied that very milk they need to grow? Say, in the instance of the untimely death of their mother?” 

Your stomach lurches with an intense, sinking feeling of dread. You did not like this line of questioning and what it would suggest any more than you liked the aggressive shucking noise coming from the machine. Surely you were misunderstanding something and he didn’t really mean what you thought he did. “I — I don’t know. I don’t understand - -“ 

You cut off with a frightened squeak when he gives your arm another tug to drag you closer, nearly pulling you stumbling right into him. Your heavy tits bounce with the sudden motion and bring fresh stabs of discomfort with it, but you’re much too focused on The Doctor to get swept up in the pain. It was all you could do just to stay on your feet instead of collapsing in a dead faint. You’d never been so terribly frightened. 

“They don’t grow.” He hisses, sharp fingers digging mercilessly into your skin. “Not to their full potential, anyway. All the amino acids, antibodies, vitamins and minerals they should have gotten from their mothers milk … gone, just like that. I’d ask you another question but it’s obvious you don’t have the intelligence to even follow along so allow me to spell it out for you instead. A colleague of mine runs an orphanage. Some of the children she takes in are quite young indeed and there is a noticeable difference between those who lost their parents early in development and those who did not. The ultimate goal of this experiment was to determine whether or not a reliable production method could be used to — fill in the gaps, so to speak.” 

He leans down then, putting his face close to yours, but you just stand there, staring up at him in wide eyed terror. It was like he was speaking a foreign language now, every other word so bizarre and incomprehensible that it may as well have been complete gibberish. But somehow you still grasp enough of the meaning to be afraid. You still tremble uncontrollably when he tips his head, and suddenly his breath is intermingling with yours without his mask in the way to block it. 

“And lucky you, our first test subject. Such a resounding success too.” He purrs in a soft, velvety croon that makes your spine snap straight. “Even I wasn’t expecting to see these results so quickly. If only you could have just had the sense to stay nice and docile for me … oh well. It doesn’t really matter now does it, my darling Specimen?” 

You force your constricting lungs to expand, sucking in a harsh, stuttering breath, but he just nudges your right up against him before you can think of something to say. Your blood instantly turns to ice when you feel his coat brush against you as well as the body heat coming off him, and frantically try to twist away. It was much too late though. His hold on your elbow was as good as iron and he now had you standing close enough to the machine that he could direct the suctioning tube towards your chest. So gripped with terror, you desperately try to angle away from it to no avail and you outright shriek when it sucks your nipple up and seals to your breast with a deafening loud schuck. 

Throwing your head back, you scream up at the ceiling until your throat seizes under the stress and you trail off into a gutted, hollowed out groan that seems to echo off the walls. The pressure is so extreme on your swollen, sensitized teat that for a wild moment you actually think it’s going to pull it right off. But when you sway unsteadily, nauseous and sick, then chance a look down, immense relief washes over you when you see the tip of your breast very much intact. That doesn’t make it any less painful though, and you viciously seethe through your teeth as you watch the suction pull at your nipple, stretching the pliant flesh to the point that it hurt just to look at it.

But then, to your groaning horror, you catch a brief jet of milky discharge getting sucked out of you to disappear up inside the tube and whatever it was attached to. You understood perfectly now. This was a milking machine. A horrid creation of The Doctors, no doubt, and it was so powerful that even when his hand falls away it stays suctioned right where it was over your teat. To your surprise, however, the sharp discomfort you’d first felt quickly starts to recede into a dull thrum under that constant pulse and you can’t quite stop yourself from issuing a low, faltering sound of relief. There was still an immense amount of built up pressure inside your breast but somehow the intense suction actually helped make it a bit more bearable. It wasn’t by much, but you were willing to take anything at this point, and your knees violently knock with that realization. 

“O - oh, blessed Archons!” 

Chuckling faintly, The Doctor slowly releases his hold on your arm and you nearly collapse right then and there. The only thing that reminds you to catch yourself is the tube attached to your breast which showed no sign of loosening its hold anytime soon. You stagger and try to reestablish your balance without him there to keep you propped up as he shifts behind you to step up on the other side. From the corner of your eye, you watch him reach out to grab the second suction device, grimacing even when your neglected tit throbs at the prospect. 

“Please, dear Seven, I’m begging - -“

“They aren’t listening, I’m afraid. Such a pity.” Casually, The Doctor curls his unoccupied hand under the weight of your tit and lifts it slightly to better bring the tube down on the nipple. It firmly sucks into place just the same as the first did, and you scream at the initial pain that tears through you. But same as before, it only takes a few moments for the constant, rhythmic sucking to alleviate some of the tension in your chest and, shuddering, you force yourself to relax into it. Easier said than done when it felt like this horrible machine was actively trying to suck the life right out of you but you manage, somehow. 

“How … how long do you intend to leave me like this?” You pant, struggling to swallow around the rock lodged in your throat as you awkwardly shuffle your feet to better ground yourself. 

“Hm?” Crossing his arms, The Doctor puts his head to one side in faux consideration. “What a silly question. As long as it takes for your production levels to reach their maximum output and for you to start milking properly, of course. Your current rate,” He nudges his chin towards the shuddering tubes, still mostly clear save the occasional tiny wet bead moving along their length. “Isn’t even close to being sufficient. Your lactation ducts need to be thoroughly stimulated until they start to trigger your let-down reflex for optimal milk flow. Truth be told, I had wanted to save this for the final step since things could get … messy, but you just had to go and force my hand, didn’t you?”

With a faint click of his tongue, he starts to turn. “No matter. At least now I won’t have to spend quite so much time monitoring your progress to ensure that everything is proceeding as it should. One way or another, that machine will have you sorted out in no time.” 

Gasping, you give a little jerk when he moves to walk away but you manage to catch the subconscious reaction before you can yank on the suction cups and hurt yourself. “Wait! Please don’t actually leave me here! You can’t — nghn! It hurts, you bastard!” 

The Doctor doesn’t even acknowledge your desperate pleas and he disappears further into the lab without so much as a backwards glance, leaving you at the mercy of the machine. 

~*~ 

You’re not sure how long he’s left you like this. All of your careful tracking since that first injection, gone just like that without his clockwork appearances to track the time with. It could have been mere hours or the whole day, a whole night. You never would have known any different. 

Your legs shudder under you, exhausted and sore from standing for the indeterminate period you’ve been hooked up to the machine but the tubes are too short for you to sit. You were effectively tethered to the faintly groaning mechanism with only enough lead to shift from side to side before the powerful suction started to pull and cause a great deal of discomfort. It wasn’t so bad when you just stood there and let it suckle at your raw teats, but that was hardly any comfort to you at this point. 

You’d watched your breasts shudder against the force and slowly, so slowly you hadn’t even realized it was happening at first, let down on the intense pressure that had steadily built in them over the last two weeks. What was initially just an occasional spurt of creamy fluid, shuddering beads sucked up through the tubes and into what you could only guess was a collection unit, had gradually turned into a relatively steady stream of creamy white fluid. Even without any real knowledge on the topic, you still recognized it for what it was and could no longer try to pretend it was something else. You were not only lactating but quite excessively by the looks of it. Whatever he’d been injecting you with had caused such an extreme physiological shift in your body that you were now rapidly producing milk without ever having been pregnant and the output only seemed to be steadily increasing. 

