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lieslab · 13 days ago

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The sun cannot see its own light

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Hyunjin X gn reader

Summary: Society killed your sensitive nature years ago, but maybe your boyfriend can ignite it once more.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: I finally got to the Hyunjin request!! Hooray!! Requestee, I hope you realize that there will never be anything wrong with being sensitive. From one sensitive person to another, some people will always be dickheads, but the people who really cherish you will love you forever and ever. Every part of you. All of you. Even the parts you feel like you should hide <3

_ _ _

Empathy without boundaries is just self-destruction. You learned that lesson years and years ago. Way before your arms stretched out and your legs held you steady in the sky. You learned it back in elementary school when kids turned to bullies.

You didn’t know the difference, not really, not yet. With your head held high and the missing gaps between your teeth, you knew you liked people. You liked to be right there, placing a hand on the shoulder of a kid with tears in their eyes. Specks of dirt brushed across the raw and bleeding skin of a knee.

The biggest hurt that most kids dealt with in their own time; the playground cement. A trip with stubby legs and the basketball seemed so large at that age. A wobble, a stumble, and a perfect imbalance.

“You’ll be okay. Don’t cry, the recess teacher is going to help you. Maybe they’ll give you one of those dinosaur band-aids! I got one last week when I got a papercut on my pinkie.”

You still had the faint slice across your finger. Being bit by the pages of your textbook wasn’t an easy feat, but it was one you managed to conquer, regardless of the stinging hurt. An invisible armor plated your chest and you marched yourself down to the nurse’s office with your bleeding finger jutting out. You managed to hold back your tears as gentle fingers wrapped it up to stop the bleeding. Something so minor to most adults and teenagers, it felt like a first major victory to you.

“Get off me!” The kid cried. Unsure of your actions and with an aching knee, they shoved you. “Go away and leave me alone! I don’t need your help! I’m not a baby!”

You didn’t think they were a baby, you just wanted to help. You remembered the dejection and the way your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach. With rapidly blinking eyes, you murmured an apology and turned away, slowly heading back out to the kids dressed in colorful brushes of blues, greens, reds, and yellows. Maybe they didn’t want sympathy, but someone did, right?

~ ~ ~

Fourth grade, aged ten. You didn’t mean to stumble across two kids laughing at another in the gym’s locker room, but you did. At first, confusion, but when the realization settled, it was an anger like no other. A scorching rolling boil that ignited in the pit of your stomach and crept up.

“Stop it!” Your foot stomped and your hands clenched into fists. “Stop picking on them. They didn’t do anything wrong!”

And stopping, they did. The two brats made eye contact before taking their attention to you. “Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it, crybaby? Last week, you cried over the ending of a movie we watched in class.”

The other stepped forward, securing a fist at their side. “Got something to say? Say it louder. Say it to my face!”

Nose-to-nose, you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes widened and your heart took off. These kids were in the same class as you. On the other side of the room, they ignored the teacher and talked to one another. The same ten-year-old bodies, but different brains. Different personalities. Different ways of growing up. Different households and most certainly, not the same level of sensitivity as you.

When you rushed out of the locker room sobbing, the gym teacher hurried in to try and understand the cause of your tears, but the damage was done. They’d never forget how you tried to stick up for someone and failed. It’d haunt your elementary school days like a ghost.

~ ~ ~

“I don’t know the answer to this problem, so give me your homework.”

You glanced across the way and stared into the eyes of a person you called a friend. Their greedy hand lay outstretched, waiting for your completed paper, so they could copy you. On one hand, you wanted to help them, but on another, it wasn’t fair.

You worked your ass off to get good grades and to complete the questions yourself. Why should you help them cheat? It started once, but then it kept happening. English. Math. Science. History. They always wanted your answers for every subject.

“Can’t you do it yourself?” You uttered softly. “This is the third time this week you’ve copied off me and I-”

They frowned and their eyes narrowed. “You do realize I know who you have a crush on, right? If you don’t let me see your homework and copy it, I’m going over there and telling them you like them.”

“But I-”

“Now!” They snapped angrily. Their hand gestured for you to hurry. “This period ends in ten minutes and I still need all the answers! You’re wasting time, let's go!”

And what did you do? Deep down, you knew it was wrong. You knew you shouldn’t cave and you should stick up for yourself. Your eyes went across the way to view the person you’d been crushing on for months now. You should have walked away and tore up the friendship. The embarrassment would fade away. Middle school crushes didn’t last forever.

Instead, you handed over the neatly-printed written responses for your history class. Something about a war and the twentieth century. Thousands died, but the effects of war stretched over an entire country. Their impacts of the devastation would last for nearly a decade. Those who died, the hurt would linger forever.

~ ~ ~

“Are you seriously crying at a Disney movie? How old are you? It’s just a movie.”

You pawed at the tears in your eyes and sniffled. “Don’t you get it? It’s not just a movie, it’s Coco! Look at the culture and all the different things touched upon in the movie! Death, life, the celebration of human existence! Isn’t that a beautiful way to look at life? We don’t die, not forever, we just go somewhere else and wait to be reunited with our loved ones.”

“It’s a silly animation.”

“You don’t get it.”

“It’s not that deep, just grow up.”

You’d remember those words for years to come.

~ ~ ~

And so you aged and your body grew. You worked through transitional periods that nearly killed you. You cried some, but learned to stop. When things popped up that used to soften your heart and make you feel teary-eyed, you stopped. Not because you wanted to, but because the bristle brush of society dulled your shine. It scratched your surface and left you in ruins.

That took you to today. Today with the candle-lit sun filtering through the glittering sky. Some artist from above swirled a paintbrush around, smearing hues of light purples and pinks. Flocks of sea blues dashed along after them.

Behind you, children shrieked with laughter. Parents grinned and chased after them in games of tag. For others, they picked more relaxing ways to enjoy the sunset. The simplicity of laying a blanket down and enjoying an evening picnic.

Couples fell in love all over again. Staring into one another’s eyes and remembering their verbal vows and promises of love. The admiration shot through them like fighter jets and love oozed out into the open. Deep-belly laughter, the grins that grew, and the touches. How wonderful it felt to be loved and to be touched. To be wanted instead of yearned. To be known fully and consumed by your lover entirely. In your vulnerability and sworn secrecy, someone knew everything about you. The mirror and lover, that’s all it was and that’s all it’d ever be.

Your train of thought broke with a moan from beside you. You blinked and glanced over. Hyunjin chewed his chocolate filled croissant. Chocolate smeared over his bottom lip and found a home along his thumb.

“Oh my god, this is the most amazing thing.” He mumbled beneath his breath. “We should do this more often. The Han River, pastries, and the sunset. This is the stuff in movies, you know?”

You hummed softly. Your own pastry sat in your hand. Still warm and fresh from the bakery down the street, you hadn’t taken a bite yet. The two of you sat side-by-side on a barren metal bench.

The view in front of you glittered. The chirps of birds rained down and the sunlight reflected in galloping waves. They stretched out to greet the people, but nobody responded. Too preoccupied and ignoring the cool water, people stayed away from it. Today’s breeze would slip through your soul and snatch it, if you weren’t bundled up enough.

“Do you like it that much?” You questioned him.

“Yeah, but it’s way more than that.” He licked his lips. “I love it.”

“Then why don’t you marry it?”

His mouth opened to take a bite, but it never landed. Instead, his eyebrows furrowed and he glanced at you. “Haha, very funny.” He shot you a playful glare before taking another bite. His face scrunched up and he chewed happily.

A smile started on your face, but it dropped quickly. Instead, you glanced back up at the river and let the reflection of the sun blind you. Rays of warmth appeared here and there. Maybe it was just your imagination or maybe, it was the warmth of chocolate from the inside of your flaky croissant.

Hyunjin took a few more bites, enjoying the sweetness of the chocolate. Not too overpowering, but a nice cacao flavor that complimented the croissant rather than destroying it. He licked his lips again and reached for the napkin.

“We have to go back there sometime. More importantly, I have to tell the guys about that. Some of them love sweet stuff, I’m sure they’d enjoy it. I think that’s going to become my new favorite place.”

You didn’t respond right away. The words went in one ear and drifted out the other. He glanced over and when you stared off into the water, he gently nudged your side. “Hey, what’s up with you? You’re usually not this quiet. Do you not like your chocolate-filled croissant?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you gently shook your head and glanced down at it. “I haven’t tried it, but I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. I’ll probably like it, I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?”

“Honestly?”

“That’s the best quality about you.” He nudged you again and gently elbowed your side once more. “So tell me what’s bothering you so much. What’s got you so stuck in your head?”

“This entire scenario makes me want to cry.”

He blinked, completely caught off guard by your words. “Uh, what?”

“The water. The sky. The laughter surrounding us. This moment. Us and pastries.” You shrugged and glanced down at the ground. “It sounds so stupid and it’s always been stupid, but sometimes I get sensitive about these things. These little moments that are just so special that I want to wrap them up and freeze them in time forever.”

“I don’t really show that side of me in front of you. I’ve been so afraid that you’ll think it’s childish and stupid. I used to be so sensitive as a kid and sometimes I still am, but I’ve…” You trailed off, trying to find the words. All the things you’ve wanted to say for so long and now you don’t know how to distribute them without sounding foolish.

“I guess I keep that side of me sheltered. Some people don’t feel kindly about those with such strong emotions. They call it childish and dumb. I know you love me and I love you, but I’ve always been afraid that you’d hate me for it.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” He straightened his back and turned towards you. Not caring about the bench, his legs criss crossed over his lap. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been keeping parts of your soul hidden from me?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound great.”

“I want to be offended, but I can’t. Who made you feel like that? I’d never judge you for being sensitive. Do you think I judge Felix for sobbing at concerts sometimes because he has strong emotions?”

You glanced up and his face fell. “Maybe sometimes, but I don’t mean it like that! It’s just that he has such strong emotions, it’s cute, really, I swear! Not everyone has that much sensitivity, it’s sweet.”

He leaned closed, letting his elbow rest upon his knee. His hand gently propped up his chin. “What about you? What made you feel like you couldn’t be like that? Who hurt your heart?”

“Society, I think. When I was younger, sometimes people weren’t the nicest about it. Kids can be mean, so I guess to hide away from that cruelty, I wrapped myself up and tucked it away. I want to be me, all of me, but sometimes, I’m so afraid.”

“You don’t have to be afraid around me. I’ll love every part of you, even if you’re not proud of those parts. I’ve got two hands for a reason. I’ll turn your flaws into radiance and let the whole world experience it, too. The artist and the muse has always been a good trope.”

Your cheeks flushed red.

“If you want to cry, don’t let me stop you. Actually, do you want help crying?” He reached across your lap and gently untucked your croissant from the wrap it was in. “Take a bite of this and you’ll experience tears of joy. “Actually, wait.” He pulled the pastry from your hands and lifted it to your face. “Okay, take a bite.”

“This feels embarrassing.”

His head tipped back in a groan. “Now it is, but only because you’re making it embarrassing. Just take a bite, you’ll love it.”

You sighed and bit into the pastry. A gush of chocolate filled your mouth and your face instantly softened. He grinned and pulled the croissant away. “I told you! It’s so good, right?”

“Delicious,” you mumbled with your mouth full.

“What was that? Wait, you’ve got a little something right here.” He moved closer, the warmth of his body pressed against your own. A gentle brush of his thumb caressed your bottom lip. “You got chocolate on your lip.”

For a moment, the entire world stopped. A shared moment between the two of you, silent and sweet. Your eyes met and the butterflies tickled the bottom of your stomach. Years ago the first dejection settled there, but now, only the vines of admiration and affection.

“Have I ever told you I wanted to kiss you?” He whispered.

The waves lapped and the birds cooed, lovers fell in love all over again, and so did you.

“Only a couple thousand times.”

“Let’s make that a couple thousand and one times.”

And between the flaky layers of croissant, the sweetness of cacao, and the warmth of your lover’s lips, surely, you’d find a way to open your heart entirely again; the exact same way you had years and years ago.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

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#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #stay #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin stray kids #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin skz #hyunjin angst #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin comfort

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blukrown · 2 years ago

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Admiring Admittance - Ghost/Gaz/Soap

GAZ WEEK 2023 - BODYWORSHIP

Gaz feels self-conscious and unattractive after eyeing up his two boyfriends in the gym one day. Not to worry, Ghost and Soap have a good way to remedy this.

Or read on AO3

Contains: NSFW, mentions of body dysmorphia

Gaz, Soap and Ghost were in the gym during a quiet stationary day on base. Working out their energy with weights, drills, and sparring. Which usually led to expending another type of energy after eyeing each other up all day.

Muscles tensing, skin glistening, mouths half opened to dispense strained breaths. It was unsurprising all three were hot under the collar even after a cool shower to wash away the sweat.

Outside of the dulling aching need to touch his lovers, Gaz also felt something else as he looked at the two men.

Ghost was tall and built like a shithouse. Strong, firm muscles were hidden behind a layer of fat that was simply glorious to clutch and hold in the bedroom. Broad in the shoulders and hips, bulky and intimidating in stature alone.

Soap was shorter than Gaz and Ghost but he was still visibly strong. Well-defined muscles and brag-worthy six-pack abs meant even the non-trio members often stared. Strong, broad shoulders tapered down to a smaller waist. Stout but brawny.

Then there was Gaz. Tall, lanky Gaz.

Don’t be confused, Gaz had muscle and strength to spare but it did not show on his body like it did the others. Didn’t widen the circumference of his arms nor hide the distinct bones at his hips or shoulders. He had a naturally lithe frame, a dancer’s body, his mother had always said. Perfect to leap and spin, acrobatic but resilient.

Gaz had rarely felt jealous or self-conscious before, blessed with a gorgeous face and healthy physique, he had never found himself wanting something different . . . Until now.

Even being an inch or two taller than Soap, Gaz felt small in comparison to his partners. Weaker and frail almost. To summarise, unattractive.

It was an odd and discomforting feeling, bothering him so much he was captured by his own confronting thoughts throughout the next hour. As the trio finished in the gym, showered, dressed and retreated to Ghost’s private quarters since Gaz and Soap still slept in the barracks.

It wasn’t until they were inside, Soap having already dive bombed onto the bed, that Ghost spoke to him.

“You alrigh’ there, Kyle?” Ghost asked, voice heavy and low but soft with hinting concern.

“Hm?” Gaz hummed in reply before realising Ghost had asked him something. “Oh, uh- I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

Ghost did not seem convinced, his eyes looking over him carefully. “If it’s nothing, you wouldn’t be lookin’ so down.”

“What’s the matter?” Soap chimed in, sitting up straight on the bed with his legs dangling from the edge.

Gaz had not realised he had caused his lovers worry, which apart from flattering him, made him grow even more self-conscious. He considered deflecting again, pretending they were just imagining this. But Ghost’s hand then rested on his shoulder and Soap’s sweet eyes were bright with worry. If he could tell anyone what he was thinking, it would be these two. He trusted them, loved them above all else. So, although he felt repulsion at himself for saying it, he spoke his mind.

“Do . . . Do you think I’m weak?”

“What?” Soap half-blanched, surprised. “Of course not! Who said that?! I’ll-” Soap’s raising tone was immediately silenced by a look from Ghost.

“Why would you ask that?”

“It’s just . . .” Gaz started, feeling his throat go dry and his eyes sting a little by the corners. “I’m not as muscular as you two. I’ve tried to gain muscle but it’s hard for me.” He felt both his partners watching him, allowing him to continue if he wished. “I . . . I just realised that maybe . . . Maybe I’m not as attractive to you.”

Soap immediately stood, taking a place by Gaz’s side. “You’re kidding? You’re bonnie, Kyle! Of course, we’re attracted to ye’. Cannae keep my hands off ye’ half the time.”

“Besides,” Ghost said, hand still on Gaz’s shoulder and squeezing. “We don’t want you to be that for us. We like - love you the way you are.” He corrected, still adjusting to the word as it was still a newly introduced idea in their relationship.

Soap nodded emphatically, reaching out both arms and wrapping them around Gaz’s slim waist. “If ye’ want to change, we’ll support you. But don’t go changin’ just cos’ ye’ think we’d jump your bones any harder than we already do.”

Ghost closened as well, his chest brushing Gaz’s back. “Agreed. We wouldn’t care what size, ‘s long as you're healthy and comfortable.”

Gaz felt greatly moved by the assurance but it did not completely sway him. Even now, sandwiched between his lovers, he felt small and slight. Insignificant even as Soap held him and Ghost pressed close.

Ghost and Soap must have exchanged another silent look as there was a moment’s pause before Soap spoke. “Ye’ know what I like, Gaz?” The Scot waited until Gaz’s eyes met his, so he could read Soap’s genuine affection. “I like how tall ye’ are. Ye’ give such great hugs with those arms.”

Soap’s arms left Gaz’s side for only a moment. Urging his lover’s arms to lift and drape over his shoulders. Long and slim compared to Soap’s own. Gaz felt Ghost’s own hands reaching to hold at his hips, tracing the visible hip bones through Gaz’s sweats.

“I quite like these you know,” He said, voice low and hushed right by Gaz’s ear. Making him shiver.

“And these,” Soap added, a hand touching at indents in Gaz’s clavicle. “I always like touchin’ them,” He then leaned forward and kissed each of the identical bones. “They look so pretty when they’ve got hickey’s on ‘em.”

“Don’t forget these,” Soap’s hand lifting Gaz’s loose fitting shirt to admire his trimmed but strong stomach. “I can never resist this.” His hands then touched at his lower abdomen, admiring the dark haired happy trail disappearing past the waistband.

Gaz was feeling comforted but was becoming more horny than anything else. His hips flinching a little at Soap’s proximity to his crotch, his cock waking from a soft doze he had been going through all day.

“I can never have enough of this,” Ghost then whispered, large and strong hands squeezing at Gaz’s behind. “I could honestly watch your ass all day, imagining how nice it looks when we push our cocks between.”

Gaz audibly whimpered at that, wriggling a little as goosebumps rippled up his arms and still exposed stomach. A hot flush then amassed between his legs and tenting his pants.