The innate relief that comes with having your tits milked doesn’t do much to pacify you though, and your head slowly comes up when you catch the sound of approaching footsteps. You know it’s The Doctor, so familiar with that slow, confident gait and the unique sound of his boots on the floor that you’d know it anywhere at this point. Shuddering so hard you nearly collapse, you force yourself to straighten from the tired hunch you’d fallen into, hissing when the suction tubes give a stiff jostle over your nipples. You weren’t foolish enough to believe he’d found the capacity for mercy in his twisted soul but a little part of you still hopes … 

“Good morning, Specimen. You look lovely today, don’t you?” He drawls as he comes up behind you, and a hurt little groan bursts out of you when more of the pressure in your tits gives to release a thick, creamy dollop into the sucking machine. You just stare down at the tubes in frozen, slack jawed disbelief. At the sound of his voice? 

He steps up beside you then, startling you, and you snap your attention up to find him grinning under that ugly mask. Waves of deep satisfaction practically roll off him as he halts close enough you can feel his coat brushing your thigh. The two of you just look at one another for what feels like an eternity, your shoulders trembling with every labored breath. 

“I see the machine has served its purpose.” He says at length. 

“Screw you!” 

Clicking his tongue in admonition, The Doctor reaches out and casually — much too casually — slips a gloved hand between your thighs. You jolt so hard the tubes bob with the motion, pulling at your poor tits, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it as he worms his wrist in the tight space even when you try to squeeze him out. Long, blunt fingers find the seam and rudely nudge up into you, nearly knocking you off balance when you give a fierce jolt. 

“My, my, isn’t that interesting?” He croons, baring sharp teeth with a mean, perverse grin as those oppressive digits slip and slide through an obscene amount of slick. You’d been so focused on the continuous suction on your nipples, the stilted relief of pressure, that you hadn’t even noticed how the rest of your body was reacting. 

Your stomach wrenches with this knowledge but you just stand there, thighs quaking around his hand, while he casually pulls soft, wet little clicks out of your cunt with the drag of his fingers. It was horrible and disgusting, and your nausea only increases when you catch a glimpse of yet more creamy white discharge being pulled up through the tubes. 

“Are you enjoying your milking, Specimen? Good. You’re going to be here for a while so it’s probably best if you find some way to entertain yourself.” Chuckling, The Doctor slowly withdraws his hand, much to your shuddering disappointment, but he ignores your quiet whimpering in favor of straightening up. “Dimitri!” 

A sudden bang sounds from somewhere in the lab. Within seconds, the young man rounds the corner at a flustered sprint and you sway unsteadily on your feet when his eyes widen at the sight of you. 

“Lower the settings on the machine,” The Doctor hisses at him, low and dangerous. “Then leave me for the rest of the day. I will oversee the experiment myself from here.” 

He turns back to you as his assistant goes scurrying off to fiddle with the control panel, leering viciously under his mask when he reaches out to palm your hip. You gnash your teeth, chest heaving with fast pumping terror but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he tugs you closer. Your pelvis bumps his firm thigh and you suck in a harsh breath. He couldn’t be serious … now, after all this time treating you like little more than a slab of meat? 

Seething, you grimace when the suction suddenly lessens to a weak, hollow tug that you can barely feel through your raw teats. The change in pressure is immediately apparent though and your nipples pulse in its absence. You have to fight back the sobs that try to tear their way out of your throat as you watch him slowly reach up to wrap his hand around one of the tubes still clinging to your breast. He doesn’t pull it off though, not yet, and instead just looks at you for a long beat. 

“I suppose you do deserve a reward. After all, you’ve far exceeded my expectations and I’m quite pleased with you, you know.” He purrs at last. “I wasn’t expecting you to take to the drug so quickly, nor did I foresee you reaching this production level so soon. You’ve impressed me a great deal, Specimen, and I always make sure to reward good behavior where I can.” 

He doesn’t warn you before he does it. So abruptly it leaves you reeling in hurt disbelief, he pops the suction tube free with a firm tug and your nipple throbs against the total lack of pressure. It feels like a million tiny pinpricks are stabbing into the sensitive flesh all at once when the air hits it, wafting uncomfortably against hot, swollen skin. Unable to stop yourself, you look down only to instantly wish you hadn’t. 

Not only was the swollen teat so puffy and dark from the suction, fat with milk that beads and dribbles wetly from the tip, it was also humiliatingly engorged. The constant sucking had pulled at the pliant skin for so long that it now stuck straight out in a plaintive, attention grabbing point. Meaty and so starkly different from how it had once looked, you feel bile rise in the back of your throat. 

The Doctor doesn’t allow you enough time to fully process what you’re seeing though, and you helplessly watch him take the remaining tube in hand so he can pull it loose as well. You shudder so violently at the onslaught of sensation that your knees give out but he’s quick to steady you with both hands on your hips. Fingers digging in mercilessly, he pulls your lower body against his own and your mouth drops open at the hard press of his cock on your stomach. 

“That’s a good look for you, Specimen. Much better than all that hissing and kicking you did yesterday.” Casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do, he lifts a hand from your waist when he’s sure you’re steady enough not to fall and nudges a single finger under one teat. You loose a gutted, broken sound when a fresh bead of milk trickles out to run down his hand and, humming, he idly presses up to make more come out. “Yes, your production levels are excellent. Your let-down reflex seems to be working quite well.” 

You aren’t sure what he’s going to do next when he withdraws his fingers, but the very last thing you expect is for The Doctor to hunch over your chest and seal his mouth around the nipple. Going stock still at the sensation of a hot, wet mouth suckling at your breast rather than the cold, impartial machine, you just stand there and … let him do it. You were horrified with yourself but couldn’t quite find the wherewithal to be disgusted when it felt good. So much better than you could have imagined it would. His tongue laps at the swollen bud to gather the creamy secretion and swallow it down, the suction of his mouth so much less intense than the merciless tubes and yet — somehow far more satisfying. 

A frazzled whimper rattles through you with the sensation of your milk ducts giving out completely, releasing a steady stream into his mouth. The Doctor groans very softly against your skin at the influx of milk and nuzzles deeper into your breast, bringing his teeth down around the puffed up areola to make it squirt at the back of his working throat. Numbly glancing down at yourself, at his face pressed into your chest, you’re more than a little horrified to find a sympathetic dribble coming out of the opposite teat to splatter on the floor below. You didn’t understand how you were making so much milk and you knew even less why your body was reacting to him like this, but all of that seems to get swept up and dissolved in the dreamy haze that slowly comes over you. 