“Fuck,” Soap groaned out, eyes watching Gaz’s face scrunch in arousal. His hand lowering to cup at Gaz’s erection through his pants. “And this, Kyle. God, I’m always happy when your cock comes up to say hello.”

Gaz may have cringed at the phrasing but was far too erotically enthralled to voice it, watching Soap’s hand cup and squeeze at him through the cloth. Ghost was not helping, both hands manhandling and spreading his cheeks.

“Why don’t you give it a warm greeting then, Johnny?” Ghost asked, resting his chin on Gaz’s shoulder so he could look at the Scot. “Let’s show our boy how much we adore ‘im with more than just words.”

Soap grinned wide, “Brilliant ideas, sir. I’ll get lube?”

“Good thinking,” Ghost said with a nod.

Both Gaz and Ghost watched Soap depart for only a moment before returning. Bottle of lube retrieved and handed to Ghost over Gaz’s shoulder.

Gaz had his suspicions on what was to happen next and he did not see any reason to stop them. He was feeling a little better, appreciated and loved. But he thought it would be rude to not see the two men’s full displays of affection.

Soap took Gaz by the chin and pulled him in for a loving kiss. Quick pecks growing quicker and harsher, tongues dashing and teeth pinching at lips. Soap very clearly wishing to savour Gaz’s touch before he pulled away. His grin still visible in the curl of his lip and glitter in his eyes as he went on his knees.

Gaz’s breaths were already unsteady from his lovers’ touches and kisses but to finally see Soap going down on him only harshened them more. Not to mention Ghost who was now kissing up and down Gaz’s neck. Trailing marks over soft, dark skin. Leaving territorial hickeys so that all would know Gaz was only for them.

Soap kissed Gaz’s stomach as he tugged both his pants and briefs down in one pull, freeing his hardening cock, only going to touch him there once the clothing was safely tossed aside. Calloused hands caressed his thighs before Soap leaned in to kiss at the underside of his cock. Whiskers brushing over sensitive skin and tongue dashing out to lick the length of him. Groans rumbled in Gaz’s throat as he watched the Scot. Who seemed to enjoy Gaz’s aroused attention, flashing a handsome smirk before he took Gaz into his mouth.

Gaz gasped at the warmth that soon surrounded his cock, hands coming to hold at Soap’s shoulders to steady himself. The man on his knees easily taking him down to the base, nose pressed against his pelvis before pulling away. Mouth hollowing before beginning a slow, steady pace. Dragging out grunts and whimpers with each bob of the head.

At this point, Ghost had his fingers slickened and pressed at Gaz’s hole. Pressing two fingers in easily and stretching Gaz out just the little he needed. Already opened from their several rounds of nightly activities the day before.

Although Gaz could not see Ghost at his work, he could feel Ghost’s fingers tenfold inside and hear Ghost’s uplifted breaths, heavy and rich by his ear and making Gaz shiver. Adding a third finger Ghost pressed his lips to Gaz’s ear, voice thick and rich in his ear.

“I love the way you squeeze around my fingers each time Soap bottom’s out. I can’t wait to feel it around my cock, Kyle. Don’t you?”

Gaz nodded, biting into his lip as he almost whimpered when Ghost pushed against his prostate. Knees beginning to tremble at the growingly overwhelming sense of pleasure coming from his two partners.

Ghost seemed to notice this, pulling his fingers away and with the same hand, went around Gaz’s body to tug Soap’s head by the hair. Stopping his hungry blowjob and pulling the Scot’s mouth away with a ‘pop’.

“God Gaz, look at what you’ve done to ‘im. Completely drunk on your cock, isn’t he?” Ghost asked by his ear, then letting out a rich chuckle.

Soap said nothing, eyes misted. His tongue only dashing out to lick at his drying lips, mouth open in heavy gasps.

“What’s say we give him what he wants, hm? And I can fuck you in the meanwhile, that means we’re both getting to enjoy you.”

Gaz shakily nodded his head, not blissed out enough to say something dorky like ‘yes please’ yet.

“Good lad,” Ghost said with audible satisfaction, letting go of Soap’s hair. “Go on, Johnny, get back to it. We wouldn’t want to keep our lovely Kyle waiting.”

Soap did not need to hear anything else, immediately returning and taking Gaz’s cock back in his mouth and down his throat in grateful eagerness.

“Now then,” Ghost muttered, a hand tucking under Gaz’s right leg and carefully lifting it upwards. Leaving Gaz to stand on just one foot and lean his body weight on Ghost. “Let’s get you all filled up.”

Gaz felt little strain from his new posture, always being easily malleable for his lovers to situate him however they or he liked best. He could touch his toes with ease and do the splits without breaking a sweat. Dancer’s body indeed.

Ghost did not waste any of Gaz’s limited time, could tell Gaz was nearing to his end with Soap’s mouth alone. Aligning his cock to Gaz’s entrance and pressing in with a low grunt, Ghost rocked his hips forward into Gaz’s tight heat, which then pressed Gaz further into Soap’s hungry mouth. Their rocky but fluid swaying inching Gaz ever closer to his peak.

Suffice to say, Gaz was in his own paradise. Filled at one end while warm and squeezed on the other. By this point, he had lost any thought to restrain his noises of satisfaction. His head rolling back on his shoulders to gasp, groan, whimper and call to his partners.

It was only a matter of time and Gaz’s two loves were more than happy to make him reach it. Soap taking him in his mouth with gusto and Ghost’s pace quickening but still keeping steady, both trying their hardest to let Gaz have a true mind-melting finish.

Which Gaz so gratefully did, his breaths hitching and moans turning faint. Eyes seeing stars as his head rolled back on his shoulders and squeezing shut. Clenching around Ghost and his hands fumbled to hold Soap down to the hilt of his cock. Cumming inside and down Soap’s throat as he keened one final time.

Body relaxing immediately, welcoming the solidness of Ghost’s arms as he ushered an enfeebled Gaz to lie on the bed. The lieutenant flopping on top and closing his eyes, breaths still out of pace.

As he slowly came down from above the clouds, he felt warmth on either side as Soap and Ghost lay on either side of him. Ensuring he did not lose any body heat as he sobered. Arms enwrapping him on either side and holding him close.

It was then that Gaz felt truly loved. Apart from the tender words or erotic acts, this, the softness of their embrace and the contentment of holding him near was enough to make Gaz’s eyes sting a little.

#gazweek2023 #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #gaz call of duty #gaz #ghost x gaz #gaz x ghost #soap x gaz #gaz x soap #soap x ghost #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x soap #soap cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #mlm #fanfiction #fanfic

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jamrockshuffle · 1 year ago

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How we doing EdIzzy nation? I'm feeling normal.

Even if you don't listen to the song I am begging you to read the lyrics under the cut because they are driving me insane :)

[Verse 1]

Arguing with the dead

I'm not alone but it sure feels like someone left

Deaf notes and talking heads

Carrying on your debt

Blood on the bed head and volumes you left unsaid

Let 'em talk and let it habit, now I'm afraid you're alone

[Chorus]

Oh, my God

Let me relinquish and start to distinguish my past, and my time

You and I are oil and fire, so

Oh, my God

Let me extinguish the habit, the sequence, the loss in my mind

Now I believe in the ghost

Ghost

[Verse 2]

Clawing against your skin

Clutching my neck said, "It's all supposed to end like this"

You and I are panoramic

Now I'm afraid of the ghost

[Chorus]

Oh, my God

Let me relinquish and start to distinguish my past, and my time

There is only love and fire, so

Oh, my God

Let me extinguish the habit, the sequence, the loss in my mind

Now I believe in the...

[Bridge]

Right by the entrance, you broke

Finally, reality's taking its hold

You're not who you were, but you can't let it go

You're not where you're from, but you're always alone

So I stick a flag in the ground

I think I know who I'm living for now

I am what I am, same above as the ground

It's not what I want, but I'm figuring it out

[Chorus]

Oh, my God

Let me relinquish and start to distinguish my past, and my time

You and I are holy fire, so

Oh, my God

Let me extinguish the habit, the sequence, the loss in my mind

Now I believe in the ghost

Ghost

Gho—

Ghost

[Outro]

"...he was teasing around the town and cried, 'Wolf, wolf!'

Everybody came to help, but there was no wolf"

:')

#ofmd #ofmd s2 #edizzy #blackhands #izzy hands #ed teach #im so normal ok? dont look at me #Spotify

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jennycouldyoucomebackhome · 10 months ago

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Alright. Time for Killjoy OC Posting

First things first: This is just a bit of an overview. I'm going to make more in-depth posts about these guys at some point (with art), so this is a bit of a sparknotes backstory. If you're intrigued by any of this, feel free to send me an ask and ask something about them!

Who are these characters and why do I call them the Storm Family?

I call them the storm family because all of their names have to do with storms/weather phenomena. The storm family consists of: -Dust Devil - 25 - (ve/vir, gho/ghost) -Thunderclap - 24 - (he/him) -Acid Lightning (formerly Battery Acid) - 19 - (it/its, ze/zir, he/him) -Storm Angel (formerly just Rosie) - 14 -(she/her)

Since it's a bit of a text wall, lore drop under the cut:

So what's the general gist of how they all met each other?

Thunder and Dust met when they were teenagers (like, 16 and 17). Thunder was a Battery City runaway that bolted after realizing he was trans. After a few days, he was picked up by a gang of joys getting some supplies from the inner zones. This gang operated under a group called the Blackbirds, which essentially functions as a small network of gangs where a lot of the people involved grew up together under the group at their primary base of operations: a beat up old house covered in graffiti out in the middle of Zone 4. Dust was part of one of these crews. Ve had been with the Blackbirds since ve was a little kid. The two of them quickly became friends, and ended up developing romantic feelings for each other down the line. Eventually, they ended up staying together in an old fast food place in Zone 3.

Acid was your typical angry teenager pissed off at the world. Ze was taken out of the city when ze was only 6 or 7, and grew up in the desert ever since. He floated between different crews for a long time, since he had problems getting along with people. He was about 17 when he met Rosie. Rosie was 12 at the time, and she was stranded out in the middle of the desert. She was dehydrated and looked basically dead. The crew that Acid was with picked her up and got her patched up. Acid stayed with her after that. She wasn't even a teenager yet, and he couldn't just leave her alone. They bounced around for a while, just staying alive the best they could, when they finally met Thunderclap, who, the notable softie that he is, didn't want to leave two children to their own devices with basically no usable weapons in Zone 2 (witch knows how they didn't get killed there before he found them).

Thunder took them back to Zone 3, and while Dust was initially less thrilled about taking in two random kids, gho ended up developing a soft spot for them, and the four just stuck together ever since.

Any other notable characters that might be referenced at some point?

Of course! There are two big ones, both related to the Blackbirds. -Fairy Smoke - 41 - (she/fae): Current Leader of the Blackbirds. A sort of parental or sibling figure to a lot of the people that grew up there. Just trying to make sure idiot kids aren't getting themselves killed. -Lithium Star - 22 - (they/them): Described by Thunderclap as an "asshole in neon green tights." Grew up with the Blackbirds. They might have a lot more going on from their own viewpoint, but to Dust, Lith is like an annoying little sibling that just likes getting under vir skin.

There's also one smaller character I might reference now and again. -Death Wish - 30 - (they/them): slightly ironically, a cautious and kind joy from the outer zones. They took in Acid and Angel for a couple of months.

#killjoy oc #ttlotfk #storm family killjoys #lore drop #oc writing #danger days oc

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writer-fennec · 1 month ago

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And this one too...

*me in gremlin voice* "I'm a menace to society!"

So '09 SoapGhost where their foreplay is literally a knifefight. Every once in a while, before they strip down completly Ghost takes a knife from under his pillow and almost gently pokes at Soaps side.

Soap grins at him, stealing a kiss from him and grabbing the second knife from under Ghost's pillow. They rise to their feet, and it slowly becomes a dance of death glances and heated words. Their feet move in sinc, they poke around, almost stab, trace their respective lines in the other's skin.

Things get heated, their movement more suggestive, and in a few minutes they are grinding against each other, or one of them is on their knees, but every time someone has a knife at his throat. And they both think it's hot as fuck (they know it shouldn't be, they are just enough degenerate to not think about it too hard).

That was in the bedroom. In mission Ghost and Soap were ruthless killing machines, efficient in every movement and keeping communication at minimum and coherent. No flirting, no double meanings, no open sentences. They were professionals and that was how they were able to get away with their relationship. By keeping it in the bedroom. Then one day Soap got stabbed during a mission and despite the wound being non-lethal Ghost was clinging to his side, making sure he was actually ok. Waiting for exfill Soap stopped Ghost from removing the knife in his thigh himself, mainly for higienic reasons.

«Don't take the knife out,» Soap commanded him, taking a step back since they werent alone in this missio, Roach was with them on their side, and despite not paying attention to half of what they were saying, clearly more interested in a cicada he found on a tree and that he was now holding gently in his hands, he could have just turned around and understand their relationship status in half a second. The kid was distracted, not dumb.

«Ok, so that's basically cockwarming» Ghos snapped back, taking by surprise bot Soap and Roach, the second in fact did a complete 180 and was looking at him a little wide-eyed, but not comprehending anything.

Roach signed to them: "What did I just miss in your conversation to get to that?" His eyes are wide and the cicada has fallen down in the grass, levin his hands mid-air.

«He prefers a knife inside me rather than my–» His sentence got interrupted by Tav shoving his hand over his mouth, using the other one to keep his head still, exploiting his height as an advantage to stop him from letting another word to spill out, letting his red tinted sunglasses fall on the grass and shoving around his bacalava covering one of his eyes.

«Ignore him, you know he has a mouth...» Before he could finish Ghost had alredy freed himself from his hold and was putting a bit of space between them, while holding his bacalava to put in in place correctly.

«And you like it a little too much.» Ghost stated with a smirk in his eyes, visible after his sunglasses fell, and then pointed at Tav. «That knife has privileges that I dont get,»

Roach looked even more confused for a second too long, and before Soap could get to Ghost's throat and choke him (Ghost would have spat out a "Harder, daddy!" for the sake of getting him more irritated), Roach was looking between them with wide eyes and spoke with wide signs, signalating that he was basically screaming: "Do you fuck? WHAT THE FUCK!"

Beofre Soap could try and save his reputation Ghost opened his mouth and dropped a bomb. «Yeah why? Eager to join?»

Soap smacked a hand over his eyes, not wanting to see Roach's reaction, whom on the other hand sendt a middle finger to Ghost and then signed. "No, but send a video next time you fuck,"

Ghost fell on the grass for how hard he was laughing, and until exfill got there he was still shaking a bit.

Hey! Didn’t want to jump in the dms unprompted and feel free not to answer but I just want to thank you for boosting my headcanons and fics that’s so nice of you! ✌️💀

No prob, THEY ARE SOOOOOOOOO GOOOOD!!!

Man, if I could I would write soo much fandiction with just those, but I'm already writing 2-3 and I can ensure you my brain will explode if I start writing more (mentally I have almost 30 children ready to be sento to google docs, physically only 3)

:3 thanks bone-trash

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iamnotoriginalphil · 2 years ago

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Big compliments - you're so gifted in writing stories! <3

Prompt idea for Larissa Weems x teacher!reader / friends with benefits. You both have no time to get to know new people and just want to blow of some steam. You are important to each other and trust each other so why not?

After one more night of love making rather than sex it just slips out of your mouth "I love you"

The next morning Larissa wants to end it but you will fight for your relationship

Thank you 💜

You gasped, her fingers curling within you. Red lips were smirking at you, blue eyes twinkling as your fingers twisted in the sheets beneath you. No one had ever been able to play your body as well as Larissa could.

Her lips pressed to your pulse point, tongue soothing over the mark she sucked into it. You moaned her name as her palm brushed against your clit, her pace slow, making your head spin. It was nothing like the usual rough fucking you engaged in. This was making you feel more cherished, more special.

“That’s it, love,” she murmured, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “you’re doing so good for me.”

“Fuck, Rissa,” you moaned.

Her thumb began to circle your bundle of nerves until you were a writhing mess below her. With soft kisses, you were beginning to feel your internal walls flutter around her fingers. She kept murmuring praise into your skin as your legs began to tremble.

“Oh god, I love you,” slipped from between your lips.

Her palm ground against you until you were crying out, pleasure coursing through your body. She worked you through your orgasm until you felt spent, bonelessly sinking into the mattress. Lying there, she cleaned you up, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You did so well,” she murmured into your mouth as you pulled her in for a soft kiss.

“Your turn tomorrow,” you promised, eyes slipping closed.

It wasn’t until you woke up feeling deliciously rested that you realised something had gone wrong. Usually you’d wake up in the same bed as Larissa after a night spent revelling in one another’s bodies. That day, you woke up alone.

Then the memory hit you in the face.

Showering and dressing, you went looking for her. She clearly wasn’t hiding, sitting in her office, fingers tapping away at lightning speed on her keyboard. She didn’t even look up at you entered, the door closing softly behind you.

“I think we should talk,” you said.

“Hm?” She looked up from the lit screen of her laptop.

“About last night…”

She held up a hand, silencing you before you could say anything. Your mouth closed with a snap. She didn’t even bother standing, just staring at you across the large wooden expanse.

“I think perhaps it’s time to end our arrangement,” she said, “it’s been nice but it’s served its purpose now.”

“Is this because I told you I love you?” you asked before she could say anything else.

“Of course not,” she replied, sounding offended at your accusation.

“You’re a shit liar,” you said, “and I won’t let you do this.”

“Please, love, we both knew this was only temporary,” she said, turning her attention back to the laptop.

“No, we didn’t.”

You slammed the laptop shut, her fingers only just moving out of the way in time. She stared up at you, shock on her face but you couldn’t care when you felt so angry. You were almost shaking.

“I think you’re scared, Rissa,” you hissed, leaning towards her, “I think you’re scared of the feelings you have for me because they make you vulnerable so you’d rather run from them.”

“There weren’t meant to be any feelings,” she roared.

“Too bad,” you shouted back.

She stood, towering over you, pressing you back against the edge of her desk. Your breath caught, much as it did any time she did that move. She sneered, looking over you.

“This was nothing but sex, okay?” she said, “sex and friendship and now I think it’s time for the sex to end if you’re experiencing feelings for me.”

“I’m not the only one,” you said, “I know I’m not.”

“And how do you know that, love?” she asked, drawing closer until her breath ghosted over your face.

“Because I know you,” you replied, “and no one responds like this if they’re not feeling something.”

“What do you know about it?” she hissed.

“I know I’m not giving up on you. Or on us,” you said.

You reached up, pulling her into a kiss. It was rough, more an extension of the fight you were having. Teeth tugging, fingers grasping, the sharp edge of the desk digging in. She wasn’t stopping, refusing to back down as you kissed her with all the emotion you’d been repressing. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, tearing herself away from you.

“Fuck you,” she spat, “fuck.”

She sunk back into her chair, burying her face in her hands. You waited a moment, catching your breath. She reached out a shaking hand towards you, tugging you until you were settled on her lap.

“Fuck you for making me fall in love with you,” she ground out before kissing you again.

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems #principal weems x reader #principal weems imagine

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thesunicarusfellfor · 4 years ago

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Your so great at writing omg- so could you do a part two of the yandere techno and philza?

And other idea for a different request!

Maybe ghostbur? 👀 With florist reader? And someone burned down there shop so they are very upset so ghostbur comforts them and helps build then a new one?

Again please take as long as you need.

- Your beloved Moosh ( platonically! :3)

Moosh, darling! Hello! How are you doing today? Part two of the yandere Tech and Phil chapter is up! Thank you for your requests, your ideas are just chefs kiss!

This is a tad bit short. I really really have to get out of the habit of writing 10k+ stories, because then I have no energy to write the other requests that have been waiting for a while <3

Also. This turned out to be angstier than I had hoped...

TW: Depression, emotion repression, large mentions of past Wilbur x Reader

Dead Blue Flowers (C!Ghostbur x GN!Depressed!Reader)

How...? How did this happen?

You tried so hard to remain neutral in this war, even going as far as to avoid telling people your opinions on things. Wasn't raising your tax weekly back when Schlatt was in control enough?

You just gave people flowers, for god's sake! Why did they have to burn the shop to nothing but cinders?!

Standing in front of the charred frame of your shop that had once been your prized possession. Every dollar you had raised, every smile that appeared on the faces of people you gave flowers to... You remembered the genuine smile on Wilbur's face when he gave you this plot of land to build whatever store you wanted...

Now it was all ashes that slipped through the cracks between your fingers...

"(Y/n)?" An echoing and airy voice echoed through your ears and you glanced up slightly to see a pair of shoes levitating a few inches off the ground, "What happened to your shop- Oh, you're crying, here. Take some blue. Calm yourself."

Crying?

While the levitating figure dug around, trying to find this so-called blue, you rose your hands up and touched your cheeks to find them slightly damp. When you pulled your hands away, a small cold pouch of blue dye was carefully placed in your hands, causing a small shiver to crawl down your spine, "Thanks, Bur..." You whispered softly, trying to smile to calm him down, but you just found your eyes welling up with more tears, so you put your head down in an attempt to hide them from your ghost friend.

"Did it not work? Perhaps that blue was broken..." Ghostbur reached into his small bag with his dye-stained fingers, digging around for a pouch of dye that wasn't 'broken'. You could feel a faint bit of panic in his voice as he mumbled about how blue always worked for him, so he didn't know why it wasn't working for you.

"No, Bur... It's just... I don't know what to do. My shop is gone. It was my pride and joy. Now I don't have anything left..." You murmured, holding the, now two, dye-filled packages in your cupped hands, "Even the cornflower seeds I used to make the blue flowers I gave you... They're nothing now... His mem- I'm nothing now..."

Ghostbur was panicking and the blue clutched in his hands was evident of that, "No, no! Don't say things like that! Come, come-" He gave a few coughs, his negative emotions seeming to affect him physically as well as emotionally.

You slowly pushed yourself up into a standing position, rubbing your eyes with your sleeves as your fingertips were tainted with dye. While you didn't feel much happier, despite Ghostbur's best efforts, you knew that emotionally he couldn't handle your sadness, "Thanks, Bur. I do feel much happier thanks to your blue. I'm gonna head home now." You gave him your best smile, watching as the sweater-wearing spirit studied your eyes to see if you were lying.

"Oh, okay!" The ghost perked up slightly, but his smile looked a tad bit hollow in your eyes. Guess you were in no place to judge, you did just give your best friend a smile to get him to stop panicking... Was this emotion suppression? Probably. Yeah. Ah well... As long as he's happy now. "I'm gonna go see Phil now, maybe you should come to visit sometime soon. He makes really good tea and biscuits."

"Yeah... I'll hop by his place sometime soon." You gave him the empty promise, knowing very well you didn't want anything to do with social interactions for quite a while until you found something else to put your time towards.

Over the next few days, Ghostbur would wait outside your house for you to come out and walk with you to your flower shop, but he then began to realize that you had nothing to walk to. Hell, you didn't have a reason to leave your house anymore... There was no point in coming outside. After standing under the awning above your front door for a few moments, he got an idea in his head, so he set off towards the house of Alivebur's father.

"Phiiiiiil?" He called softly, opening the front door to see the injured avian sitting in his chair in front of the fireplace, "Ah, Philza! Just the man I wanted to see!"

"Hey mate," The blond greeted softly, setting his cup of tea down on the table before getting up to properly interact with the ghost of his son, "What do ya' need from me?"

For a few seconds, hesitance filled Ghostbur's veins. He hadn't completely thought through this idea and didn't even know how you or Phil would react to it, "My ange- best friend, (Y/n)... Well, they were very very important to Alivebur, and I still have many happy memories of them... But they aren't happy now because someone burnt down their flower shop... They haven't left their house in a few days, and I'm getting a really bad feeling, Phil!" Despite the fact that a pouch of blue was tightly grasped in his hands, the ghost didn't seem to be feeling any calmer, ultimately chalking it up to the flowers he had made the dye out of must've been from a bad place.

Philza grabbed onto the ghost of his son, giving a faint hiss of pain at the icy buzz that attacked his palms, but ignored it and kept his hands on his son's shoulders. Or what was left of the son he killed, "Wil- Ghostbur. Calm down. I want you to go visit them and make sure they're still okay-"

"But I think they'll only be okay if their shop is built! I want to rebuild it for them!" Ghostbur whined softly, not exactly understanding why he felt so strongly towards you, "Alivebur really really cared about them, which means I care about them. And they're sad, even with the blue I gave them..."

Phil pursed his lips together, trying to keep quiet about exactly why Wilbur cared about you so much, "Okay, okay... I want you to go visit them and find the blueprints of their shop... If-If you can't, then I'm sure we can build something similar... Just please, make sure they're alive, eating and taking care of themselves..."

"Alive? Of course they're alive- right? right, Phil?" Ghostbur hiccuped slightly, bringing up his dye-stained fingers to his mouth in shock when the avian hesitated, "Phil?"

"Just, go check on them Wil... Please."

Without another word, the ghost hurried out the door and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky, as he floated towards the person his alive self adored so greatly. "(Y/n)... Why did Alivebur care for you so much? Why did he want you in his life so bad?" When the transparent male arrived at your door, he hurriedly pounded his fists on the door before pressing himself against it to hide under the awning as rain began to sprinkle down from the sky, "(Y/n)! Please, it's raining!" He cried, not wanting to melt.

There was a few seconds of silence before there was a rushing sound of footsteps coming from the inside of the house. Before the ghost could react, the door flew open, causing him to tumble onto the floor inside the house, "Bur! You should've checked the weather!"

He looked up at his saviour... And gave the softest smile he's ever worn. Even it had only been a few days, he began to realize just how much you meant to him as well, not just Alivebur. You were a guardian angel... A saviour from reality...

"Y-yeah, I know..." You murmured, trying to flatten down your unbrushed hair before shrinking away from your friend's gaze and into your oversized sweater that had once been Wilbur's, "I haven't really bothered to... Uhm... manage my appearance..."

"No worries, angel..." He blurted out, causing you to flinch as you stared at him. He didn't even know why he called you that to be completely honest, but he pushed himself off of your floor and dusted himself free of invisible dust, "Why haven't you been coming outside? I've been waiting outside for you every day... Phil was also worried about you losing a life in here alone!"

Pursing your lips together, you couldn't help but avoid the gaze of the ghost as you shut the door, "Sorry Bur, I've just been really tired..." You gave him a tired smile, but this time it didn't work on the poor ghost.

"I- I uhm... I know I'm forgetful, I know I'm an amnesiac, but I still feel this... I still feel things, and I try my best to make sure no one else feels it... But it's not working for helping you." He nervously grabbed onto a pouch of blue in his messenger bag, gritting his teeth together for a moment, "I figured out why that shop means so much to you... It's because it was a gift from Alivebur... Your lover... And now you feel like you have nothing left to hold his memory."

He watched as your eyes went wide and beginning to fill with tears before he went to his bag, going to grab some blue for you, but he paused upon seeing something else. A cornflower, one that never got turned into a dye, but it was withered and dead from being in the bag for so long, "Wil-Gho... Bur..." You hiccuped, trying to form words to create an apology, but your throat felt like it was tied in knots.

"That's also why you call me Bur... Because you don't want to accept that Aliv-... Wilbur... Is now a ghost..." He walked closer to you and put his hand on your arms, thankfully you were wearing a sweater to prevent frostbite from attacking your skin, "And that's okay! It's okay, (Y/n), you loved him... And he loved you, which means I love you... but I know you need time to cope with Al- Wilbur's... Death..." He carefully reached up and took your wrist, bringing your hand up into view so he could press the dead cold cornflower into your palm, "Until then, I'll stay by your side as your best friend..."

You slowly reached up and put your hand against his cheek, even though the contact burned your fingertips and he hardly felt solid... He was there... "Thank you... Ghostbur." You lowered your hand and smiled down at the dead flower in your palm.

"Now, come on, let's get you cleaned up! Me and Phil will help you rebuild your flower shop... When the rain lets up of course!"

#dream smp #ghostbur #ghostbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #wilbur dream smp #dsmp wilbur #mcyt x reader #c!wilbur #dsmp ghostbur #ghostbur dream smp #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagine #mcyt oneshots #dream smp x reader #wilbur x reader

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shortyisweird9 · 4 years ago

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'Lonely ghost serie'

Quiet Night - part I

Tw: swearing ⚠️

It all started on a quiet night, the raining outside trying desperately to calm your nerves. To stop this feeling of shutting down that creeps down your back.

You don't know why you feel like this, why your internal organs feel like they will give up on you any second, why your lungs seemed to be on the verge of collapsing, why you couldn't sleep and why you couldn't keep your mind quiet. Your anxiety made you feel like every you think you have will be gone on the blink of the eye, your depression made you feel worthless, just a waste of space, time, money and resources. A nothing that won't be missed if something were to happened to it. But they were wrong , you were more than that.

You sighed, licking your dry lips as your tired eyes watched the dark room. Shadows that made your imagination ran wilde. When you were a kid , you used to be afraid of the dark ,now you found solace in it. Shelter from the loud,obnoxious, scary world that was outside of your small house.

What I won't give from some water.

You didn't want to get up as you fixed your disheveled clothes on your plump body but you couldn't sleep on the overturned bed or have any wish to hop on YouTube or any crime investigation shows. You couldn't shout at your cat to bring you water, she will ignore you anyway.

You sighed, cleaning your eyes fron what remained of your tears before sucking in the walls of your mouth to create some interesting sounds of boredom.

As your mind did the excruciatingly hard task of thinking, your phone binged. A message but from who?

It was from your friend, Sabrina. She is an avid player of Among us even start a channel called dum Red where she and other classmates played. You are cool with the game ,not your favourite but a good pass up time.

"Hey, what's up?" She wrote.

"This early you are up?"

"Yeah ,why not."

"*?"

"You will be dead tomorrow. "

"I suffer for the entertainment of others."

You laughed as you imagined the face full of tiredness of your friend. You were the night owl of the group but she... she is an imposter. Trying to pass up as a night owl but she is just a morning seagull.

"So.. wanna come up on the feed? =))"

"Hmm..you sure? I don't want to fuck up your stream."

"Nonsense, they will love you."

You sighed, it's not like you had anything better to do.

"Fine."

"Yayyyy💖💖"

You groaned as your eyes burned from the brightness of the monitor, the writing hazy as ever. You moved to get your glasses from the night table, stretching and sighing when you heard the satisfying pop from your lower back. As you let Windows ran its course ,you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, cold water was superior by a long shot. Your cat was watching you with her big yellow eyes. You baby talked with her for a bit ,petting her then washing your hands.

The invitation of the link long send ,was quickly tapped in.

"Hey ,guys! Welcome back!" Your friend's voice ran in your room before you entered the headphones cord.

"Guys, I told you it was pink. You never believe me."

You smiled as the usual banter raged on , nice to know that even at this hour people were more alive than asleep.

"Yeah, yeah. Roberts you always complain."

"Because I am always right."

"Cool your jets ,Jamal. Don't pull out the 9."

They laughed at their friend's expanse.

"Whatever."

"Um ,Red?"

"Yeah , Steve? What's up?"

"The sky."

"Robert, shut."

"Um..who is ghost?"

"Who? Ah! Everyone ,please say hi to my friend, Y- ghost!"

The loud chorus of salutations hit your ears as their characters circled around your still one. It was white with red pointy horns ,you liked the aesthetic of it.

"Um..ghost? Are you-..Are you there?"

"Ghost?"

You sighed, getting ready to talk after making sure it was on.

"Ghost? Hey, it's okay. We don't bite." A worried voice calm you a bit.

"Not too hard, ha."

"Ghost!"

They all began hitting on the desks with their fists to create a beat. Poor desks.

"Gho-"

"'Sup motherfuckers."

The quiet settled in, making your dread more prominent and your skin tingle. You wanted to say something but the boys and girls beat you to it:

"OH MY - FUCKING- GOD!"

"NO FUCKING WAY!"

"What the fuck? Sovereign is that you?"

"Red you didn't tell us your friends with a MOTHERFUCKING reaper."

You laughed as the voice changer made it deeper, mechanic but enought to ignite something judging by the face of your school pal , Matthew.

"What's the manner toots? My voice is too much to handle?"

They were quiet again as Matthew cleaned his throat to finally address.

"Very funny, best friend. I am dying of laughter. "

He smiled though, knowing you were just teasing him.

"The matter of death remains to be determine."

"Phew ,is it hot in here or it's just..."

"You. It's just you." You spoke watching the blond boy with milk skin and acne scars move his green shirt to cool off, you chuckled at this.

People are so easy to get a reaction from. Not like you, yourself, haven't been affected by the charm of a deep voice.

"Ready to play?" Came the cheery voice of Sabrina as you watched her move in the chair, playing with her sand blonde curls and wearing your lavender hoodie.

"You still haven't got me the hoodie back, Red."

"Yeah, Red. You don't want Sovereign daddy to be mad,do you?"

You snorted in an ugly manner at the nicknamed a dude called David put you. He had a small moustache, black curls fit in a square like afro. He may be the Arab friend Sabrina told you about. He seemed nice, maybe a bit shy but then again so were you. Hmm...not shy,more like reserved. You liked being alone but you also craved the touch of another being.

"Mommy, David, mommy. "

"Ooooh!"

"Alright you horny bitches ,time to play."

With that Sabrina began the match as your smirk grew when the word IMPOSTER was displayed on your screen.

Time to kill some bitches.

————————————————————

In the other corner of the internet, Corpse was getting ready to hop on another live stream with Jackie boy and Pewds. He loved how his life changed , how his supporters were kind and understanding. He was still nervous yes but the thrill was outweighed by the happiness of just being around so many good people.

His phone started to blow up as he was putting his headphones. People were tagging him on a small video of an Among us live stream, he pressed play not thinking much about the title of the video : HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!!

The film started with the host presenting their friends who seemed to by a bit scared of saying hi. The others started cheering them on but stopped abruptly when a deep mechanical voice hit their audio. It was from a voice changer no doubt but still..it shocked them as it did for him.

His eyes skipped on the funny comments left by his fans. Some where calling them his twin, other called for a collab and others thought it was actually he who spoke.

The other thing that stood out was the match. Ghost as she calls herself ended their match in one go... by killing all of them except the other imposter. He smiled at that , impressed of the skill of a casual player as her friend dum Red said she was.

A notification came from Discord, it was Lily. She send the same video he's been watching with the caption: Hey, guys! Look what I found.

The others flooded the chat with their own reaction as he drank his boba tea. The consensus was that they wanted to play with this person. His smile grew was the word 'yes' was sent.

This will be fun.

————————————————————

Hey guys! 💖

Hope you liked the first part of the serie! Feel free to comment your thoughts and opinions but please be nice and respectful. 👉🥺👈

Anyway, see yah!

#corpse husband x reader #x reader #fanfic #hopefully not cringy #lonely ghost serie

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onecanonlife · 4 years ago

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careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 6,567

Chapter Warnings: swearing, minor violence, manipulation/mind control, blood, vomiting, and explicit s.uicidal thoughts

Chapter Summary: Wilbur meets the Egg. It doesn’t go well. At all.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

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Chapter Seven: feet in the fire

A new day dawns, as per usual.

Tommy and Tubbo are waiting for him when he steps outside, shielding his eyes against the sun. They’ve got their heads tilted together, discussing something in hushed tones, Tommy gesticulating wildly, and he takes a moment to stop and smile at them. It’s just like when they were kids, the both of them getting into one mischief or another. Tommy was always the one to be blamed for it, but Wilbur knows better than to think that Tubbo doesn’t instigate his own fair share of chaos. It’s hidden better, but they’re two peas in a pod, in the end.

“Should I be concerned?” he asks, the words coming easily. Today is a good day, he thinks. He feels good, better than he has since his return. The darkness has receded, and his heart almost feels light. He can almost forget about the scar that runs across it.

They both jump, heads swiveling toward him.

“Wilbur!” Tommy says, at the exact same time as Tubbo says, “Good morning!” He glances between the two of them, and feels his lips curl upward into a smile once again. It feels easy, to be smiling with them.