You’d felt it while you were hooked up to the milking machine as well but had written it off as a defense mechanism of some sort … just an old, primal part of your brain trying to make the situation more bearable so it didn’t break you. The physical discomfort as much as the mental strain of watching your body change against your will was taxing enough that it had made sense at the time. But now you knew, innately, that it was a natural response to feeding. As much as the let-down reflex was, this strange sense of peace was just the nature of your mammalian instincts. 

Suddenly his strange questions and even stranger answers made a lot more sense. 

“Goodness,” He groans when he finally comes up off your breast some moments later. A heavy squirt of milk follows after him, splattering across his open mouth but, much to your heaving shame, he just reaches up to wipe it away. “You really are producing more milk than I expected you to at this stage of the experiment. I suspect at this rate you could likely fill almost two gallons in a single day … such a sublime Specimen you are, darling, and a resounding success at that.” 

You can see he’s breathing heavier now, either excited by the results or the act of feeding from your breast, and you bite down on your lower lip to keep quiet as he straightens so he can reach for his slacks. He’d never crossed this line before, had never shown you even so much as a passing interest even when he had you spread out and helpless on his exam table, and you don’t know what to expect. The rigid cock that springs up in the space between you surprises a strangled gasp out of you though, and you try to jerk away from it. He was big. Much bigger than you were prepared to take. 

The Doctor just grabs onto your hips, squeezing so hard you cry out even as he drags your pelvis closer so he can slot himself between your thighs. Wheezing, you shudder uncontrollably when he takes a moment to sedately thrust into the space and drag his stiff length over soaked lips that seem to cling at him. The calm that had mercifully fallen over you while he was suckling is quickly replaced by jittery panic, and you can’t help blubbering like an idiot when he none too gently forces your pelvis into an upward, tilted angle that almost drags you up onto your tip toes. 

You didn’t want him touching you like this. Didn’t want to even think about him moving inside of you, claiming your body for himself. 

But the stiff rope keeping your hands behind your back is unrelenting and there isn’t anything you can do about it as he nudges closer to line himself up with your entrance. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m sure you’ll like it. Your sweet little cunt is already so very wet and I bet it’s just aching to be filled, isn’t it?” 

Hissing through your teeth, you twist your head around so you won’t have to look at that horrible mask looming over you. But that does absolutely nothing to deter him though, and you cry out when he starts to slowly sink into your hot, squirming guts. Taking him like this is difficult, the slow stretch so much worse than it would have been if you could properly spread your legs. He just forces you to stay upright when you waver, and you let out a hurt little groan as his fingers dig into your hips so hard you can feel bruises blooming under the pressure. Your cunt grants him entry one stilted inch at a time though, welcoming it as much as your mind wants to fight it. 

But you’re completely at his mercy and when he finally settles inside you, as deep as he can reach in this position, you feel something in you snap. Your hips nudge forward of their own accord to weakly rut against the intrusion as you tip your head down, intending to look at where his body connects with yours, but all you see is … your breasts, so swollen and heavy, leaking copious amounts of milk all over your front. Like being penetrated had loosened a faucet and you were now freely dribbling all over the place without the need for any stimulation. The sight alone almost sends you shuddering right over the edge. 

Hunching closer when your eyes start to roll back, The Doctor studies you up close for a long, drawn out beat while your cunt hollowly contracts around him, squeezing his length in pulses. You feel the excited shiver that runs through him as much as you see it, and then he tips his head to just touch his mouth to yours. “Aren’t you being good for me?”

“P - please —!”

He softly shushes you, lips brushing when he speaks again. “You’ll get your reward, not to worry. But tell me something first, Specimen. If you can do that for me I’ll make sure you feel so good you won’t know what to do with yourself.” 

Mewling softly, you sway against his hold while your tits just keep leaking. “What do you want?” 

“Can you tell me your name?” 

You go still, so caught off guard by the question you can’t seem to process it at first. But then a stiff shudder tears down your back and your eyes go big, jerking back as far as you can when he’s got a hold of you like this. A helpless, trapped little animal sound bursts out of you but he just grins at you, his mouth a razor sharp slash under the mask. You didn’t remember. It had been so long since you’d spoken it, since anyone had called you anything other than Specimen … you truly didn’t know anymore. 

Where there once had been a solid, tangible thought there was only ringing silence. An echoing void inside your head, and The Doctor’s leering smile only grows when he sees the horror dawn on your face. 

You weren’t anyone now. 

Just Specimen.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[ltash]

Pretty Little Teacher

Simon Ghost Riley x female reader

Warning: 18 plus, dubcon and noncon theme, dark themed, dark ghost, s*x and erotica, forced sex.

He loves me like a monster, all teeth and talk and hiding in the dark. That's my speciality, Men with strong bodies and fragile hearts, and if you hold them too tightly they will crumble beneath you like an avalanche that is waiting."

●●○~ Lindsey Hobart ~○●●

Ghost sat in his dimly lit room, the blue glow from the laptop screen casting sharp shadows across his masked features. Laswell's voice echoed in his ears, calm yet commanding.

"You have to go undercover to gather some intel," she instructed, her face a picture of seriousness on the screen. Ghost's fists clenched, his eyes narrowing as deep creases appeared at the corners. He remained silent, absorbing the gravity of the assignment.

"You'll be posing as a high school student. We have made all the arrangements. The principal and teachers are informed. We need important intel about a person working there. I'm sending you a report. Read it," Laswell said, her tone leaving no room for discussion. She hung up the video call before Ghost could utter a word.

"Fuck!" Ghost cursed, his frustration evident. "Now I have to become a fucking high schooler," he spat, the absurdity of the situation gnawing at him.

As a highly trained SAS soldier and an elite killing machine, Ghost was used to the most dangerous and covert missions. But this? This was entirely different. How the hell was he supposed to blend in as a high schooler with his massive height and muscular build? He would look like a fish out of water, a grown man playing dress-up.

He opened the report Laswell had sent, scanning through the details of his new identity and the target he needed to surveil. The mission was critical, he reminded himself. He had faced worse odds and more dangerous situations. But even as he reassured himself, the thought of navigating the social labyrinth of a high school filled him with a unique dread.

"Guess it's time to go back to school," he muttered under his breath, already strategizing how he would tackle this bizarre new mission.

Ghost scanned the report, eyes moving quickly over the lines of text. Someone from the office staff was involved in terrorist activity, and the school's security was compromised. The specifics were still murky, but the mission was clear: infiltrate, gather intel, and neutralize the threat.

As he read, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was Soap.

"Hey, high schooler! Need help picking out your backpack?" Soap's message read, followed by a string of laughing emojis.

Ghost growled in irritation. Soap had been making fun of him since he got the assignment. In truth, Ghost thought Soap was the one who was fit for this job. With his leaner build and younger appearance, Soap would blend in effortlessly. But orders were orders.

"You're just jealous you can't relive your glory days," Ghost shot back, though he knew Soap would get a kick out of his reply.

He closed the report and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. This mission was unlike any he had faced before. It required a different kind of camouflage, a different kind of patience. He was about to step into a world of teenage drama, cliques, and homework. But he would adapt, as he always did. He had no choice.