“As long as I’m not the victim,” he says, and Tubbo shakes his head.

“No, no,” he says, “see, we were thinking about the Egg, right? And how it’s just, like, an egg. And we assume that it’s red, because of all of the vines, but we’ve never seen it, so we don’t actually know how big it is. I think that it’s a great big egg, because all these vines are big and thick.”

“And I think,” Tommy interjects, “that there’s no way that these vines are coming from the actual Egg itself, because vines don’t hatch out of eggs. So I think that it’s a regular-sized egg, and they’ve got it on a pedestal or something like that, or a, an egg throne. But it’s gonna look so fucking stupid, because it’s literally just a little egg, and we should smash it with something and see what they do about it.”

He hesitates. “I’ve got to go with Tubbo on this one,” he says. “I don’t think it’s going to be a regular egg.”

“Psh, you don’t know,” Tommy says. “You’re dumb. Oh!” His face brightens. “I forgot, Tubbo brought you some things.”

He lifts an eyebrow and takes a few steps forward, and something in his chest warms at the way Tubbo doesn’t tense up like he did the first day, doesn’t flinch back. There is still wariness in his eyes, but he doesn’t think he’s mistaking the way that it’s lessened.

He hardly deserves it. But today is a good day, and he’ll take it for the moment.

“Yeah,” Tubbo says. “Tommy’s still dirt poor, so he asked me to do it, but here’s some gear. We thought you should have something.”

Tommy is sputtering at the description, but Tubbo ignores him. He opens up his inventory, and then takes out—gear. A couple of swords, shimmering with enchantments, a bow, an axe, a pickaxe. Wilbur feels something in him loosen just looking at them; he hadn’t realized how vulnerable he’d felt, being weaponless, and that’s probably a bit fucked up, actually. He didn’t always feel the need to keep a weapon on him at all times.

(you led child soldiers to battle when you were little more than a child yourself and can you really feel surprised, at the way the metal hums in your hand, now, the way your fingers are more secure wrapped around the hilt of a sword than the neck of your guitar?)

(you learned to play such different songs, the blood bright and accented in your eyes, every scream a crescendo)

He glances up, checking to be sure that Tubbo really does intend these for him. Tubbo nods, so he crouches down to inspect the weapons, now all laying on the grass.

“I’ve got armor too,” Tubbo says, “but I wasn’t sure that you’d want it.”

And doesn’t that carry a wealth of connotations, of memories? There is a sharpness to the words along with the question, and Wilbur

(my L’Manberg, my L’Manberg, a promise of safety you never could keep)

turns it over in his mind, poking at it.

“No armor, thank you,” he says. “I never did like it all that much. I’ll let you know if that changes. Thank you for these, though.” He gathers up the weapons, choosing a sword to wear at his waist and sliding the rest of them one by one into his inventory, and then glances up again to catalog their reactions. Tubbo seems to have expected the answer, but Tommy is frowning at him, and he has to wonder if he’s remembering something else, remembering

(the last time he refused armor, he was intending to die, had written himself off as lost, lost along with his symphony, the only possible redemption in the press of a button, the lighting of a match, and Tommy didn’t know it then but hindsight is twenty-twenty and Tommy has always been too smart for his own good)

the wars and what followed.

Tommy sees him looking, and his expression smooths over.

“Alright boys,” he crows, as if nothing at all had happened. “Egg time!”

Tubbo snorts. “Egg time,” he agrees, and Wilbur stands.

“Egg time,” he says, and then they’re off.

The day really is pleasant, a cool breeze blowing and not a cloud in the sky. Tommy and Tubbo fill the air with aimless chatter and bickering, and he chimes in sometimes and doesn’t even feel strange about doing so. This feels natural, feels right, and if he can have more days like this, days that put a spring in his step and a gentle tune in his ears, he thinks that being alive won’t be such a chore after all. Perhaps he can even learn to be thankful for it, well and truly.

He thinks that would be nice. To love life again. It’s a distant, glimmering possibility, but today it seems a bit nearer.

“It’s under Bad’s mansion, I think,” Tubbo is saying. “But they made another entrance, I’m pretty sure. Should be somewhere around—”

“Hey, Tubbo!” a voice calls. “Hey, Tommy!”

And it is a new voice. Not Tommy or Tubbo. Not Sam. A new voice, and that means a new person, and Wilbur can’t prevent the way all his muscles go taut, can’t prevent himself from fingering the hilt of his gifted sword. It’s partially a leftover instinct from the war and partially his own fear, his own aversion to being seen by anyone, to being forced into a confrontation.

He wasn’t always like this. He used to delight in speaking to people, or in a good debate, twisting his opponent’s words all around into Gordian knots until he has his victory. He’s not sure that that part of him will ever return, will ever fully recover from

(the world is against you and you are alone and you can trust no one for they will shake your hand with a smile in their eyes and stab you in the back as soon as you forget yourself and turn)

those dark days, the days that took his charisma and twisted it into spite and paranoia and manipulation. Words that once were sweet drip down bitter-sharp, or shrivel on his tongue before they can breathe at all.

“Huh—oh!” Tubbo says. “It’s just Ranboo, Wilbur, don’t worry. Ranboo!”

Tubbo can see his stress, then, and that’s bad enough. He doesn’t need anyone else bearing witness to it. But Tubbo is already calling out and waving, and there is someone approaching them from off to the side of the path, someone very, very tall, half their skin pitch black and the other half stark white, a small golden crown perched in their hair. And Wilbur thinks, I have no fucking clue who this is, and a split second later, he thinks, Oh, it’s Ranboo, and the cognitive dissonance threatens to overwhelm him before he figures out its source.

He has never met this guy in his life. But Ghostbur did. Ghostbur—liked him? He’s fairly certain. Ghostbur liked everyone, of course, but they bonded, he’s pretty sure. Over memory problems? Ranboo has memory problems? That seems right?

What a mess.

“Hi,” Ranboo says. “Feels like it’s been a while. Oh, hey Gho—ostbur?” His voice trails off on the last word, going up about an octave and a half, suddenly very uncertain.

What does he remember about Ranboo? Soft-spoken, he thinks. Kind. Generally pretty nervous. A sardonic sense of humor, if you can get to it, one that made Ghostbur laugh. That’s all he can come up with. He was with Tubbo’s L’Manberg, but he doesn’t know what happened to him after—well. After.

He steps forward, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Not really,” he says. “Alivebur is more accurate.” He pauses. “Please just call me Wilbur, though. It’s nice to meet you. In the flesh, that is.”

Ranboo’s eyes widen. He’s not making eye contact, fixing his gaze just to Wilbur’s left instead, and—ah. That’s right. Enderman.

“Wow,” Ranboo says. “Uh, yeah! Nice to meet you too, I guess? Um, has this been a thing, or…?”

“Recent development,” Tubbo says. “We’re taking it slow.”

He feels like he should object to that phrasing. It makes him sound a bit like he’s… in their care or something like that, though he supposes that’s not entirely inaccurate. He’s hardly made strides to go and do anything by himself.

“Oh,” Ranboo says. He pauses. “Well, that’s cool. Do you know how?” He seems to regret the question immediately, holding his hands up in front of him, placating. “Not that you have to tell me or anything! But it’s just, I was there when Phil tried to resurrect you that one time, I don’t know if you remember. And it didn’t really seem to work?”

“You’re fine,” he says. “We don’t really know. We’re rolling with it.”

“That’s fair,” Ranboo says, and there is a moment of awkward silence. Wilbur can tell that he wants to ask something else, but he refrains, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Um, so I was just at the spider spawner. Needed to fix some armor. What are you guys up to?”

“We want to see the Egg,” Tommy says. “Have you seen the Egg, Ranboo?”

“The Egg?” Ranboo repeats. “You mean the one with the, uh—” He gestures around them, presumably at the vines that sprawl across the ground nearby. “No, I haven’t seen it. I don’t really want to, if I’m entirely honest. Kind of creepy, how people are fawning over it. I mean, it’s just an egg. Presumably. So I’m not really interested in getting involved.”

“We’re going to draw stuff all over it if it’s small,” Tommy says. “I’ve decided that just now.”

“Oh?” Ranboo says, and then doesn’t seem to know where to go with it.

“You could come with us if you wanted,” Tubbo says, but Ranboo shakes his head.

“Nah, I should be getting home. I have to feed Enderchest,” he says. “It was nice seeing you guys, though. And you, Wilbur. Um, welcome back to life, I guess?” He hesitates. “I gotta ask, does Phil know? Because we’re neighbors, and I was wondering if I should say anything about it or not.”

“You’re neighbors?” Wilbur asks, and looks at Ranboo in a new light. Young, anxious, in need of a secure place to stay once L’Manberg was destroyed—huh. That fits the bill. That fits the bill exactly. This is the type of kid that he can see Phil getting attached to.

(his heart’s always been too big for his own good, too soft despite all the years he’s lived, though he has to wonder why Ranboo is allowed a place and not Tommy, not the child he took in as his own years and years ago)

(it’s a matter of betrayal, perhaps, perceived on both sides, and which is right, he doesn’t know)

(he’s not going to tell Tommy that he’s not angry about L’Manberg’s destruction, because that might be a betrayal in and of itself)

“Huh,” he says, instead of voicing any of his thoughts aloud. “No, Phil knows, I’ve seen him. Him and Techno both.”

“Okay, good to know,” Ranboo says, and he really does look relieved. “Good luck with the Egg.”

“See you around, Ranboo,” Tubbo says. “You should stop by Snowchester sometime.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” Ranboo says, and then with a slight wave and a bit of a smile, he’s walking off along the path. Wilbur stares after him for a moment, which is why he sees how he stops and pulls out a book after he’s gone a few dozen meters and begins rapidly scribbling in it.

His memory book. He remembers that.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Tubbo says. They start walking again, and then they leave the path and start crossing the grass. The vines become thicker, more frequent. Something about them fills him with a sense of unease. Probably their color; outside of the nether, nothing is quite that shade of red, a dark crimson that reminds him of nothing so much as blood. Not dried blood, not the color it gets when it’s caked on like rust,

(coating his sleeves and he didn’t clean them so the blood is still there and he can smell it and the sword is in his hand and the stains are never going to come out)

but rather, it’s as if it’s frozen in time, still glistening, ready to flow again when the force holding it back gives way.

“I remember Ranboo,” he says absently. “Sort of. Ghostbur liked him. Though I guess that’s not really an accomplishment.”

And then, they’re at a short structure built into the earth, a ladder leading down. He peers over the edge, and can just barely make out a pool of water at the bottom, intended to break a fall.

“The spawner’s down there,” Tubbo says. “But I’m pretty sure there’s a tunnel that connects it to underneath Bad’s mansion, and that’s where the Egg is. Are we ready?”

“Of course we’re ready,” Tommy scoffs. He’s grinning, bright and wild. It’s the promise of adventure, Wilbur supposes, excitement without too much danger. Something new to discover, perhaps a new prank to play. His enthusiasm is infectious, but somehow, he can’t bring himself to join in fully. The sun is still shining, but something heavy weighs on him now, something that he can’t place. It’s the vines, he thinks, their unsettling nature, and he can’t bring himself to be sure that this will be without risk.

But Tommy’s on the ladder. Tubbo’s got one leg over the side, preparing to follow. There’s nowhere to go but down.

They make it without incident, and the sound of at least a hundred spiders hits his ears as soon as his feet touch the ground. He winces, trying to ignore the skittering and shrieking, but it’s impossible to do so entirely. But Tubbo is right—there are several tunnels leading out of this room, and there is a fuzzy red glow emanating from one of them. He exchanges glances with Tommy, who is still grinning, and with Tubbo, who has a smile on his face. Neither of them think this could go wrong, then. He should probably trust to that. He’s been alive again for all of five days. They know the server better than he does, at the moment.

They descend. He keeps his hand near the hilt of his sword.

He wishes Schlatt were here, just a little bit. His presence would be irritating, but reassuring. Reassuring to have another adult here, little help though he would be. Reassuring to have someone who could make fun of the situation, distract him from his mounting sense of dread. But he hasn’t seen Schlatt since yesterday, since he vanished from the prison, and he

(isn’t worried, not one bit)

can’t help but wonder where he is, what he’s doing. It’s not like anyone else can see him, not like he can touch anything. So how is he occupying his time?

It’s warm down here.

The heat is stifling, humid, like a swamp, almost, but worse, because there are fumes as well, and that acrid scent that comes hand in hand with lava. As they enter the main chamber, it is easy enough to see why: there are patches of lava and molten rock all across the floor, and vines hang down from the ceiling and cover nearly every square inch of space. The floor itself is obsidian, he notices. And there, in the corner—

It can only be the egg. He can’t tell how tall it is, can barely see it though the clusters of vines dangling in front of him. But it is very large, and very red, and beside him, Tommy mutters a curse. Too big to vandalize quickly and hightail it out, but frankly, Wilbur feels as though that’s the least of their problems.

“That is a big egg,” Tubbo says. He sounds impressed.

“I’ve seen bigger,” Tommy grumbles, stepping further into the room. He almost trips over one of the vines, and he shoots a scowl at his feet.

“No you have not,” Tubbo says. “Where have you seen a bigger egg?”

“I—” Tommy stops. “C’mon, let’s go look at it.”

“No, no, I want to know where you’ve seen a bigger egg,” Tubbo presses, even as they walk forward, picking their way through the room carefully. “Wilbur, back me up, where has Tommy seen a bigger egg?”

“Maybe he laid one,” he replies, and that response makes no sense at all, but he can’t be bothered to put in the effort. The closer they get, the more his mind is screaming at him

(get out get out get out)

that something isn’t right about this, that they’ve made a mistake in coming down here, and there is a corner of his brain that is filling with static, buzzing and distracting and uncomfortable. And then they’re standing right in front of it, and that feeling multiplies tenfold.

The Egg is several times his height and even wider across, and it is a shade of red that is unparalleled even by its vines. It is a shade of red that seems to move, that seems to scream, that seems to drip and ooze into the air. It almost looks as though it is made of blood itself, as if he could put out a hand and stick it right though, and he almost tries it before he balks at the idea, every instinct he has rejecting the urge.

No. This Egg is not for touching.

“I’m not sure I like this,” Tubbo murmurs after a moment. His ears lie flat against his head.

“It’s just an egg,” Tommy says. “Don’t be a pussy. Wil, what do you think?”

Wilbur opens his mouth and finds that he cannot reply.

“Do you think I could break a piece off?” Tommy asks. “Like a souvenir?”

“You shouldn’t do that,” someone says, and Wilbur jerks violently, his sword half unsheathed before he’s given himself permission for the action.

BadBoyHalo. It’s BadBoyHalo, only not, not Bad as Wilbur remembers him, because his face has taken on an ashen grey pallor, and his capillaries spread out like a web across his face, and they are the same white as his eyes. The same stark white, but somehow sickly, and blood shouldn’t be that color, blood should not be white, and Bad’s face itself looks gaunt and shadowed, half-starved, and his smile, once so kind and genial, is something predatory, something threatening. Bad is a demon, but he has never been a monster, and now Wilbur isn’t so sure that there isn’t a terrible thing peering at him out of those white, blank eyes, a terrible thing that isn’t Bad at all.

Antfrost stands beside him, and Antfrost’s eyes are red instead of blue.

“Hi Tommy, Tubbo,” Bad says. His voice is chipper, pleasant, and yet— “Hi, Wilbur! I didn’t realize that you were back! Have you come to see the Egg?”

Should Bad be this blasé about his appearance? He doesn’t think so. They were never friends.

(and even his friends were not his friends, by the end)

“Yeah, we wanted to check it out,” Tubbo says.

“That’s great,” Bad says. “Visitors are always welcome. It’s a fantastic egg, isn’t it?”

The question is searching, probing. He’s looking for a specific answer. Wilbur thinks that it would be a bad idea to give him the wrong one.

“I mean, it’s very big,” Tommy says.

“It is, it is,” Bad agrees, nodding amiably. “Are you liking it so far? I mean, are you having fun?”

Wilbur opens his mouth, intending to say yes, intending to say it’s the best egg in all the world, intending to say anything and everything that Bad so clearly wants to hear if only it will get them out of here sooner. But his mind is filled with static and he is too slow to the mark, so it is Tommy that answers.

“It’s fine, I guess,” he says. “Your decorations are shit, though. It’s too crowded down here. If I were a decorating expert, which I am, I’d say that you might try to clear some of this out, you know?”

“That’s—an interesting suggestion, Tommy,” Bad says, and his smile is much more strained. He doesn’t bother to hide it. It’s like a thin gash in his face. “I’ll bear that in mind.” He tilts his head. “I like it like this, though. I think it really gives life to the room. And we wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt it.”

“Hurt it?” Tommy repeats, and Wilbur’s heart is suddenly in his throat, with no reason as to why. “It’s a fucking egg.”

Bad goes very still. Very still, and very quiet. Antfrost’s eyes gleam, and his ears twitch.

“It’s a very good Egg,” Bad says. “Maybe you should listen to what it has to say. I bet it has something to offer you.”

That doesn’t—that doesn’t make any sense. Bad isn’t making any sense, and it’s a kind of nonsense that is unnerving, made worse by his apparent sincerity. Wilbur tries to reach out, tries to get Tommy’s attention, tries to get him close, but his arms won’t move. All of his limbs feel thick, heavy, and his head is spinning, airy and light and disconnected, and Bad and Ant are intimidating figures, suddenly, figures that stand between them and the exit. Wilbur thinks that perhaps, he should draw his sword. He doesn’t like the way that Bad is talking, doesn’t like the way that Ant is staring.

Instead, he turns his head to look at the Egg.

Tommy barks a laugh, loud and incredulous, and it’s like someone has driven a pickaxe through Wilbur’s skull. He moans faintly, but no one seems to notice. The room is swimming.

“Have you gone nutters?” Tommy asks. “It’s a fucking Egg. I don’t see a mouth on it anywhere. In fact, if it has a mouth, I don’t want to know about it, because that is fucking disgusting—”

“Actually,” Tubbo says quietly, “I think I can hear it.”