Monday morning arrived too quickly. Ghost stood in his small apartment, the usual grey hoodie and sweatpants hanging off his frame. Soap had helped him gather the essential school supplies: notebooks, pens, and a new backpack that didn't look out of place for a high schooler. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and slipped on his skull-printed balaclava. His identity had to be hidden at all costs.

He climbed into his Range Rover and drove to the school, parking a distance away to avoid drawing attention. With a deep sigh, he exited the vehicle and made his way to the school entrance.

The moment he stepped into the corridor, the contrast of his presence was stark. Teenagers milled about, chatting and laughing, but Ghost felt like a fish out of water. His height and build made him stand out like a sore thumb, despite the hoodie and balaclava doing their best to conceal his identity.

He pushed forward, reminding himself of the mission's importance. He needed to find his way to the office, get his bearings, and begin gathering intel. The corridor seemed endless, each step echoing with the sounds of lockers slamming and indistinct chatter.

"Fucking Hell," he muttered under his breath, trying to blend in as much as a heavily-built, masked adult could in a sea of high schoolers.

Ghost made his way to the last classroom on the K-12 hallway, assigned as a senior posing as an 18-year-old. Despite being 29 with a muscular build, he hoped to blend in with the 12th graders.

He opened the door and walked in, immediately feeling the curious eyes of his new classmates on him. Ignoring the stares, he scanned the room for any signs of the person he was here to investigate. The teacher, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, looked up from her desk.

"You must be the new student," she said, motioning him to an empty seat near the back. "Welcome."

Ghost nodded and made his way to the seat, keeping his head down. He dropped his backpack on the floor and settled in, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. The other students eventually lost interest, returning to their conversations and distractions.

As the teacher began the lesson, Ghost's mind raced. He knew he had to keep a low profile while also staying alert for any signs of suspicious activity. His eyes roved over the room, memorizing faces and noting behaviors. The target could be anyone-an unsuspecting office staff member, a seemingly innocent teacher, or even a fellow student.

The day had been a tedious blur for Ghost, each monotonous class blending into the next. Used to the adrenaline of combat and the precision of sniper shots, he found the slow pace of high school unbearable. But all that changed when you entered the room.

Your presence was electrifying, a stark contrast to the dull atmosphere. The click of your red Louboutin pumps echoed in the silent classroom as you made your way to the front. Your black dress pants, stylishly slit, and button-up shirt under a sleek black blazer highlighted your figure. Long, blonde hair cascaded down your back, framing your big blue eyes and perfectly pink lips.

Ghost felt a surge of desire course through him, his mind racing with thoughts he knew he shouldn't entertain. He imagined gripping your tiny waist, pulling you close, feeling your petite frame against his as he lost himself in you. The urge to take you, to dominate you, was almost overwhelming.

"Hey! Newbie, are you listening?" Your voice cut through his fantasies, pulling him back to reality.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his husky British accent barely masking his distraction.

"Your name?" you asked, standing near his desk, your eyes meeting his.

"Simon," he answered, using his real name to avoid any potential mistakes.

"Well, Simon, try to pay attention," you said with a faint smile before returning to the front of the class.

As you began the lesson, Ghost forced himself to focus, but it was a losing battle. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, and the way your presence stirred something primal within him. He needed to remember his mission, but in that moment, all he could think about was how desperately he wanted you.

The period ended, and Ghost watched you leave the classroom, struggling to control his thoughts. You stood out among the middle-aged teachers, looking so young, no older than 25. How could someone like you be teaching 12th graders? The question burned in his mind, but it was more than just curiosity; he was captivated by you.

He barely remembered the rest of the day, his mind fixated on you. As soon as he could, he retreated to his apartment. The urge to release the tension was overwhelming. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his muscular frame. His cock was already hard, fueled by the image of your lips wrapped around him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hand wrapping around his shaft. He imagined you on your knees, your pink, plump lips taking the full length of his cock in, your big blue eyes looking up at him with a mix of innocence and desire. His strokes quickened, his other hand gripping the air as he fantasized about it tangled in your long, blonde hair.

His body tensed, muscles straining as he neared the edge. The thought of you sucking him off, your pretty little mouth taking him deeper, his cum all over your face pushed him over. He climaxed hard, a guttural groan escaping him as he came, the pearly liquid mixing with the warm water and flowing down his thick thighs.

Leaning against the shower wall, he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath. The intensity of his release did little to quell the longing he felt. As the water washed away the evidence of his fantasy, he knew he was in trouble. This mission was supposed to be about gathering intel, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He needed to stay focused, but the image of your gorgeous face and enticing body lingered in his mind, a distraction he couldn't afford yet couldn't resist.

The next day, Ghost found himself eagerly anticipating school, though for entirely different reasons than his usual missions. From the moment he had first seen you, you became his muse, eclipsing the seriousness of his undercover assignment. Dressed in blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a sleek black leather jacket that concealed his tattoo sleeve, he waited through all six periods just for a glimpse of you.

When you finally entered the classroom, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Students greeted you warmly, but Ghost's attention was solely on you. You wore high heels that accentuated your figure, a casual T-shirt, and form-fitting pencil jeans that emphasized your curves. It was undeniable-you were the most stunning woman he had ever encountered.

As you distributed MCQ papers among the students, you approached Ghost's desk. Your curiosity got the better of you as you inquired about his mask. "Why are you wearing a mask?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine curiosity.

"I get sunburn," he replied smoothly, trying to maintain his cover.

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a thrill down Ghost's spine. "Weirdo," you whispered teasingly, but your words were loud enough for him to hear. The image of dominating you right there, bending you over the desk, fucking you from behind and hearing you begging to stop, flashed vividly in his mind, your body arched in his hands, pussy clenched around his length as he rails his full length till the hilt into you, ruin your pretty little cunt for everyone while you screaming out his name.

"Concentrate on your paper, weirdo," you mocked again as you moved away.

His jaw clenched with frustration, anger simmering beneath the surface. Despite the rush of desire coursing through him, he remained stoic and silent, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He knew indulging in these fantasies could compromise his mission, yet resisting the pull of attraction toward you seemed almost impossible. Ghost was torn between duty and desire, unsure how much longer he could keep his composure around you.

He had finished his paper along with the other students as the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. One by one, they handed their work to you, you seated at your desk. Ghost lingered, the last student to leave, quietly closing the door behind him. Remaining seated, he watched you intently.

Stealth was his forte, and he approached you silently. You were small compared to him, your back elegantly arched as you organized the papers into a neat pile. Standing right behind you, he suppressed the urge to touch you. Suddenly, you moved back, inadvertently brushing against the bulge in his pants. A squeak escaped your lips as you jumped, startled like a bunny, and turned around.

Leaning heavily against the table, you panted, eyeing the behemoth of a man standing before you at his full height for the first time. A shiver ran down your spine from the sensation of his arousal against you. He stood there with a menacing look in his eyes, extending his paper to you. With shaky hands, you took it, feeling a jolt as his gloved hand brushed against you.