Tommy stops.

“You what?”

“You do?” Bad asks. He takes a step forward. Wilbur wants to take a step back. He doesn’t move. He’s looking at the Egg, and he can’t tear his gaze away, despite what’s happening in the corner of his eye, because there’s something just on the edge of his perception that he can’t—

“What is it saying to you?” Bad continues.

“It’s saying—” Tubbo’s face scrunches up. “Actually, I really don’t think I like this. I think we should go. What I can make out isn’t very polite.” His voice wavers, wobbles, like a spinning top running out of momentum.

“Really,” Bad says. His voice has gone flat. “I think you should stay and listen some more. It might grow on you.”

“Um, no,” Tommy says, “no, I think that’s a bad idea, actually. I don’t want to—is this some kind of cult? Are you a cult, BadBoyHalo? Is this Egg your cult leader? I think we should not listen to the Egg cult. This is weird. This is fucking weird. Tubbo, do you want to go? Let’s go.”

Tommy makes a motion. Wilbur can’t tell what. He’s looking at the Egg, and his vision is blurry. But he can see the way that Bad steps forward again, the way that Ant steps to the other side. Their netherite armor gleams. The message is clear: if they want to leave, they go through them, and Wilbur can barely think past the way his head is pounding, but this was a bad idea. This was so clearly a bad idea.

Was this Dream’s plan all along? Get them down here, get them into—whatever situation this is?

“Hold on just a minute,” Bad says. “I don’t think you’ve given the Egg a fair chance. The Egg wants what’s best for everyone, and that means you guys, too. How about you, Wilbur, do you like the Egg?”

He opens his mouth. No sound comes out. The room is swaying. The Egg is right there. He could touch it.

(static static static and beneath it there is)

Tommy is at his elbow, gripping his sleeve. “C’mon, big man, you feeling alright? You’re looking awfully pale.” A moment, and then, “Wilbur? Wilbur? Tubbo, something’s wrong with him. Come on, Wilbur, let’s go.”

“Do you hear the Egg, Wilbur?” Bad asks, soft and steady, and his voice slices through the fog.

Because he—

He—

(glowing and red and creeping and comforting and sickly and familiar)

He hears it.

A whisper, trailing just on the borderline of audibility. A whisper, rasping and knife-edged, and it feels like a hand, like a hand is reaching into his brain, touching his mind, dragging its fingertips on his thoughts, and he is shaking, and he can’t stop. It is a whisper, and he doesn’t understand the words, but their meaning filters through to him all the same.

It whispers to him of fire. He can hear it crackling. He can hear it burning. He can feel it on his flesh, eating him, eating up his skin and his sinews and his bones until he is ash, ash mingling with the ash of his city. He is on fire and the fire hurts and it is a beautiful pain, a pain to revel in, a pain that he has chosen, a pain that has him grinning even as his lips burn away and bare his teeth, bare his skull, a permanent smile, a smile that means he’s won. His fingers are clenched around the match, his fingers are caressing the button, his fingers are grasping the hilt of the sword as he forces Phil’s arm to drive it forward. But it doesn’t matter, because he is the fire and he is the ash, and he is eaten away and he eats everything else, a serpent consuming his own tail and screaming and laughing and choking all the while.

It whispers to him of fire. You could burn the world, it says, and dance in the ruins, dance on the flickering spark-soaked wind, and it will be of you, their destruction, because if you cannot have it then no one deserves it so why not grant them the wreckage their betrayals have wrought?

His blood sings with it, with the thrill of it, with the desperate, ugly longing for it, the beast that lives under his skin rising to the surface, and unlike the kraken it breathes and it lives and it howls.

“Wilbur?”

He comes back to himself, a bit, and finds that he is smiling in truth, his lips pulled back, his teeth on display.

“Wilbur?” Tommy says again. “Wilbur, we need to go.”

Tommy doesn’t understand. Tommy doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t hear the voice, doesn’t hear its promises, its wonderful, wonderful promises. But that’s alright. He will, in time, and until then, Wilbur can understand for the both of them.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he tells him. “You’ll see. Can’t you hear it, Tommy? The world is on fire!”

He laughs, giddy. The room is spinning, and he with it, and his head throbs in time with his heart.

It whispers to him of a song.

A song, rife with drumbeats, thudding like the steps of a hundred armies, a million soldiers fighting and dying on the field. He was one of them, once, was Ares and led them all to blood. Blood, red and flowing, and what a lovely color it is. The blood is in the song, too, a plink plink plink of high staccato notes, a thrumming bass line that goes down in steps, a celebration

(no no no it’s a ground bass it’s a lament it’s a lament)

for the life spilling on the ground, for the life that is sacrificed, for the life that is fed to the cause, to the symphony, to the symphony! It understands his symphony, can sing in harmony with it! He’s gone so very long playing by himself, and yet here is something that knows the tune.

“No,” Tommy says, his voice shaking like a leaf on the breeze, “no, no, Wilbur, Wilbur, you’ve got to stop it, you’re scaring me, Wilbur, please—”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he replies, because he must make it clear, must make Tommy understand. “The symphony’s still there, Tommy, can’t you hear it? It’s kept on without me, but I’m here now. I can continue it how I want.” He widens his smile. “I can leave it how I want. I can leave it unfinished again. I can make sure that no one finishes it.”

Tubbo makes a noise, like a small scream. Tommy is silent.

“The Egg can do it, Tommy,” he says. “The Egg can do it. All you have to do is listen. Please, Tommy, for me, can’t you hear it?”

Finally, finally, he wrenches his gaze away from the Egg. Bad and Ant have moved closer, Tommy and Tubbo farther away. Tommy’s eyes are wide, and blue, and terrified.

(blue)

“No,” Tommy answers. “No, Wilbur, I can’t hear it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“We can fix that,” Bad offers, and Wilbur turns his smile on him. “All you have to do is stay down here for a little while. How does that sound?”

“It sounds bad! It sounds very, very bad!” Tommy erupts. “We’re not fucking staying down here, not when you’ve made Wilbur go all—” He gestures, and Wilbur doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. He feels fine, feels real, feels exultant, and he’d thought such emotions lost to him, so shouldn’t Tommy be happy for him? “We’re leaving, and if you try to stop us, then I’ll—fuck, I’ll stab the fucking thing and crack it open, and you can be all weird and cultish over the yolk.” As he says it, he pulls out a sword of his own, netherite and shining with enchantments, waving it wildly in the Egg’s direction.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Tommy,” Bad says, and then looks to Ant. “We’ll remove the obstacle. Tubbo and Wilbur can stay here.”

That sounds like a good idea. He’ll stay here, and the Egg will give him everything it promised in exchange for his devotion. And Tubbo will learn, in time, to love it. It is unfortunate, about Tommy, but those who threaten the Egg must either be brought around or they must be disposed of,

(wait)

and Tommy is never inclined to listen after he’s gotten an idea in his head. He’s terribly stubborn like that. So if he’s decided to oppose the Egg, there’s only one thing left to do.

Wilbur draws his sword, and in unison with Bad and Ant, steps toward Tommy. Tubbo shouts a denial, fumbling for his own weapon, but Tommy just stands there, staring at him, a look on his face that

(is horror and betrayal and you promised to protect him promised you wouldn’t hurt him anymore so what are you doing)

does something strange to his stomach, and—

The Egg is calling for his death, calling for his blood. But this—

This is Tommy. His little brother. He’s striding toward his little brother with his sword in his hand, and this isn’t—

The Egg whispers. Wilbur hears it. And it

(is going to hurt Tommy)

is going to hurt Tommy. He sees it in his mind: Tommy’s limbs sprawled on the ground, Tommy’s eyes gazing up sightlessly, Tommy’s shirt wet with blood, Tommy dead and Tommy gone, and a wave of revulsion washes over him. Tubbo is moving forward, is moving to protect, but Ant engages him, and Bad is too close to Tommy, and Bad’s sword is raised, is poised to strike, and Tommy reacts too late and he’s not going to get his own sword up in time and the Egg is so loud and demanding and Wilbur can hear it but he doesn’t want—

He catches Bad’s blade on his own. Interposes himself between Bad and Tommy.

“Get the fuck away from him,” he growls.

Bad’s eyes widen.

“Don’t you want to protect the Egg?” he asks, and Wilbur reels, because a large part of him wants to say yes, wants to say that he will give the Egg anything and everything it wants. But the problem is that there is another part of him, now, a part that puts Tommy’s safety above all else, and that part of him is trembling and shaking and terrified, and the Egg doesn’t feel like a soothing whisper but instead like a snarl, and there are still fingers in his brain but he can recognize them for what they are, for what they’re doing, can recognize that they’re fucking with his thoughts, yanking them around like a marionette on a string, and—

“Get out of my head,” he cries out, and goes on the offensive, and Bad must be surprised, because he allows himself to be driven back. The Egg screams, and he screams, too, because it’s loud and his head hurts so bad and part of him wants desperately to follow its commands and he feels as though he’s being ripped in half.

(it’s in his head it’s in his head it’s a violation it’s scraping off his skin hollowing him out and putting itself inside and he doesn’t want it doesn’t want it he wants it out wants it out out out)

There is a clang, a clatter of armor, and Wilbur chances a glance back to see that Tubbo’s gotten one up on Ant, somehow, and he’s grabbed Tommy’s hand and then Tommy’s grabbing his, and they’re all running. And Bad lets them go, sprints over to Ant instead, and they’re going to get out, they’re going to get out—

The Egg whispers to him of rest.

(it’s in his head and it won’t leave and it’s like worms writhing under his skin but)

He digs his heels into the floor and turns back. Tommy is shouting something and Tubbo is shouting something and they’re both pulling on his hands, but he won’t let himself budge.

The Egg whispers to him of rest, tells him, If you will not take the fire, then why not take the dark, they will be safe and unharmed without you there to burn them and you can find your peace again, that comforting nothingness that allowed you to drift, and

(yes)

yes, he wants that, wants that so badly, because he was dragged back to life, dragged back into the world that cut him down to the quick, that formed all his sharp edges, and for Tommy’s sake, he can pretend, but he doesn’t want to be here. And the red of the Egg is comforting again, its glow soothing and warm, and All you have to do is give in, it says to him, all you have to do is let go and the peace is yours and who could blame you for taking it back when it was wrongfully wrested away from you?

“Come on, Wilbur!” Tommy is shouting.

“It’s offering me rest, Tommy,” he says, and his voice is agonized. “It’s offering—I want to rest, Tommy.”

“Wha—no!” Tommy says, and from the shock in his voice, the horror, Wilbur knows that he understands exactly what he means. “No rest! You—you fucking promised, Wilbur, you told me that you were glad to be here!”

(it’s in his head and it’s using his mouth but it’s only saying what he’s been hiding, has brought these thoughts to the surface, to the light)

“I lied,” he says. “Tommy, I want to rest. Please, let me go.”

(his father stands in front of him, his sword in his hand, and his eyes are bewildered and hurt and confused and terrified, and he knows that with the way he is, it will only take a push for him to get what he wants, only a push to provoke his father into a reaction, and he is so very selfish but he is far past caring, because the symphony is unfinished and he is ready to go he is ready to go)

He looks at Tommy. Tommy is crying.

“Fuck you,” Tommy snarls. “Fuck you, we’re leaving, we’re leaving right fucking now, Tubbo, help me—”

And they are pulling him back, pulling him back and away, but he is struggling, fighting them, because

(please let me go please let me go)

the red is so warm and so soothing and as long as it’s not asking him to hurt Tommy, it’s alright, really, and he wants this, he does, and all of his earlier thoughts about fingers and puppets have dissipated and he wants this, he’s sure that he does, and Tommy and Tubbo aren’t letting him, they aren’t letting him go. And Ant is on his feet again, and he and Bad are advancing, and if he can just get to them, they will help him, they will understand—

And then everything gets very confusing. Because there is another voice, suddenly, one he doesn’t recognize. More sounds of fighting, and he doesn’t know who is fighting who, because the world is fading away around him, and his vision is just red. And then he’s being manhandled, and he wants to keep struggling, but his limbs aren’t responding, and someone is carrying him up a ladder, and then he’s being set on the grass, and the nausea hits him hard and quick, and he’s retching, bile coming up, and he’s choking on it and he can’t get any air—

And there are flashes. More nausea. His head pounding, like someone’s tried to make a jigsaw puzzle out of his skull. Water, cool and refreshing, and the red subsides, but he hurts, hurts so very much.

Tommy’s voice, yelling. A glimpse of Tommy’s face. And then, Wilbur is out.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #badboyhalo #alivebur #/rp #cat writes fic #long post

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monsterheartshq · 5 years ago

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THE GHOST.

“ tormented, insecure, intuitive, fickle. the ghost is all about channeling past trauma, seeing people’s true selves, and having spooky powers. ”

biography.

name. letty hollister age. twenty one occupation. waitress at abigail’s diner sexuality. demisexual, demiromantic gender. cisfemale faceclaim. danielle campbell monster. ghost

origin.

she was born colette elizabeth vogel to two middle-class german-american parents on july 6th, 1933 in camden, maine. she grew up in a quaint suburb, ate family dinners at six sharp, listened to war reports on the radio, was the type of girl who was always gifted an extra soda or an extra candy bar by adults. boys chased her from the age of fourteen but the one she ended up with was a boy she used to chase, a childhood friend born two years before her. they were really, truly, happy for a few years, for a little while. one december, on the way home from an office party, another car struck hers. she’d been twenty-one.

but that was all over now. that had been her life, and all she had before her was an afterlife. it wasn’t much for a long time, little more than despair given form, drowning in anger and confusion and longing for what she saw in her memories. thankfully, there were other ghosts out there to guide her out of her worst fate, and she made her way back to reality and society. she learned she could sense others’ emotions, could gather strength from the negative ones. she learned how to use her energy to communicate with the living and got quite good at it, haunting her family and hometown long enough to fear too much attention. one day, jostling through a box of mementos from her human life stored in the attic, she touched her favorite string of pearls and suddenly felt more solid than she had since she died. she was gaunt and uncanny even to herself, but it was so much like being a human that she decided to stay that way for as long as she could.

with her mementos anchoring her to the living and her innate empathy helping her partially overcome the overall unease she gave off enough to have distant acquaintances, she lived amongst humans for decades. sometimes, however, one painful flashback would be too much for or she would get too caught up in who and why and she’d be plummeted into timeless despair once more, only guided back to the present by other spirits or great displays of emotion. it’s best for her to keep going through the motions; stick around for as long as you can and keep your head down. help humans when you can, avoid trouble when you can’t, and don’t think about things you’re better off not thinking about. it gets easier all the while, but sometimes it just hits you and you’re plunged into complete sorrow all over again.

currently, she goes by letty hollister and is in her third year at byrne university after first coming to cinderbrush as a supposed freshman majoring in psychology. normally, she would’ve avoided a town like cinderbrush like the plague, with its haunted waters and haunted forest and haunted lake, but whatever drew so many tormented spirits to cinderbrush drew her, too. she didn’t completely understand how, but it made her stronger, closer to humanity than ever. between cinderbrush and her trinkets, being almost human was as easy as a ghost could ever hope. if only she wasn’t so obviously inhuman beneath her girlish features, with skin that got paler, hair that got lanker, and eye circles that got darker with each passing day between feedings. those that were sensitive to the supernatural often were able to guise what she had looked like upon her death–blood blooming on her chest, face cut up, lips deathly blue–which meant that nearly all animals avoided her, several people as well, and even an untrained eye could sometimes catch how letty never seemed to breathe or never looked any different one day to the next. it certainly didn’t hurt that she knew herself to be about sixty years older than the students around her and never went much out of her way to behave any differently. what was the point? she would have to leave in a few years anyways and it seemed awfully dishonest to lie to others anymore than her body already did.

letty longed for some kind of emotional anchor to the living nonetheless, and tried to make up for it by being overtly helpful, always swooping in to solve someone’s problem, offering a shoulder to cry on, uncannily hospitable but altogether still very distant. she was surprised to find anything of the sort in cinderbrush. she’d found and revealed herself to the gorgon, who needed letty just as much as letty needed them. then there was the ghoul, figuring out their place in the afterlife much like letty had, but different somehow, held here by something other than trauma and rage. they might need her. and if she was needed, she wouldn’t go anywhere.

look.

unnerving eyes. dubious smile. classic red lip. old hollywood waves. dark hair, white face. a perfume that doesn’t exist anymore. a dress just like one your grandma wore in a picture you have. a record player skipping. cool to the touch. encyclopedic knowledge. feeling helpful. being helpless. out of place, out of time. eerie. yearning. unchanging. faded. repressed. empty. lights flickering. glass shattering. doors slamming. barely-there fingerprints. a mixture of snow and rain. a woman’s wail on the wind.

moves.

unresolved trauma. you project the blame and trauma of your death onto your current situation.

creep. when you secretly witness someone in their most intimate moments, perhaps showering or sleeping, you learn a secret about them. the mun chooses how big of a secret it is that you learn about their character.

hungry ghost. you find sustenance in sadness. others feel compelled to dump their emotional problems on you,

social circle.

the disciple: there is something off about the disciple. they have a smile on their face that just doesn’t reach their eyes, and it seems like no one has noticed it yet. that is, no one except the ghost. the ghost doesn’t trust them. they spend enough time observing people around them to know when someone is up to something, and the disciple is definitely up to someone. so the ghost has made a point to watch them. and most often they happens at night, when the disciple is alone in their room, sleeping. at their most vulnerable. but the ghost knows something is up, and they’re going to figure out what it is... and then figure out how to warn someone.

the ghoul: being a ghost is… strange. time doesn’t move the same way as it did when you’re alive. it happens all at once, and you’re just… stuck. witnessing it all move around you. and sometimes you can control where you go, sometimes you can’t. but moments of intense emotion, you get pulled there. that’s what happened when the ghoul died. the ghost was taken there, and witnessed the entire thing. they also witness the ghoul being resurrected. the ghost is unsure how to approach the situation. they’re not sure how memory works for the ghoul, and if they have any memories of before now. but the ghost feels compelled to share what they know about the ghoul. about how they died. they just aren’t sure how the ghoul will take it, which is what has stopped them from saying anything thus far.

the gorgon: there is comfort the gorgon gets from being around the ghost. you see, the ghost is already dead, so nothing the gorgon does to them could damage them further. talking with the ghost its freeing, and one of the only times the gorgon doesn’t have to shield their gaze. they can laugh and sing and find that human connection they so desperately crave. and what does the ghost get out of all of this? they get a friend. someone who will treat them as if everything is normal. thats what they give each other. a sense of normalcy.

this character skin is TAKEN

#the ghost #taken

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draculaslut · 6 years ago

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sitting alone in tjis food court @ 2pm while my family does the rest of the grocery shopping without me bcos my skin feels like its literally ghoing tk melt off of my body. anyway u kniw what my favourite show of all time is??? legend of zelda tje animated series. ..