Without a word, he turned and left the classroom.

Throughout the drive to his apartment, he couldn't shake the image of you, how your inadvertent touch had stirred a primal urge within him. How you bumped into his erect cock ready to sprung out. The urgency of his mission weighed heavily on his mind, but thoughts of you kept intruding.

Later that day, consumed by desire, he found himself jerking off imagining you once more. He couldn't help but picture your round ass, the sensation of you against him, his cock stretching your gummy walls as he fucks you doggy style, the fantasies growing more vivid with each passing moment. It was a distraction he couldn't afford, yet couldn't ignore.

The next day, he arrived at the school as usual, anticipation swirling within him. Your period had become his favorite, and he waited patiently until you appeared, as usual, with an air of cautious awareness. As the lesson progressed, you couldn't help but notice his chocolate brown eyes fixed on you through his balaclava.

He was no ordinary teenager - tall, dark, and undeniably handsome even with a balaclava on his face, with a presence that set him apart. You felt the weight of his gaze, the tilt of his head to the side like a predator sizing up its prey. Despite the distraction, you continued with your class routine, distributing checked papers to the students, your focus unwavering on your mission.

His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, as if he had something more than mere curiosity driving his attention. You knew you couldn't afford to be distracted, not with what was at stake.

As you hurriedly left the classroom, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor, you reached for your cellphone and stepped into the quiet solitude of the bathroom. With a hushed voice, you spoke into the receiver, "Yes! Tomorrow is the day. We will hunt another doe tomorrow."

Across the line, a voice crackled with excitement, "Perfect. After school, then?"

"Yes," you affirmed, nodding to yourself. "After school." With that, you hung up, slipping the phone back into your pocket.

Unbeknownst to you, Ghost known as Simon, the new student who had been quietly observing the dynamics of his new environment, had overheard your conversation.

From the first day of his undercover assignment, Ghost had sensed something amiss. How could a 25-year-old teacher be instructing seniors when others with more experience were available? It gnawed at him, a puzzle piece that refused to fit neatly into place. As he stood in the hallway, a vicious smirk spread across his face.

"So you are the one," he whispered to himself, the realization sinking in. "And now, there's nobody that can save you from me. Not even yourself." His mission had taken a dark turn. You are the one involved in human trafficking.

Tomorrow was the day Ghost knew he had to act swiftly. He slipped on his skull mask, adjusted his gear-blue jeans, black hoodie, and vest. His Beretta rested against his chest while his sniper rifle was ready on the passenger seat of his car.

He parked in the nearly deserted school lot, waiting patiently. It was nearly two hours past school hours when he spotted you approaching from the back of the building. You met with another person near a car.

"The girl is in the bathroom, I've hidden her there. Wait here, let me take her out," you said.

Without hesitation, Ghost aimed his sniper rifle at the man's head and took the shot. Skull fragments and brain matter scattered as the bullet found its mark. A scream tore from your lips as chaos erupted.

Ghost calmly placed the sniper rifle on the seat and stepped out of his car. You saw him approaching and instinctively ran. Darkness was descending, the winter chill settling in.

You ran for your life, heart pounding with fear, but Ghost closed the distance quickly. Desperation set in as you realized you had no weapon. You took out a pocket knife and attempted to attack, but Ghost deftly seized your wrist, disarming you.

You screamed and struggled, but he immobilized you, securing your wrists with a zip tie. With a forceful push, he slammed your back against a car, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Fear and confusion engulfed you as Ghost stood before you, his identity finally revealed, and his intentions chillingly clear.

"Let me go," you tried to scream as he pinned you against the car, looming over you. His 6'4" frame towered over you, casting a dark shadow. The edge of his knife pressed against your throat qnd his hand on your chest kept you pinned against the car.

"Just got you. Now I can't let you go, won't let you go," he whispered in your ear with his husky voice. "How can I waste this pretty little cunt of yours, princess?"

You whimpered and squirmed, fear coursing through your veins. His hand traveled to your neck, his grip so firm that you could barely breathe. You struggled to breath. Your vision blurred as darkness enveloped you, and you melted into his arms like putty.

You went limp in his arms like a rag doll, a pretty little thing for him to play with. He strapped you into the passenger in his car seat and drove off, his mind racing with twisted excitement.

He stroked your hairs with his fingers while he drove. He just had got his little plaything.

Upon reaching his apartment, he carried you inside, laying you gently on the soft sheets of his bed. Even in your unconscious state, you looked so beautiful and irresistible. His excitement grew, his cock twitched from the anticipation building as he stood over you, lost in the dark allure of the moment.

You whimpered as you slowly opened your eyes. Ghost was perched on a couch in front of you. Sitting up slowly, you noticed your hands were still tied in your lap. Your tiny body shivered at the sight of him as he rose to his full height. The room seemed small, his eyes behind the skull mask full of menace, looking straight through you. Your lips quivered with fear as he approached.

"Wakey, wakey, Princess," he taunted, stepping out of the shadows. His blue jeans were tight around his thick thighs, and his black hoodie strained to contain his muscular physique. The skull mask shone dimly in the light. The tattoo peeked through the space between his sleeve and his gloved hand.

You gulped, "Who are you?" you asked in a small voice.

"Ghost. Heard the name before?" He tilted his head to the side, and realization hit you hard-it was Simon.

"What do you want?" you barely whispered.

"You," was his only reply as he stepped closer.

A whimper escaped your lips as you pulled yourself to the other side of the bed and stood up.

"Don't make this hard for yourself, Princess."

Panting, you frantically ran towards the door, but his hands were around your waist in no time. He slammed you against the wall, the impact sending pain throbbing through your back.

His hand smacked the wall beside your head. The barrel of his gun made contact with your chin.

"Look at me!" he shouted, his voice an order. You squeaked in response, your eyes meeting his.

"Good girl," he praised, his hot breath fanning against your face. "I'm a lieutenant, not your average student, and you have to comply-or else." The barrel of his Beretta poked under your ribs. "Choices have consequences," he said softly this time.

"I've been thinking about your body since the day I saw you." He stroked the soft skin of your chest with his gun, trailing it down the valley between your breasts. Your skin quivered under the touch of the cold metal.

"So irresistible, Princess." His husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

You gasped as he snapped your ziptie with a strength so brute it took only a second to come off. Your buttoned blouse came next as he snapped it apart. All the buttons came crashing down on thefloor. Your pearly necklace was snatched from your neck. The pearls came rolling down on the floor.

You gasped as he snapped your bra from the front. Your perky breasts liberated from the confines of the lacy material.

He pulled his mask upto his nose and his lips grazed your neck as his thumb met your nipples squeezing your breasts so hard it was almost painful. A painful moan mixed with pleasure escaped through your lips.

He held you close by your waist and he chuckled as your small waist fitted so easily in both his hands all while kissing your neck while his hands played with the soft skin of your back.

"So soft like plush in my hands." He said as he rubbed your nipples with his rough thumb. A sexy hiss escaped your lips as you threw your head back biting your lips.