#im in so much pain i feel like im gonna die in tjis food court skdkdkd #but anyway i just remembered that shkw .. been my fave sonce i was like 10 years old sldkdfm #dan.txt #it died 2 soon thwre are only like 13 episodes 😔

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mf-despair-queen · 7 years ago

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From Dusk Till Dawn - Part 1 - Mitch Rapp

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Pairing: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 9,087

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Unprotected Sex, Oral (Female Receiving), Sexy Finger Sucking, Neck Kisses, Multiple Orgasms, relatively loving sex

Notes: Long awaited. I hope you like it. Please send me love and/or end my life for what happens

Prologue | Part 2

You were surrounded by darkness, the black abyss stretching far beyond the horizon. Your body ached as your floated in the nothingness around you, lungs throbbing and begging for fresh air. No matter how many times you opened your mouth, nothing helped, the feeling of being submerged washing over you. Your tired eyes failed to open, a weight atop them keeping them closed.

Am I dead?

You finally forced your eyes open slowly, staring into the blank space around you. There was not an ounce of life around you; you were alone. Your body wouldn’t move, refusing to budge from the lifeless state you were in.

I’m dead. This is how it ends.

Your eyes closed for a split second, a bright light beginning to twinkle on the other side of your eyelids. When your orbs fluttered open once more, you saw a figure surrounded by the light, their face unrecognizable. Their hand extended towards you, as if gesturing you towards them.

Is that you…? It can’t be. You left. You’re dead. Or… are you welcoming me to my hell so I can be in your arms again?

Your fingers twitched, muscles burning and screaming as your reached towards the hand, urging your body forward in the black space. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, your eyes widening as you closed in on the figure. You were drawn to it - or him, maybe? Even from this distance, you felt whole, the frozen heart you had developed over many years melted into a puddle. You willed yourself forward, the figure clearing up the closer you got. Your eyes widened, your body warming with completeness at the man before you.

It’s you…

The second your hand met his, your world went black again.

You rolled onto your side, coughing up the water that was filled your lungs, taking deep breaths of the air around you. You heaved fiercely, droplets of waters dripping from your lips onto the tile floor, purging every bit of liquid that you had swallowed. Your body shivered from the cold air, arms weak as you tried to push yourself up.You were clad in just a black shirt, the cotton clinging to your body, nipples poking upwards in the wet fabric. Your legs rubbed together to try and generate heat, no pants or underwear to shield your nethers from the night air.

You heard shuffling against the floor, foggy eyes taking a second to focus on the man against the wall. Mitch Rapp sat with his head in his hands, fingers running through his fluffy, slightly curled chocolate locks. Bits of water dripped down his bare torso and arms, a solemn look on his face. It took a moment to remember what had happened, but you sighed when it clicked. He drowned me… you told yourself, sitting up slowly. You assumed the water was because of holding you under and your constant flailing and your heart sunk at the nearly nude man in front of you, looking more than distraught despite his occupation. Your lips tingled as you stared at the disheveled man, his lips slightly swollen and failing to be hidden from his downcast gaze. But he also saved me...

“Mitch…” you whispered, the man’s partially red eyes upturning at you. His veins hands gripped harder at his hair before moving along his jaw, scratching at the scruff on his cheeks and chin, fingers unconsciously tracing over the constellation of moles he had littering his skin. You frowned at the man, unsure what to say.

He shifted against the wall, knees bent as he stared you down. His arms moved to rest on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. He pursed his lips together into a tight line, eyes a dull shade of brown. “Just tell me the truth. Please,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am,” you replied, unable to look him in the eye. You ran your fingers through your hair, wringing some of the water from it. “My name is Y/N, and I am a prostitute that was hired by Sharif Hamdi while he was doing business in Istanbul.”

“That doesn’t tell me shit,” he growled slightly, his conjoined hands tightening until his knuckles were white. “How do you know about this guy named Ghost? How do you know about Rome? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Mitch…”

“Just tell me, Y/N!” he yelled, fist finally colliding with the wall behind him, a dent left in its wake. “Please. I need to know. I… I need to.”

You bit at your lip, finally looking up at him. The assassin looks slightly fragile - something you hadn’t seen since he showed up in the hotel room. But the look on his face was familiar to you and you wanted nothing more than to make it go away, holding him close and telling him everything would be ok.

“I’ve been in Istanbul for a while now,” you told him, Mitch looking up at you slowly. You kept your gaze on the ground, your fingers playing with the wet shirt you wore. “I was just trying to make a living. I couldn’t get a job, I had no money, and I couldn’t keep playing people just to get by, day by day. So I did what I could…”

“You resorted to prostitution?” he asked, looking for the confirmation he already knew he would get.

“It’s the only thing I knew I could do,” you admitted to him. “I’ve done it for years, Mitch. When I met Mecnun… I pleaded for him to give me a job. He only brought me in because of the man I was with before coming to Istanbul. That was the day Sharif requested someone. That someone was me.” You paused, licking your lips slowly. “Mecnun mentioned that Sharif was in town doing business with some man named Ghost.”

Mitch looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Really?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know what that meant, but when you came in and killed Sharif, saying he was a terrorist, I kind of figured that you would be going after him next. If Sharif was doing business with him, that means this Ghost man has something he shouldn’t, right?”

“That’s quite deductive,” Mitch mumbled.

“I’ve always been told I’ve been smart for my age,” you told him. “I told someone to hurry and kill me when I was ten because if he were to escape before the police showed up, he couldn’t leave me alive.”

“Fuck,” Mitch mumbled. “That’s intense.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle, seeing the ghost of a smile appear on Mitch’s cheeks. “So they say,” you joked. “It just makes sense that if Sharif is some terrorist that was making some deal or exchange with this man they call Ghost, you would be going after the man he was in cahoots with. He got away, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Mitch mumbled. “Killed the other member of our team and took off with some… package. Hurley wouldn’t tell me what it is. At the time, Hurley just that we would know when we see it. Since he took off before we could stop him, there’s no way of telling what he got.”

“Something bad, I assume,” you said, Mitch chuckling under his breath.

“Just a little bad,” he hummed. “What about Rome? I never said anything to you about Rome.”

You took a shaky breath, fighting back tears. “Look. I-I didn’t want to seem like I was eavesdropping when you guys were talking, alright? But when that lady… Irene, I think, and Hurley were leaving, I faintly heard something about some bank account in Rome that they were tracking movement on.”

“Did they?” He questioned quietly. He thought back to his superiors’ departure, their low mumbles as they passed through the house to the front door. It wasn’t impossible that you could hear them as they were out of his own earshot.

“I-I think so,” you stuttered out, visibly shaking in the cold air. “I don’t know what it’s all about and maybe I was wrong. But you mentioned having to go somewhere tomorrow, right? You’re going to meet them? So you’re going after the bad man that got away. And he has something to do with this bank account, right?” Mitch didn’t answer, making you head drop. “I get it. You won’t tell me and for good reason, I’m sure. I’m just a lowly prostitute and you’re… this badass assassin. I probably shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I know too much,” you muttered. “I don’t know what this guy has or what you’re doing in Roe, but if you are going to join your team, you should dispose of me, right?”

Mitch watched you closely before standing from the ground, disappearing out the door. You blinked after him, confusion on your face. The man returned a minute later, a dry shirt and boxers in hand. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing,” he said lowly, holding them out. “Get changed and we will talk more in the bedroom.”

“Why?”

Mitch knew what you were asking, the single why having multiple questions buzzing behind it. Why was he helping you, giving you warm clothes? Why was he so calm? But most of all, why wasn’t he killing you?

“You’re innocent,” he said, glancing back at you to watch you change out of the wet shirt, bare breasts aking his mouth water, your hard nipples putting a strain on his boxer briefs. He scratched at his stubbled jaw, leaning on the doorframe. “I’m not here to kill innocent people. I joined the CIA to kill terrorists so people didn’t have to suffer the way I have.”

He walked away before you could question him further, forcing you to stumble after him on cold, semi-numb legs. “Then what are you going to do with me?”

“That’s… negotiable right now,” he stated, opening the bedroom door to let you in. He gestured to the bed, silently telling you to sit, no questions asked. You complied without a word, staring at the bare-chested assassin. “Irene and Hurley were going to decide what to do based on what you know. You know a bit-” you face fell slightly, Mitch seeing the fear in your eyes, “-but I don’t think you know enough. A few mentions here and there and very interesting deductive reasoning skills led you to know more than you should, but you don’t know what the package was, right?”

“No.”

“Who is Ghost?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is he going to Rome?”

“I don’t know, Mitch,” you told him repeatedly. “Whatever he is using money in that bank account for is what you are after. Whatever the package he acquired is, that’s what you are after. But I can’t help you. Sharif told me nothing. Mecnun told me nothing. I never met this Ghost character! I can’t tell you what he looks like. I can’t tell you what he needed or what Sharif was giving him. I just hear his name, stayed in that hotel and wasn’t allowed to touch anything or speak to anyone.”

Mitch pursed his lips, crouching on the ground in front of you. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew about Ghost anyway?” He asked, his strained voice dropping an octave, trying to relax your anxious being. He took your hand, your hands lacing together instinctively. “Why didn’t you just tell me all of that straight out?”

“I…” you started, a few tears slipping down your face. “I didn’t want you to think I was involved. I barely know anything and I was afraid that if I said I knew even one thing, you would think I knew it all. Or,” you swallowed thickly, shaking your head to clear your eyes of the tears. “You would torture me. Kill me. I don’t know. I was scared to tell you because I didn’t want you to judge me.”

Mitch sighed, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’d never hurt you,” he said. “I just wish you would have told me before…” He went silent unable to admit the treacherous action he had done. “I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you told him. “I get why you did it. It was all my fault.”

“No it wasn’t,” he told you. “I don’t know why, but… I feel very strongly about you. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I want to see you happy, Y/N. But, when you mentioned Ghost and Rome, I lost it. I thought you had lied to me.”

“Well, I did lie,” you pointed out, squeezing his hand. “Just not what you thought I was lying about. I told you I didn’t know anything, Mitch. But I knew the few things Mecnun had mentioned. I heard Irene and Stan talking about that bank account in Rome. I don’t know more, but I told you I knew nothing.”

“I’m still sorry,” he sighed, the stone-hearted man, resting his head on your lap, your fingers lacing in his hair. You smiled at him, your heart rapidly hammering against your chest. It had been forever since you felt like this - needed, warm, full, complete. Mitch warmed your heart and made you happy, even though you had only been with him for a few hours. The feeling was new yet familiar, the look in his eyes something from the past but the color of the future. It was unnatural to feel so close to him - to feel a love for him already - but you gladly welcomed it.

“I’m sorry too,” you told him, Mitch lifting his head from your lap to look up at you. Your fingers dusted along his jaw, tracing the outline of his lips. “For lying to you. I know I hurt you and I don’t want that, Mitch. I should have just told you. But why would you believe me? I’m just…”

“A prostitute,” he frowned. “That doesn’t define you, you know. You are way more than that, and I wouldn’t judge you because of your occupation.”

“I know,” you whispered under your breath. Your fingers pressed to his lips, Mitch taking a short moment to kiss the tips tenderly. You smiled, shifting slightly atop the bed, your body craving more from him. “You know, I can totally make it up to you, Mitch.”

“What?” he wondered aloud.

You carefully tilted his chin up to look at your fully, fingers tracing his stubbled yet chiseled jawline. “I said I could make it up to you. I know I hurt you and that was never my intention. So, let me make it up to you.”

“How do you plan on doing that?’” he asked. You just smiled at him, your hands running down his bare arms until they were at his hands, giving them a light tug as an indication to stand. His forehead wrinkled slightly as he did so, his form towering over your small stature. “Y/N?”

“Let me do what I do best,” you hummed quietly, releasing his hands to palm at his groin, cock semi-hard in his boxer briefs. Mitch bit into his lip to suppress his moan, mouth parting to try and utter anything that came to mind. “Just let me please you and make up for for everything. Let me please you as a way to apologize.”

“Y/N-”

He couldn’t finish his thought when you pulled him down onto the bed, his back hitting the plush cushion and bouncing slightly. You propped yourself on your elbow on his side, hand dipping into his boxer briefs to properly fondle his growing erection. Your eyes locked with his before you leant forward, connecting your lips to his. Your eyes fluttered closed instantly, a spark between your lips igniting a fire deep inside you. It was the same spark you felt when he ‘punished’ you for not telling him what you knew or when you swallowed every drop of his essence in the car ride to Romania.

The same spark that made you feel complete inside.

Your lips dragged against his, the sound of smacking lips filling the room, Mitch’s low, breathy moans following when your lips disconnected for the briefest moment. Even though you were trying to please him, his lips found a way to control the pace and ferocity of the kiss, his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip until your lips could part and his tongue could slip inside for not so pure actions. The wet article traced along your cheeks, memorizing every inch of the inside of your mouth, even though he had spent plenty of time inside it already, before it swirled with your own tongue, playfully messing with each other. His hand moved to the back of your head, threading through your locks to keep you pressed into his face, ignoring the way your teeth clashed or your noses bumped from the contact.

Your hand inside his boxer briefs gripped him firmly, stroking his shaft as it elongated and hardened in your hold. Your thumb casually swiped over the tip, feeling him twitch in your hold as you smeared the precum that seeped out fromt he slit around the head, your mouth watering slightly in the middle of the kiss. His moans reverberated in his throat, his hips bucking upwards slightly as if to tell you he wanted more. The material around him restricted your movements much to your dismay and you struggled to pull yourself free, trying to push the material down his legs. You were growing desperate, kisses growing sloppy before they started trailing along his jaw to his neck and chest.

“Wait, wait,” he groaned out, the word almost jumbled. His hand hastily moved to your own, stopping you from trying to remove his boxers. You blinked in confusion, astounded that he had stopped you when you were mere moments away from giving him a handjob and a blowjob. You lifted yourself from his chest, eyes meeting his whiskey ones. “I just…”

“What?” you asked, frowning at him. “Don’t you want this? We’ve fucked before, Mitch. I thought you’d like my lips around your cock again.”

“I would,” he muttered, sitting up on the bed. You followed his lead, watching the assassin run his hand through his hair, the chocolate locks flopping and curling in various directions in their fluffy goodness. “But I just have to know one thing.”

“What is that, Mitch?”

The man pursed his lips, eyes darting to you occasionally as he tried to string together his thoughts. Part of him wasn’t sure why he stopped you. He should be elated to have a beautiful girl willingly sucking his off, especially one he was highly attracted to. The first girl he had been with since Katrina, the same girl that made him feel things stronger than Katrina even though he barely knew her, and he was turning her away. And for what?

“Why are you doing this?”

You cocked your head at him, brow knitting together. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you a prostitute?” He continued.

You stared at him, shock written all over your face. “W-what?”

“You said you would make it up to me by doing what you do best. You mentioned that it was all you knew you could do. That you’ve done it for years. But why?” He asked. “Why is this your life?”

“Because it is all I know, Mitch,” you sighed, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. “The man that killed my family… he took me in.”

“Your family was killed?” he asked, watching you nod. “That’s when you told the man to kill you then?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “It was kill or be killed, in a way. Either I die with the rest of my family, or I work for him. Sure, I was ten when he took me in, but he taught me how to be… me. I started fully when I turned eighteen. He taught me how to use people for my advantage. For eight years, he drilled into me these principals of prostitution and what to do to get what I wanted and when he thought I was ready and, as he said, a ‘woman’, he allowed to me use those skills. Though, he kept me pretty close and didn’t really let me sleep with anyone. I was mostly used to lure people in and they were left with other prostitutes that worked for him. But…”

“You did anyway,” he said, voice falling lightly. You could have sworn you heard the sound of his heart breaking inside his chest, your own heart cracking.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “He was… um…” You hesitated slightly, Mitch risking the chance of taking your hand in his for support. “He was different, I guess you could say.”

“You loved him,” Mitch mumbled.

You sighed, squeezing his hand. “I did,” you told him, knowing it was hurting him to hear these things. “I didn’t mean to fall for him, but I did. He showed up randomly and Crowe didn’t want me to help him, but he was injured. Badly. And things just seemed to escalate from there. He showed up once or twice a month for two years. And over that time, I was the only one he saw. And he was the only one I saw.”

“You slept with him.”

“Multiple times,” you admitted, Mitch letting out a long sigh.

“Is he the reason you aren’t with that guy now?” Mitch pondered. “Or why you came to Istanbul? Why didn’t he save you from that lifestyle?”

“No,” you sniffled, rubbing at your eyes slightly. “He disappeared one day and never came back.”

“Did he die?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Most likely. When he showed up injured and asking for help, he mentioned he was a street fighter. I thought he wanted to stop though because he got better. No more cuts or bruises. Just scars to remind him of that life. I guess when he stopped showing up, he went back to that life and the fighting got the best of him finally. When he never came back, I figured he was gone for good. I just kind of felt it. I knew he was long gone and I was alone again.” You paused, looking back up at Mitch. “You know, the look in your eyes is the same as his.”

“What look?” Mitch asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Determination, passion, endurance. There is this ferocity in your eyes that tells me you have a drive to complete whatever you put your mind to,” you revealed to the male assassin. “But there is a hint of compassion as well. You can love and you want to be loved. You desire happiness just as much as you want to protect those close to you.”

“I doubt that,” he said, a small smile gracing his lips.

“No, you do,” you told him, lacing your fingers together. “Maybe that’s why I feel so strongly for you already. There’s something about you, Mitch, that I can’t put my finger on. There is something about you that makes me feel… special and unique and wanted. And I can’t explain why I’m drawn to you or why I like you as much as I do. But I am. I really like you, Mitch.”

“Like?”

You knew what he was talking about. I love you, Mitch. You vaguely remembered uttering those words as he held you under the water, your world darkening. “I don’t know,” you told him. “I probably said it in the midst of the moment. It’s too early to say if I do love you.” Right? “But that’s not saying I can’t love you. I just… I don’t know.”

“You still have feelings for this guy from your past, don’t you?” He asked, catching your nod from the corner of his eye. “I get it. I really do.The moment I saw you huddled in the corner in that hotel room, my heart stopped. The world around me stopped. And the only time that has ever happened was when I was with Katrina.”

“Who is Katrina?” You asked him.

“She was my girlfriend,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “My fiance. She was killed almost two years ago in Spain when some terrorists landed on the beach and shot up the place. She died right in front of my eyes not even minutes after I proposed to her.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Mitch.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he hummed. “It led me here, didn’t it? If she never died, I wouldn’t have joined the CIA. I wouldn’t have come to Istanbul. I wouldn’t have met you. I can’t say that I don’t love her anymore because I do still love her to some extent. She was my world and that just doesn’t leave. I would give anything to have her back. So I understand why you still care about this guy. I just don’t get it.” He licked his lips slowly, scratching his scruff. “Why do I feel so strongly for you? We barely know each other. I feel split between my past love and your potential love. It’s hard to describe.”

“Love at first sight?” you joked, Mitch’s face never changing. “Maybe we’re just two messed up people in this messed up world.”

“I guess so,” Mitch agreed, chucking lightly. “You know, you never really answered my question. Why are you still doing this?”

“Well, Crowe died when I was twenty-one and I was left to kind of wander and fend for myself. And I just did what I could do to survive. What else can I say? Why do you care, Mitch? I’m a fucking prostitute and that’s all I ever will be. I sleep with guys for money.”

“But that’s not true,” he sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened to you. Your family dying, your lover most likely dying. I get it. My parents died when I was fourteen. They died in a car crash in Tunisia. I told you about Katrina and losing her. I know what it feels like to lose the people closest to you. But, I don’t get why you are still doing this. Sure, you did it for what, eleven years? But you are a million times more than just a prostitute. You could anything you wanted with your life now because you are amazing. The guy died so you can do whatever it is you want with your life. But you’re still doing this?”

“Mitch, I…” you started, failing to finish your thought in one fluid statement.

“I may be out of place saying this, but you’re wasting your potential,” he said. “You are way more than you admit you are. And I wish you could see that. You say all you are is a prostitute, and maybe that was true in the past. But you are amazing and I wish you could see that. I hate that you lived like that.” He paused, biting on his lip. He tilted your head to look at him fully, his eyes meeting yours. His eyes sparkled in the dim lighting of the room, emotion he tried to hide evident in his beautifully golden orbs. “I hate that you are still living like that.”

“It’s fine, Mitch,” you whispered, inching towards him unconsciously. “If it wasn’t a prostitute, I wouldn’t have met you. I should be thankful because it brought us together.”

“You know you’re more than a whore, right?” he asked once, pushing some loose, wet hairs behind your ear. “You can be happy and do whatever you want. I can make sure you are safe and get the life you deserve.”

“If it means I can be with you, I would go with you anywhere,” you hummed.

Mitch leaned forward to connect your lips, both of you falling back on the bed. Your head hit the pillows, Mitch straddling your body with ease without breaking the connection he initiated. You mewled into him, arms wrapping around his neck and fingers lacing through the hair on the back of his head. His hands pushed the hem of the shirt you wore up, playing with the elastic lining of the boxers he leant you. Your tongues tangled together in perfect harmony, swirling together between your cheeks. Your lips dragged against each other passionately, the smacking of lips resounding around the room from each disconnection and reconnection.

He broke away long enough to pull you up, stripping the shirt over your head. He eyed your form for a second before dropping you back onto the bed, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck to your chest. You missed the feeling of his lips on yours but the second they wrapped around your nipple instead, you whimpered loudly, find your way back to his hair to tug at his lusciously smooth locks. His name slipped from your lips, Mitch tugging at the nipple with his lips, kissing relentlessly at the hard peak. His long digits grasped the other carefully, palming it between his fingers. His lips lavishly ravished your breast, listening to your countless moans whenever he pulled at the bud, nibbling on it, and flicking his tongue across it in different directions.

“Mitch,” you mewled at in, back arching into his body. You tugged more at his hair, Mitch releasing your current nipple with a pop and moving to the other, repeating the same process. “More.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed seductively, kissing at every inch of your chest. “You don’t realize how beautiful you are, do you? Guys want you for your sexiness, but they should be embracing your beauty. Mind, body and soul.”

“Stop trying to flatter me,” you whined, clenching your eyes shut at the pleasure that rolled through your body. Your heart warmed when he chuckled against your chest, slowly moving down your stomach to the lining of the boxers you had on.

“It’s not flattery when it’s true,” he said, kissing along the elastic band. “I’m going to show you that you are more than a prostitute. You are amazing and, if you’ll let me, I will take you back to Virginia and show you that you can do more than this.”

“Why?” you asked him. “I don’t have a clean past, Mitch.”

“Neither do I,” he hummed as he looked up at you, referring to his current occupation. “But I don’t care. I don’t care that you’ve spelt with other people because of what you do for money, even if it’s just one guy. I don’t care that you lied to me about this man named Ghost and him meeting with Sharif. I will talk to Irene and Stan about that and we will make sure you are safe and taken care of. I won’t let them harm you.”

“You’re too good to me, Mitch,” you sighed. “I don’t need you to help me like this. I can manage.”

“I want to help you,” he hummed. “I want to see you happy because you deserve it.”

He didn’t allow you to respond, tugging the boxers down your legs and dropping them over the side of the bed. He tenderly pushed your legs apart, licking his lips once before he dipped down, sliding his tongue through your folds.

“Oh God,” you moaned, back arching off the bed. Your fingers gathered the blankets in your fists, Mitch’s restless kisses and licks at your folds and clit tightening a knot inside you. “Fuck, Mitch. Just like that.”

“You liked that?” he mused, wrapping his lips around your clit and tugging it lightly to hear to moan again. He glanced up through his lashes to watch you nod your head rapidly, practically begging him for more. “Moan for me than, baby. I love hearing my name from your lips.

Flashes of your events earlier that evening ran through your mind, hearing the assassin between your legs telling you to scream his name countless times so all of Romania knew who was pleasing you - who was inside you. His name bubbled from your core to your throat, threatening to release already. The scratching of his stubble against your thighs and core didn’t help that feeling, a normally uncomfortable feeling being one of ecstasy instead. Your body was flaming hot from the contact, the assassin lavishly licking at your core.

His tongue dipped into your pussy, swirling in circles. He scruff on his upper lip scraped pleasurably at your clit, your head falling back into the bed. “Shit, Mitch,” you whimpered his name. He held an obvious grin against your nethers, the circling of his tongue inside you speeding up. His low, throaty groan vibrated you, your body twitching when the tip of the wet article inside you skimmed against you sweet spot at the same time. You had never felt that good, and that's saying something after what had happened with the same man mere hours prior.

He pulled away with a low pop, his lips puckered together, doused in your arousal. They instantly moved to wrap around your clit, tugging at the swollen nub with his lips before the tongue darted out, flicking it left and right. You withered and writhed under his hand, Mitch having to bring is hands to your hips to keep you still. Your moans grew louder, hands moving from the bed to your chest, palming at your breasts to stimulate yourself and increasing the pleasure you felt from his restless assault on your pussy and clit.

While his tongue and lips focused on your engorged nub of a clitoris, two fingers suck back inside you, letting out a nearly inaudible sloshing sound when his fingers curled into the wet hole. His thrusts started slow, gradually speeding up to match the pace of his mouth against your clit. His partially untrimmed nails, only dulled recently by constant nail biting from his training with Stan Hurley, scratched at your sensitive walls until they hit your sweet spot,your body shaking in bliss. The digits spread you wide when he pulled out, coming back together to slip easily back inside you.

Your walls wrapped around his fingers, signally you were close. Mitch’s ears perked up at the sound of your labored breathing, your squirming against his hold increasing. His fingers disappeared from inside you, replaced shortly thereafter by his tongue once more, feverishing licking at your aching pussy, urging you to your climax. You whimpered his name to his delight, his hum against your folds telling you to cum without true words. Your right hand slid down your chest and stomach to his hair, giving the tendrils one harsh tug mied with your loud moans. Your hips bucked against his chiseled jawline, walls trying to cling to his tongue as you came on it. Juices leaked from inside you, dripping onto his tongue like a waterfall, the man happily lapping at the sweet arousal you offered him without a second thought. The assassin felt himself harden more than before from the delicious taste, your juices stimulating not just his taste buds.

He pulled himself from between your legs when your visibly relaxed into the bed, chest heaving from the orgasm he had given you. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he sat back on his legs, licking his lips slowly and tauntingly, his beard sparkling with untouched arousal. He carefully eyed his fingers, the digits too glistening from your juices, his tongue poking out at the ready. Before his fingers could reach his lips to savor the last bit of your juices, you caught his wrist, stopping him.

Sitting up, your eyes locked on his whiskey brown ones, never deterring from his hardened gaze His pupils dilated, orbs flicking from your hand wrapped around his wrist to your lips and finally back to your eyes. He never tried to break the staredown, watching you every move with utter silence. You licked your lips slowly, drawing his hand closer to you, taking the two arousal-coated fingers into your mouth, your tongue swishing around them carefully. Mitch’s head tilted as he watched you closely, fidgeting in his spot. You moaned around his fingers, ignoring the off taste of yourself on his skin. You stared directly into his eyes, watching the range of emotions he felt for you.

You pulled from his fingers slowly, a small string of saliva connecting your lips to the tips of his digits, your lips slightly parted. The assassin’s eyes flashed a dark color, his hand taking yours and kissing each fingertip before lacing them with his, leaning forward to connect your lips to his. You let your eyes close finally, pushing yourself closer to him even though he put his free hand to the back of your head, nails digging into your hair and skull. Your tongues playfully battling, both tasting similarly of your core. His mouth dominated yours with ease, lips dragging along yours as he kissed at you desperately, breaking for small bursts of air with a small smack before dipping forward again. Your noses brushed against each other, your heads tilting in opposite directions to allow maximum connection.

The man before you - the man you were slowly falling for - laid you back slowly, returning to hovering over you, his muscled arms flexing to support his weight. Your fingers ran along the veins in his arms, wrapping your small, dainty hands around his bulging biceps. He groaned against your lips, disconnecting long enough to utter, “I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you. I need to be inside you, Y/N.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” you asked, ruffling his locks slightly, pushing them off his forehead. “Show me how good I can feel.”

Mitch nodded quickly, struggling to kick his boxer briefs off his legs without moving off of you completely. He cock sprung free from its confines, slapping his stomach before coming to a rest between your bodies, throbbing and pulsing against your folds. He didn’t care where the black material landed. He focused on rolling his hips against yours, grinding his ever-growing erection against your moist, aching core. You mewled quietly, bucking upwards at him in return, quietly begging him to please you.

He hips rolled backwards, the tip prodding at your pussy once before slipping inside, filling you in one swift shot, his cock hilt deep inside you. You moaned for him, keeping one hand laced with his and the other arm slinging loosely around his neck. Mitch’s head buried into your neck, wordlessly rocking himself into you, his cock slipping free from your core before digging itself deep inside you again. His lips ghosted over the skin of your neck and shoulder, small kisses matching the gentle thrusts he started with.

“More, Mitch,” you whimpered lowly, tugging at his hair. “I need more. Please.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, never moving from your neck. You nodded once, a sharp sting in your neck when he nipped at it, his body moving harder and faster against your at a quick but steady rate. Slapping hips against hips resounded around the small room, Mitch’s thrusts growing harder, faster and more desperate. His cock pistoned in and out of you quickly, the tip finding your sweet spot with each thrust, the shaft pulsing against your tight walls. The kisses he place to your neck got harder to match his furious thrusting, countless marks littering your skin.

“Oh, God, Mitch. Just like that,” you moaned into his ear, arching into him completely. Your nails raked down his bare back, red marks joining any he had developed earlier in the night, Your legs wrapped around his waist loosely, heels bouncing against his perfectly round asscheeks with each powerful thrust he gave you. “More, please. Fuck, I need you, Mitch.”

“God, I love you,” he mumbled lowly, your heart stopping. It had been years since you heard those words, and Mitch wasn’t entirely sure why nor was he fully aware that he said those three words to you. But you weren’t disregarding the way it made you feel. It wasn’t the way his cock pounded into your pussy, hitting your sweet spot every time and rubbing your walls, or the way his lips ravished your neck that made your stomach knot up tightly, your breathing staggering inside you. It was those words that topped the ecstasy charts, your stomach churning with happiness and bliss.

Your walls clung to his entire length, his cock filling you to the brim as you came around him, juices soaking into the skin of his shaft. His thrusts never relented, only getting smoother with the increased moisture. Your toes curled into his backside, legs hugging him close. Your head fell back into the pillows, drawing out a loud moan that was solely consisting of his name. Mitch had to stop sucking at your neck to keep his composure, feeling you hugging him closely, your bodies chest to chest, hearts in sync. Your hand tightened around his, knuckles white from the pressure but his returned the gesture just as much.

He came to a stop, your eyes fluttering open in confusion. You were about to question when he shifted position, his cock never leaving your pussy as he leaned back on his knees, lifting your back off the bed. You were perched in his lap, damp hair falling in your face as you looked down at him, the position you found yourself in perching you atop him. Your legs still wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass to keep upright. His hand disconnected from yours, both moving to your back to keep you against him. Our arms went around his neck, Mitch’s head buried in the valley of your breasts, taking a single second to glance up at you.

His hips awkwardly thrust upward, the angle giving you a new sensation. Even in the odd position, Mitch knew how to hit amazing spots, finding your sweetest spots each time. He bucked up into you, your body bouncing against along his enter length. It was almost the same sensation as if you were riding him, bouncing eagerly against his cock; just, this was a million times better. You whimpered at him, the man speeding up his constant thrusts, pounding into you at God-like speeds.

His lips found your breast, ravishing the nipple without compromising his thrusts. Your fingers threaded through his hair, head falling back slightly as you tugged at the dark chocolate tendrils. They scraped against his scalp, leading down his shoulders and back, feeling his shoulder blades and strong back muscles tense under your touch. The man never moved from your chest, only breaking from the nipple to move to the other without warning.

When he finally pulled away with a distinct pop, he looked up at you, your eyes locking together. His lips curled upwards slightly, his sparkling eyes never leaning yours before leaning up, smashing his lips against yours. Your own eyes fluttered shut, returning the kiss with equal vigor and passion, your body rolling against his to match his pacing. You stayed like that, tongues gently caressing each other and lips fitting perfectly together like two jigsaw pieces, bodies meshed into one unit, his cock hitting every spot inside you that made you see stars behind your eyelids. Your moans vibrated each other’s throats, thrusts growing needy and sloppy.

He broke the kiss for a gasp of air, his cock sputtering inside you, twitching against your tight walls that hugged him completely. He placed one final chaste kiss to your lips before resting his forehead on your shoulder, your head digging into his hair. Streams of white spewed from the tip, his seed spilling into you in massive waves and loud groans. You whimpered and mewled at the feeling, his warmth spreading from your core to your entire body, burning the knot inside you to nothing. Your juices splattered against your walls, your body clinging desperately to the assassin as you spill around him, juices mixing into one inside you. His thrusts upwards slowed to a gentle push, your bodies relaxing against each other, simultaneous orgasms washing through your systems.

He carefully laid you back against the bed, pulling from you as you twitched and shook from the orgasm. He rolled off the bed, stumbling on shaky legs as he trotted to the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth to clean your body. He cleaned himself quickly as well, dropping the towel to the floor and collapsing next to you on the bed with a loud but happy sigh. You rolled towards him the second his body hit the mattress, snuggling against him. His arm was behind your shoulders, pulling you into his side. His lips pressed to your forehead, returning his gaze to the ceiling after a moment.

“What was his name?” Mitch asked softly after a moment of silence, hugging you closer as you relaxed against his chest, taking the time to catch your breath from your vigorous activities.

“Whose?”

Mitch stayed silent upon your response, trying to decide who he was truly asking about. The man that dragged you into this horrid lifestyle? Or, the man that you potentially still loved and kept you from Mitch’s reach. He took a deep, silent breath before taking the plunge, answering, “The man that did this to you.”

“Did this to me?” you asked, looking up at him. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, but he nodded regardless. “Crowe. His name was Ragnor Crowe. He was the… pimp, I guess is the way to put it, that killed my family and took me away to London. He is the reason I sold my soul to prostitution.”

Mitch wanted to ask about your past lover, his curiosity growing to know the name of the man that ruined your life and your love, never saving you from the hell you grew up in. He scorned this man and didn’t know his name. But before he could gather the courage to ask, his phone rang from the bedside table, a groan from his throat instead. He waved around blindly for the device, finally grabbing it around the fifth ring. His thumb ran along the green button without looking at who was calling, pressing it to his ear.

“This is Rapp.”

“That’s not how we answer,” Hurley’s gruff voice came through, Mitch flinching slightly. You looked at him in confusion, as he moved you from his chest, rolling off the bed in search of pants.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled. “What can I do for you?”

“I have your instructions for the morning. Are you alone?”

Mitch glanced at you, his eyes telling you enough. “I’ll go fetch some water or something,” you whispered so Hurley couldn’t hear you. Mitch nodded, watching your bare body slide off the bed, waddling your way from the room and out of his sight. Even as you padded your way across the room in slight pain, perky breasts free with hardened nipples and legs covered in a mixture of yours and his dripping arousal, he found you beyond gorgeous. And the fact that you didn’t bother to dress yourself as your stretched your arms up, easing your aching muscles and cracking bones, giving him a full view of your body before leaving, his cock was growing hard once more.