"You gave in so easily princess." He whispered. His sexy voice made you moan.

He tossed you over the bed, with a squeak you fell, soft sheets cushioning your back as you landed with a gasp.

His eyes, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own, locked onto yours. "Been waiting to bend you over that goddamn desk in that class and fuck your needy little cunt, princess," he confessed, his voice low and husky with desire.

As he removed his hoodie, revealing a canvas of scars that gleamed against his muscular frame, you couldn't help but gasp. Each scar told a story of battles fought and survived, adding to the allure of his rugged demeanor. His predatory approach, intensified by the skull mask he wore, sent a thrill through your veins. He moved closer with a confident stride, his presence filling the room with a primal intensity that both thrilled and unnerved you.

You gasped as he closed the distance. His hands reached for the strap of your jeans, deftly unbuttoning them with a deliberate touch. With a smooth motion, he slid the denim down your legs, revealing your bare skin in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. You laid exposed before him, feeling both vulnerable and empowered by his gaze.

You knew you were powerless infront of him and he will have his way with you one way or another. Wetness had already pooled between your legs and you were trying hard to hide it by closing them.

He traced the barrel of his gun along the soft skin of your inner thighs. Shivers ran down your spine as you felt the cold metal against your sensitive skin.

"Open your legs Princess." He ordered slowly parting your thighs.

"So sensitive, aye?" he said with a mocking tone.

You hissed at the sensation. He slowly pressed the barrel against your clothed folds, eliciting a moan from your lips.

"Please! I beg you, don't do this," you pleaded, my voice trembling.

"Look at you! A wet, hot mess for me," he sneered.

He knelt before you, his hands reaching for your panties. With one tug, he tore the strap, leaving you completely exposed.

"You should thank me, princess, that I'm gentle with you. I'm not very gentle with women. They run from me after what I do to them," he laughed.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Oh my god," you moaned.

He opened your legs slowly, his fingers parting your folds as he gently touched your swollen clit. Your body quivered with the sensation.

"So soft, so sensitive," he said, as he slid his rough fingers inside you.

A slow scream escaped your lips as your pussy clenched around his fingers. Your back arched, moans spilling from your mouth. He watched your face contort with pleasure as he leaned down, his tongue making circles around the buds of your nipples.

You clutched the sheets, your eyes shut tight as his fingers curled up, hitting just the right spot.

"You sound so pretty, love," he teased, his tongue continuing to play with your nipple. The sensation was heavenly, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He adjusted himself between your thighs, kissing your entire body as he moved down toward your stomach and then your most sensitive part.

He gently kissed the inside of your thighs before his tongue met your folds. Screams of pleasure spilled from your pretty mouth as he nipped and sucked at your already swollen bud.

"Oh, fuck!" you moaned.

He kept teasing your folds with his tongue, sucking your wetness as he held your hips tightly in place.

He kept torturing you with his tongue until you couldn't take it anymore.

"I-I can't take it anymore," you begged.

"Ssh!" he whispered, placing a finger on your lips. "You're going to take it, just a little longer."

Your body trembled as he continued his relentless assault with his tongue, the pleasure overwhelming. He moved his finger from your lips to your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles while his tongue continued its work.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice cracking with desperation.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Beg me," he commanded softly.

"Please, please, I need more," you cried out, your body aching for release.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips. "Good girl," he said, his voice low and husky. He increased the pressure of his tongue and finger, driving you closer to the edge. "Now, let go for me."

With his words, you felt the dam break, and waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Your back arched, and a guttural moan escaped your lips as you finally reached your climax. He continued his movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body.

As you lay there, breathless and spent, he gently kissed your inner thighs before moving up to your face.

You were still high when he unzipped his pants.

"Been waiting for this ever since I laid my eyes on you," he said, taking his cock and positioning himself on top of you.

You looked at him with dazed eyes.

"Like what you see, princess?" he asked with a smirk.

"I-I can't do this," you pleaded.

"You can do this, and you will," he replied firmly.

He pressed his cock against your entrance, bending you down. Without warning, he pushed his entire length inside, pinning your wrists against the bed. You screamed as your walls wrapped around him, your body struggling to adjust to his size while he fucked you deeply, not giving you any time to acclimate.

You were completely at his mercy, a plaything for his desires.

"Fuck! Princess, you feel so tight around me," he growled, thrusting in deeply.

You were breathless, disoriented by the intensity of it all. He drove into you with unrelenting force, hitting inside you to the extreme. Your back arched under him as waves of pain and pleasure coursed through you. His cock was so big it made an impression inside your belly where it hit.

"How does it feel, me ruining your pretty pussy, love?" he growled, sitting back on his knees and gripping your waist tightly.

Your eyes rolled back as he railed into you with brute force, the sensations overwhelming and consuming.

Whimpers escaped your lips as his hips thrusted against your pelvis. Skin to skin, the intense connection between you sparked a fire that threatened to consume you both. You hid your face in the soft pillow, the tears mingling with your whimpers, your cries echoing in the room like a haunting melody.

He chuckled at the sight before him, the raw vulnerability and passion in your every movement only adding to the intoxicating air surrounding them. "Look at you, eh," he murmured, his voice a low growl filled with satisfaction. "Taking me so well."

With a sudden move, he lifted you up by your waist, your heart racing a mile a minute, your vision blurred with the overwhelming sensation of being completely lost in him. "Oh my god, I am gonna die," you whined, the words a mix of fear and ecstasy that only served to fuel the flames of desire burning between you both.

But he just chuckled, his hold on you firm and reassuring. "Not on my watch, luv," he whispered, his voice a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of emotions and pleasure that threatened to consume you.

He pulled out abruptly, spinning you around and delivering a stinging slap to your ass.

You clutched the sheets as he seized your hips, pulling you towards him and plunging deep inside once more. A primal groan escaped his lips as he grabbed your hair, tilting your head back and driving himself deeper with each thrust.

Your impassioned cries only fueled his intensity. With a firm grip on your waist, he pounded into you relentlessly, embodying the raw, primal desire of a man possessed. Your body arched and trembled on the bed as he pinned you down by your head, pressing your face into the bed.

"I can't do this anymore," you begged him.

He pulled you up onto your knees, his free hand gently gripping your neck while his other arm rested between the valley of your breasts. His hold on your neck was firm but not painful, asserting his control. With a strong grip on your waist, he thrust deep into you.

You leaned against his chest, your face turning towards him as you neared your release. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, swallowing your moans.

His cock twitched and pulsed as he reached his climax. His movements grew erratic as he poured himself into you, filling you with his essence.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto the bed, eyes shutting tight as the waves of ecstasy washed over you.

He settled beside you, carefully tucking you under the sheets while you lay on your stomach, peacefully asleep.

"Sleep well, princess," he murmured, his fingers gently caressing your hair.

The next morning, you woke to find him already seated on the couch, wearing the same skull-printed balaclava, his eyes still filled with menace. Your whole body ached and marked with hickeys. Last nights encounter spiralled in your mind.

"Good morning, princess. I hope you're feeling well," he greeted you, tossing an oversized t-shirt in your direction.

Confusion and fear gripped you. "Who are you? Why did you do this to me? What were you even doing in my class?"

"I'm Lieutenant Simon Riley, also known as Ghost," he replied coolly. "I was in your class because we've been keeping an eye on you. Now, get dressed. You have visitors."

You rose silently and headed to the bathroom to change. As you finished, there came a knock at the door.

He opened it, and police officers entered the room.

"She's all yours," he stated with a smirk beneath his balaclava.

"You'll regret this! I'll make you pay for this!" you screamed as they cuffed you and led you away.

"Fuck you!" You screamed.

He chuckled darkly, watching as you were taken into custody.

"I just did." He winked as you were taken away.

[halfadoginatank]

LIGHT A FIRE

Soap’s blood is extremely hot. Temperature-wise, but there's also something strange in it. He's nine when he has an open cut on his finger and doesn't pay attention to where his finger is, a drop of blood into the toaster, and. Boom.

So it functions more like a powerful conduit. When he's in his teens and his friends get their hands on some fireworks he finds out that opening one and adding some of his blood makes the explosion at least ten times more intense.

After that, Soap can admit he got a little obsessed. But his mother saw him reading and spending time in the shed a few meters away from the house and figured she didn't need to worry, as long as he was out of sight.

Soap doesn't exactly think about it too hard when he joins the military. His mother is, distant lately. Emptier, it was fun getting to do whatever he wanted when he was little with few expectations. It's not fun when he burns part of the shed he'd been staying in more frequently and his mother barely gives him a second glance.

He forged his mother's signature on the papers and didn't tell her where he was going. Just that he is. Then he spends two years trying not to look back.

They test his blood during physicals. He's tense the whole time, what if they put it in a machine and the shaking just makes it explode? Sure, it only ever exploded when mixed with extreme heat, and even then it wouldn't be too bad if there wasn't anything mixed with it.

It's not entirely unheard of for some humans to be weird. It's less like superpowers and more like a fancy mutation. Just, someone's parts may be different than a normal person's. The tests came back, and nothing exploded but there were odd chemicals in it. It's not undocumented by any means but they note it's a particularly weird thing to have in his blood and he can't exactly donate it, but it's not hurting him, and other than that he's O positive. They ask him if he's taking anything for his ADHD, and he tells them he doesnt need it, and then they let him leave.

His squadron notes the FNG is particularly good with explosives. He excels in it, he jokes that it's in his blood and no one else gets it. His uncanny ability to focus so hard on things lends itself well to sniping when he's properly trained, he likes that too. Lets himself learn more about the gun he uses, and what scopes are best, and although his math skills are lacking, he learns everything he needs to make the shot.

In year three he signs up for the S.A.S. He doesn't have his hopes up, but despite that he gets it. They have him on as a demolitions specialist. It's never made him happier, he gets access to a lot more than he had at his old base. More chemicals, he does his tests when he's allowed to, and doesn't spend much time as a private.

Then las almas. He considers that one of the most impressive things he's done explosion-wise. He blew up a tank and set charges expertly, using the blood from his scraped hands to cover the fuses and slather it on the C4. Every explosion was just as it always is, satisfying. Feels like the anticipation that builds is the perfect way to gather his anxieties, watching something go, those few seconds of nothingness, no sound just light. Then he watches the flames. Like he burnt that anxiety, burnt the anticipation. He's always loved explosions, but he's loved fire longer.

There is something else notable about Las Almas though. The first day he and the Marines set foot on the LZ he sees the tall man in a skull mask, having been told he’s his CO, and goes to talk to him. When he gets in range, just a few feet away. He shivers, it's less a shiver of cold and more like one of relaxation. The air around Ghost is cold, a chill that balances just how hot he really runs. When they ride in the back seat of Alejandro's car Soap tries to press himself closer to the man without Ghost noticing, it's just too comfortable. To finally not feel like he’s on fire.

Soap has been living comfortably ever since, he stays in Ghost's personal space, and he never seems to mind. somewhere in his head, he hopes his own heat brings the lieutenant some peace.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

King of the cage

Daryl Dixon x reader | [Pt.2]

In the apocalypse, entertainment is hard to come by. Until you hear of underground groups fighting with anything nonhuman.. CW: Descriptive violence and murder.

Loud cheers rung through the basement hall. Rowdy folk rattling fences and screaming in excitement for the next round.

With the world ending, entertainment was hard to come by but slowly these underground events started making a comeback through word of mouth.

A loud bell rang that had the crowd go silent, its attention pulled back to the giant cage that sat in the middle of the hall.

A megaphone wielding man appeared in the middle of the cage. He got the crowd riled up as he introduced two new entries.

The two next fighters.

While he backed up he called out the first one by name, then its most ferocious features and then its species.

The crowd rumbled with anticipation as they waited for the creature to be released from its confinement.

Massive steel latches came undone as a heavy door slid open to reveal a satyr. Its legs plated with jagged steel as well as its tail. Its hooves hidden by heavy, sharp covers that clunked with every step it took. Its hornes were decked out in metal covers too, making a headbutt a lot more dangerous than it already was.

It circled the centre cage, dragging its tail across the blood splattered concrete and sending sparks flying off its tail end. The metal could cut anything in half with one good swing. Whoever caught this one knew what they were doing.

That was the first thought in your mind seeing the creature stalk the other door connected to the cage. Watch that tail.

You couldn't see the ones across from you, the ones who owned the beast. They too were decked out in armor like outfits and masks.

And then the announcer, now from his safe space on the third high spot above the cage, announced the second fighter.

Yours.

"Our next beast is a fan favorite! Brutal. Intelligent and oh so scary! A monster worn by countless battles!" He gestured grand towards the other door as it unlarched and slid open to reveal your most prized possession.

"Let's hear it for our angel of death!"

The crowd went wild as your beast lunged out of his enclosure into the cage and it sent a rush of adrenaline through your system.

"LETS HEAR IT FOR DIXON!"

Your monstrous wolf roared as he circled his opponent, snapping his jaw in aggression. The steel fang caps alsays catching the shitty lights perfectly, showing off its sharpness just right. The chains around his forearms dragged along the floor, creating a terrifying harmony with the drag of the other's metal tail.

His low stance showed off his branding marks to the crowd. Two giant wings over his back, scarred to the bone so no fur would grow back, no chance of healing.

To the crowd he looked like the perfect killing machine, equipped with metal claws and fangs, scars allover and a ferocious snarl that strikes fear into the crowd, but only soaks your underwear.

Inside the cage the creatures kept circling until the harsh bell rang through the hall, signaling the start.

Your sign to scream. "Watch the tail, baby!" But it seemed he had already caught on. As the satyr took a readying stance, your wolf had lunged straight at the creature, shoving it right in the chest with his head as his claws went to encase his spine.