“Are you listening, Rapp?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Please go on.”

You returned a few minutes later, a glass of water in hand for the assassin. Mitch was sat on the bed, phone in hand, the call seeming to have just ended. He glanced up at you wandered in, adjusting his hard cock in the shorts he pulled on while he talked to Stan before you sat beside him, handing him the glass.

“What did he want?” you asked.

“You know I’m not supposed to tell you, right?” Mitch joked, taking a sip of the water. You giggled at him, wrapping your arms around his, hugging his muscled bicep and tracing your fingers along his veiny skin. “I am going to Rome in the morning and we are planning to stake out the bank the money is coming from.”

“For what?” You asked again. “What would this Ghost guy possibly need a bank account for?”

“Apparently some nuclear physicist,” Mitch said.

You perked up slightly. “Nuclear physicist? That sounds cool.”

“Not when the physicist is helping build a bomb,” he mumbled.

“Oh,” you hummed lowly. “Is that what he got away with?”

“No,” Mitch told you. “Whatever he got from Sharif is helping him build the bomb though. So, we are going to intercept his plan and nab the physicist he’s planning to use for his plan. And, hopefully, we can get him in the process that way I can get my revenge for him killing Victor.”

Mitch’s fist tightened, his knuckles turning white. You carefully took his hand between yours, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You’re going to break the glass in your hand if you keep that up.”

“Sorry,” he whispered, sipping the water again.

“So, where in Rome are you headed? I’ve always wanted to go so I’m curious. Maybe you can take pictures while you are there.”

“Who says you aren’t coming with me?”

“I kind of assume your boss won’t let me tag along when you’re tracking some nuclear physicist,” you laughed.

“Well, you’re right,” he said sadly. “While I’m on a plane to Piazza Navona, Rome, you are on a plane back to Langley. Irene will send someone to pick you up and take care of you until we get back. You might be on lockdown for a bit, but once I am back, I will make sure you get out of there and find a proper life.”

“Piazza Navona?”

“Yeah. The bank is there that the money is sitting in. Banca Rugerio, I think is what Stan said? He didn’t tell me much more than that. I’m hoping I can get more information from him while we are there, though I hope we get this guy before anything else happens.”

“I believe in you, Mitch,” you told him, pressing your lips to his cheek. You unwound yourself from his arm, standing from the bed. “And, I’m sorry.”

Mitch’s brow furrowed, his forehead wrinkling. “Sorry? For what?”

“For what I did,” you told him, finding his jeans and digging out his wallet.

“What are you doing?” he growled, attempting to stand. His vision blurred the second he stood up, the glass in his hand dropping to the ground and shattering. He wobbled slightly, trying to catch himself before he fell. “What the fuck?”

“I am just going to take this now,” you hummed, waving a wad of cash in the air. It was spare money Stan had given him just in case of an emergency and they weren’t together.

“What the hell are you doing?” he uttered, his words slurring together. His mind was growing fuzzy, his body growing drowsy. He sat back on the bed, his head bobbing. “What did you do?”

“I can’t change who I am,” you told him. “I’m a prostitute and this is my pay for all the times we’ve fucked.”

“You fucking bitch,” he grumbled lowly, trying to push himself up and failing.

“I told you I’m sorry,” you sighed. “But I can’t go with you right now. I appreciate all your kind words, Mitch. They really do mean the world to me. You mean the world to me. But, I am who I am. I’m sorry.”

“You fucking used me,” he growled, finally pushing off the bed. But his weakened state only stumbled forward, collapsing on the ground away from the glass. He tried to push himself off the ground, but he failed, his words slurring more often. “You used me for information. Why?”

“No reason,” you told him, dropping his wallet on his jeans. “I’ll just take my pay and go now. But, next time you need a good time, Mitchy Boo, hit me up.”

“Fuck you,” he snarled, crawling forward slightly. “I will fucking kill you.”

You frowned, kneeling in front of him. “No, you won’t,” you told him. “And know this. I never meant to hurt you, Mitch. I’m doing what I have to. It’s my job.”

“No,” he huffed. “You’re more than this. More than a prostitute.”

“I know I am,” you whispered, the man finally drifting off, the drug in his system finally taking effect. “And hopefully one day, you will understand that I’m doing what I must.” Your fingers ran through his hair, running down his stubbled jaw. “I really am sorry. But this is who I am.”

You stood from your spot, grabbing a pillow and blanket from the bed, placing the pillow under his head and covering his body. Rummaging through his bag, your found a blank shirt and athletic shorts you could throw on until you could buy fresh clothes, shrugging on one of his leather jackets. You sighed when the smell of his cologne wafted to your nose, his clothes covered in his aroma. You smiled slightly, hugging the jacket closer around your frame before looking back down at the man.

“I’m sorry,” you said one finally time, leaning over his body to place a kiss to his cheek. “I… I’m sure I do love you, Mitch. It was spur of the moment, but it feels right to say. And I’m sorry I can’t let you love me back. My job would never let me us happen.”

You disappeared from the room, grabbing the sedatives you left in the kitchen, having found them in one of the bags Stan left for Mitch. Pocketing them, you made sure you had everything you needed, leaving the small safe house cottage. Your heart broke slightly as you looked back at the house, knowing you were leaving such a perfect man. A man that made you feel like more than a person. He made you feel complete.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, shaking away the tears. “You can’t feel for him like this. Stay focused on your job.” You sighed, letting one tear slip, biting your lip as you walked away. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Mitch.”

And there you were, walking away into the dark dusk of the night, leaving the light behind you.

Until we meet again, Mitch Rapp.

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Dusk Till Dawn Tag: @gamergirl765; @nooneelsethandylan; @put-them-all-together; @kristendonutz

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screamkills · 3 years ago

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would any of your characters /knowingly/ make out with any of the killers?

this is a...strange...question. i'm a little too lazy to format right now, so you're going to get this mess. but this also seems fun, so let's GOOOO.

angie would absolutely NOT knowingly make out with any of the gh/ost/fac/es. they've tormented her family and have tried to kill her parents and her aunt sidney far too many times for her to comfy being in the room with them, let alone getting that up close and personal.

beau definitely wouldn't be making out with any of them. his father was framed by two of them and then killed by another, so there's that. there's also the fact that the thought of knowingly being anywhere near a killer makes his skin crawl.

loretta loves her tru/e cri/me and horror, but another passion of her's is to stay alive and not become a story herself. however, as a teenager, loretta was one of those true c/rime fans, the kind that thought she could take the bad boy or girl and change them, help them, kind of glorified and woob-ified them. teen!loretta would have definitely considered it. as an adult, however, it's an absolute hard NO.

let's keep one thing in mind: luna is an absolute physical and emotional train wreck. every time she tries to clean herself up and make herself better, something bad comes along to ruin it. if drunk and / or high enough, she definitely probably would make out with almost any of the gho/stfac/es ( the exceptions being stu, mrs. loomis, charlie, and amber ). sober luna would probably actively try to avoid almost all of the ghostfaces, however.

for stephanie, it honestly depends on the circumstance. she wouldn't make out willy nilly with anyone, but if she felt that they've earned her trust and they're on the brink of being in a romantic relationship, it would be something that she would definitely consider. otherwise, it's a hard NO from steph.

#* / stephanie macher: headcanons #* / beau greene: headcanons #* / angelica riley: headcanons #* / luna cooper: headcanons #* / loretta casey: headcanons #* / answered #weird question but fun to answer #send me more stuff like this

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ravenqueensspecialboi · 7 years ago

Text

Little Ghost, Little Ghost, One I’m Scared of the Most

For @kingjulianisnotalemur as part of the @fantasyhaikyuuexchange

Theme: Ghosts Ship: BokuAka Tags: Fluff and humor, alternate universe - ghosts, implied/referenced character death Characters: Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji, Kuroo Tetsurou Words: 2041 Read on ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12854412

Fic under the cut!

Bokuto wasn't sure what it was about his new apartment, but something was definitely off. He wasn't sure if it was the atmosphere, or the location of the building, or something else entirely. His friends—mostly Kuroo—told him to ignore it. It was all in his head, he was imagining it, he was still adjusting to living in a new place. He had only been living there for a few weeks at the most, after all. Bokuto would let them say their piece, then move onto a new topic of conversation, but he knew he was right. Bokuto had the overwhelming feeling that he wasn't alone in his apartment. Or that someone was watching him, at the very least.

It started off small, going almost completely unnoticed by Bokuto. Rooms being colder than Bokuto remembered them being, whispers and groans that could just as easily been the pipes creaking. Things that had no impact on Bokuto's day to day. Then things got a little weirder. Objects would be moved from where they had been left, or just disappearing completely before reappearing days later. There would be footsteps in the hall outside his apartment, someone pacing back and forth, but when Bokuto would open the door, there'd be no one out there. Lights would flicker, even after Bokuto replaced the bulbs. Something wasn't right, and it was starting to freak Bokuto out.

It all came to a head one night as Bokuto was preparing for bed. He had just turned off the lights and tucked himself into bed when he heard the footsteps. This time, however, the footsteps were louder than they had been. Bokuto sat up, straining to hear the pacing. The sound would recede, then grow louder, recede, then grow louder. With a jolt, Bokuto rocketed out of bed; the footsteps were coming from inside his apartment. He grabbed a flashlight from his nightstand. With a deep breath, Bokuto flung open his bedroom door and scanned the hallway. It was empty.

"Is someone there?" he called, flashlight held out in front of him. He took a hesitant step forward when there was no response. "Hello? I promise I won't hurt you. Even though I could. You did break into my apartment."

"Your apartment?" a voice whispered into his ear. "Sorry, but I was living here first."

Bokuto screamed in alarm. He whipped around, frantically waving his flashlight as he looked for the source of the voice. To his dismay, the hall was empty. He gripped the flashlight tighter, but nearly dropped it when he felt something cold brush against his shoulder. He screamed again.

"Please stop screaming, you're going to upset the neighbors," the voice whispered.

Bokuto wanted to keep screaming, he really did, but by some miracle, he stopped.

"Much better," the voice said. "Now, either go to bed, or get out of my apartment."

With that, the cold feeling vanished. Bokuto wasn't sure, but he thought that he was alone.

"What the fuck was that?" he whispered to the darkness. He was thankful that the darkness didn't respond that time.

***

"Okay, so I narrowed it down. Whatever's in my apartment is either a vampire, or a ghost," Bokuto told Kuroo the following day. The two were sitting outside a café close to campus. Bokuto looked like hell, having gotten no sleep the night before. Kuroo was deeply engrossed in something on his phone and had failed to comment on his friend's appearance.

"Can't be a vampire," Kuroo said without looking up from his phone.

Bokuto cocked his head to the side. "Why not?"

"Vampires have tangible bodies, so you would have seen it by now. So it has to be a gho-"

Kuroo trailed off, looking up from his phone as confusion, then realization dawned on his face. He whipped his head around to glare at Bokuto. "You moldy soybean, I can't believe you're trying to drag me into a conversation about paranormal bullshit."

Bokuto smacked his hands on the table in frustration," Dude, I'm telling you the truth! I've been telling you the truth! There's a ghost in my apartment! I heard it!" Bokuto paused, then added, "Wait, did you just call me a moldy soybean?"

"You heard it?" Kuroo asked, ignoring Bokuto's follow up question. "As in, it spoke to you?"

"Yes!" Bokuto cried. "I told it I wasn't going to hurt it, even though it was in my apartment and it said that it lived there first."

Kuroo stared at Bokuto. Bokuto stared back.

"You don't believe me," Bokuto said after a moment.

Kuroo shook his head. "Not at all."

Kuroo turned back to his phone as Bokuto smacked his head against the table. Without looking up, Kuroo reached over and patted Bokuto's head. Bokuto gave a half-assed attempt to pat Kuroo's hand away.

"I'm telling you, Bo," Kuroo said as he pulled his hand back, "you're just imagining it. There's nothing in your apartment. And even if there was something there, what are you going to do? Sit in a salt circle and wait for it to talk to you?"

***

That night, Bokuto found himself sitting in the middle of a salt circle, flashlight tight in hand once more. Well, it was almost a circle. He had dumped a large amount of table salt in the middle of his hallway before arranging it into something that wasn't quite a circle or an oval. Bokuto had then made a halfhearted attempt to nudge the salt into more of a circle shape, but gave up when he realized it was a waste of time. So he had grabbed his flashlight, and was currently waiting in a near pitch-black apartment. And he was getting antsy.

"Is anyone here?" Bokuto called out. "I just wanna talk."

He was met with silence.

"Are you a vampire or a ghost?" he asked.

More silence.

"If you can hear me, clap once?" he tried.

"I'm not a kid," a voice snapped in his ear.

Bokuto did his best to not jump out of his skin. He settled on spinning around fast enough to disrupt the salt circle.

"Who's there?" he called.

"The current tenant of this- oh, gods, I can't do this," the voice groaned. "It's hard to talk like this, not sure why, but it is. Can we try something else, Intruder-san?"

"Intruder-san?" Bokuto repeated. "My name's Bokuto Koutarou."

Bokuto could hear the exasperation as the voice said, "Bathroom."

"Bathroom?" Bokuto asked. "What's in the bathroom?"

The voice didn't reply. Bokuto shifted, his already frayed nerves worsening under the strain of the silence. Then the sound of rushing water reached his ears; the shower was running. Bokuto got to his feet. He approached the bathroom with caution, wondering if something was going to jump out and attack him. He peeked around the corner, then sighed in relief. The bathroom was empty.

"Come on, Intruder-san," the voice snapped.

Bokuto felt something tug on the front of his shirt. Without warning, he was tugged into the bathroom by whatever had a grip on his shirt. The door slammed shut behind Bokuto, leaving him trapped in his own bathroom as steam filled the enclosed space.

"This is going to run up my gas bill, I hope you know," Bokuto grumbled to the disembodied voice.

After a few more minutes, the shower turned off. Bokuto waited for something to happen, the steady drip of water falling from the shower head fraying his already shot nerves.

After a minute, a name appeared in the fog on the mirror: Akaashi Keiji.

"Akaashi Keiji?" Bokuto read. "That's your name?"

The word "yes" appeared on the mirror.

"So, you used to live here?" Bokuto asked.

New writing formed: Still live here. The phrase was underlined. A few times.

"Well, hate to break it to you, Akaashi, but they wouldn't have rented this place to me if you were still living here," Bokuto pointed out. "And since I can't see you, you're probably a ghost."

Akaashi didn't respond. Bokuto shifted uncomfortably as minutes passed by in total silence.

"Akaashi, you still here?"

The word "here" appeared on the mirror, followed by "Dead?"

Bokuto pulled out his phone, and typed Akaashi's name into the search bar. The few seconds wait for the results was agonizing. The first link was for an obituary. He clicked on it, then skimmed the obituary. A hit-and-run case three months previous had resulted in the death of a lone pedestrian. He had died on the way to the hospital. He had been about Bokuto's age. Bokuto scrolled back up to the top of the obituary. A young man with curly dark hair and a stoic expression stared back at him. Bokuto had to admit, it was a shame that he had died, he was attractive.

"I guess you've been dead for a few months," Bokuto said. He cringed at his own bluntness. "Sorry about that," he added.

Akaashi didn't reply.

"Did you not know you were dead?" Bokuto asked.

The words "I didn't" appeared on the mirror.

"I really am sorry," Bokuto said. "It must have been a rough three months."

Akaashi was quiet for a minute. Bokuto waited as patiently as he could as Akaashi scrawled on the mirror, "I didn't even realize it had been that long. I thought things were okay. Some of my stuff was missing, but all of my furniture was still here. But then you moved in, and you refused to acknowledge my existence, and that annoyed me to no end. I guess it makes sense if you couldn't see or hear me."

Bokuto rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, that's fair. Explains why you kept moving my stuff around too."

"What do I do now?" Akaashi asked, speaking directly to Bokuto that time.

Bokuto drummed his fingers on the countertop. "Well, I've always wanted a roommate," he commented.

***

The two quickly fell into a routine. Bokuto's apartment was decidedly less terrifying now that he had a face and a name to associate with the disembodied voice. Bokuto had to admit, he really liked having Akaashi around. Akaashi was fun to talk to. He was content to let Bokuto do most of the talking a lot of the time, but he was also blunt and unafraid to call Bokuto out on his shit when needed. He'd also remind Bokuto of day to day things he'd otherwise forget to do, which Bokuto greatly appreciated. He was especially grateful that he would no longer be locked out of his apartment, as Akaashi would remind him to grab his keys before he'd leave.

In return, Bokuto would help Akaashi grow more accustomed to ghosthood. He had even Googled "how to help a ghost adjust to life as a ghost" (he had been met with limited success on that one, but it was the thought that counted, in Bokuto's mind). Bokuto rearranged the furniture to the way Akaashi had had it when he was alive, he asked questions about Akaashi's life before the accident. Akaashi wouldn't always answer Bokuto's questions—the memories would be too painful, or he wouldn't feel like talking—but Bokuto didn't mind. He liked what they had. And he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

***

"So did you ever figure out your haunting problem?" Kuroo asked over lunch a few months later.

Bokuto gave him a wistful smile, "Yeah, we worked it out."

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "We? Who's we?"

"Me and Keiji," Bokuto replied.

Kuroo shook his head. He didn't get it, but if Bokuto was happy, he didn't really need to get it.

***

It had been almost a year by the time Akaashi finally said he loved Bokuto. Bokuto had been getting ready for work when Akaashi had turned on the shower and shut the door. Bokuto had protested, stating that the steam would ruin his hair, but he had only gotten a dismissive snort in return. Once the bathroom had filled with steam, Akaashi had shut off the shower. Bokuto watched in amazement as a shape appeared on the mirror; it was a single heart. He grinned, then reached forward to draw a heart of his own. He ran his finger through the fog, connecting the two hearts.

"Love you too, Keiji."

#fantasy haikyuu exchange #hq fanfic #bokuaka

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