A yelp sounded through the cage as the clawed gloves of his opponent dug into your wolf's ribs but he quickly retailated. Four thick claws dug between individual vertebrae close to the satyr's hips as the other claw grabbed, twisted and yanked hard. With a crunch of bone and a deafening scream the tail detatched and was thrown off to the side, pieces of metal plating scattered on the ground.

With its tail gone the creature let go and dropped to the ground but bouncing back almost immediately. On your beast's backstep it lunged at him hoof first and kicked him straight in the chest, tearing through skin and muscle. There was barely enough time to move with the kick and avoid getting ribs cut clean trough. That one was gonna leave a scar.

It was clear in his eyes he was done with this one already. No fun to be had with something that only sliced.

Your opponents were yelling command after command at their creature and it followed througg with each and every one. They trained it well, but forgot the other beast had the chance to steer crear of every single step as it was called out.

"Dee! Quit dodging, they're getting bored!" Your voice rang through the crowd that howled in agreement. "Go crazy, baby!"

His ears perked up at your command. He got booed for finishing matches with smaller opponents too quick and had to learn to play, like a dog.

The satyr lunged at him with a spinning kick aiming straight for his eyes but a quick turn away from it and a 'click' of his chain he snagged a leg and yanked the chain towards him, again dragging the creature onto its back over the floor. Those legs could kill easily and were protected by a thick steel so biting was no use. Clawing wasn't an option either so for now he'd have to immobilize them with the chains. A swift twirl had the chain wrap around tight. A large paw stomped onto them a couple of times, blood smearing the metal plates until the crack of bone could be heard.

The creature cried and whined out in pain as yours sported a wicked grin, opening his maw to show off his custom dental work before diving in and tearing off half of his opponent's ribcage.

With a spray of blood and a disgusting squelch of a steel tipped claw tearing out a heart the crowd howled along with your killer.

The round was over and the announcer congratulated you and your beast on the win, letting the crowd know not to move from their seats as the next round was about to begin.

"The hell?" When did they implement the back to back rounds? This wasn't discussed.

You were supposed to be looking after him now assessing his wounds and encourage hin to heal. He may have been your fighter in everyone else's eyes but under all those metal adornments made to fit his beast shape he was still your partner.

He was the one that saved your life only to have you for dinner himself, starved and desperate but he spared you because of the interest in your eyes instead of fear.

You two ended up sharing the leftovers in your bag that gave him enough strength to hunt down some game and feed you both. You made it through winter together and became dependant on each other. He was a nonhuman who was abused since childhood and never had a chance at success, not even when the world ended and skills like his were considered useful.

But now you had each other.

"Dee! You got this, baby! I right here withya, focus." Your voice drowned out the rowdy crowd as he backed up to his door and rested against it. Evening out his breathing and recalling your steps of making him heal in between matches wasn't working as well as he hoped, but his hindpaw could now hold his full weight again and his chest was at least partially knitted back together and no ribs were exposed anymore.

Just in time for the next round bell to ring and the opponent's door to open again.

With erratic movements two giant batlike creatures came from the opening. Their wings were clipped so they couldn't fly anymore but their screeching sounds were as killing as ever.

Behind the two jittery winged things something else stomped in. Heavy footfalls sounded through the hall as a large, grey wolf enters the cage. Its sheer size made yours look so small. The bats had thick plated armor covering their chests and upper backs, all around their ribcage.

Feral vampiric creatures. You had seen more sophisticated vampires in your life, they weren't uncommon. But these things were different. Not a single speck of humanity left in them, driven mad by hunger and bloodlust.

But the giant wolf was your biggest concern. He stood so tall he had to walk through the door on all fours.

"This is insane!" You were mad. Not even angry, just furious with this turn of events.

A noise came from the cage, one you recognized immediately. The sound of "I'm gonna be okay". And it came just in time as the round start rung through the hall and the crowd began to chant for a fight.

"Baby let's go! Show'em what you got!" He took in your words and focussed.

He went to work calculated, using the cage itself to climb up to the winged beasts, using his skill aquired in the woods to hop from side to side and snatch the bats off the cage walls and tear through their wings. He had to take them out fast to make sure their bites wouldn't poison him.

He took one by the wing and tossed it at the other one that jumped at him. Colliding mid-air with a crack they fell to the floor, the giant white beast sidestepping easily and keeping an eye on your fighter. The cheers from the crowd were fueling his fire as he jumped down after the bats and landed on all fours, paws all placed strategically and crushing skulls and spines before hopping off and focusing on the big guy now, who had surprisingly let him do his thing for now.

"Dee, he's observing! Go nuts!" He had fought so many different creatures he had built up quite the skillset.

The thing was huge, bulky and probably less quick. He had to be light on his feet, even with his massive weight and added metal.

They circled, snarling and snapping at each other before the big one lunged. His move was dodged with a jump, but claws still found their way into his leg, tearing the flesh. His other hindleg managed to make it up high enough to land a metal clawed kick to the back of the grey furred neck and grabbing onto the mane to stay on top of him and claw at the beast.

With a pained roar he was trashed off and sent to the ground, slamming into the side of the cage and taking a massive claw to the face, cracking his jaw.

With his uninjured leg he managed to shove himself out of the way and dodge the next hit that got caught by the cage. It gave your beast a moment to slash at the tendons in the leg and render it immobile for at least a little while.

He had to use this opening. His metal claw tips made easy work of other muscles in his limbs, taking them out one by one in swift, calculated moves.

The grey monster sat on its knees, snapping its jaw in any direction your wolf went in but made the mistake to let out an open mouthed growl.

Without a second thought two claws were grabbing each jaw, claws piercing the inside of the mouth and fangs digging deep into the delicate flesh of pawpads.

The beast thrashed but was no match anymore for the scarred wolf high on adrenaline. He felt like the king as he pulled at the jaws and tore his opponent's head in half with a loud howl that reverberated through the building. Cheers and howls from the crowd joined your killer's mighty roars as he took in the love from the crowd.

"He remains king of the cage! Dixon wins!"

The announcer's voice cut through the crowd as you made your way down to the entry corridors where your beast had retreated. The cloak you wore tossed ovwe the beast as he sat down against the wall.

"You did amazing, dear." Your hands went to rest on his cheeks. "Come back to me, Daryl."

With the call of his name it was like a switch was flipped. His eyes went back to their human shade with a few blinks and his body followed suit. As he turned his leg healed enough tonwalk back to your prep room, running him a bath to relax his muscles and worship him in any way he wished for.

"The hell were those three?" His voice was raspy from the fights. "Fuckin' crazy them folks."

You couldn't help but let out a laugh at his comment. "It was rude to not warn us. But you won!" You leaned in to kiss his head. "So, you want a reward?"

The bath was suddenly a lot less needed. Daryl stepped out and hauled you over his shoulder and threw you on the bed.

"Yeah, love me nice rewardin' night with ma woman."

Yeah, you'd collect your prize tomorrow.

A/N: This popped into my head this morning. The song prompted a full crazy idea so here we go I guess? Enjoy!!