#just having one of those moments where i wish i could snap my fingers and function properly

[birdietrait]

why am i so awkward and anxious when talking to people i’ve literally known my entire life ?? 😁

[eddiesxangel]

1-800-HOT-TO-GO | E.M

Anonymous asked: Can i request a fic where either the reader reveals during a pizza and beers hangout she was a phone sex operator for a brief time and everyone is shocked and one of them jokingly asks if she was any good and she whispers something dirty in their ear and it changes their friendship

Cw: fem!reader, allusions to male masturbation, dirty talk 1.7k words

“Come again?”

“I used to work a sex hotline,” you shrug like it was no big deal.

“No way,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”

You hear Steve and the others giggle around you, also in disbelief.

“Wanna bet?”

“Try me.” He wants to call your bluff because no way in hell did he not know this about you. You always were reserved when it came to talking about sex; you never had you seemed promiscuous.

You hold up your hand to your ear, pretending it is a phone, and Eddie follows your lead.

“Ring ring,” he giggles.

“Hello.” You changed the pitch of your voice to be more sultry.

“Hi,” he smirks.

“Can I get a name, handsome?”

“ Eddie”

“Mmmm, hi, Eddie. I’m Candy.”

“Candy?”

He breaks character, but you don’t.

“the boys say it’s because I’m so sweet.” You fake giggle.

“This is my first time calling. I’m not sure what to do here.”

“That’s okay, I’ll walk you through it… you want to get comfortable for me?”

Eddie looks around the room at the others, who are trying to stifle their giggles. This night was supposed to be chill, with pizza and beers. He wasn’t really sure how you all ended up here.

“I’m comfortable.” He says without actually moving.”

“I wish I could see; you sound so sexy.” You sigh.

Another giggle leaves Eddie’s lips because who is this person who’s taken over your body?

“Yeah? you wish you could see be, Dollface?” Playing into it more.

You lean in to whisper so only he can hear it this time. “oh yeah, big boy; I bet your cock is already nice and hard for me. Such a good boy, I want you to fill me.” You sit back, take a loose tendril, twirl his hair around your finger, and watch Eddie’s eyes widen at what you just said.

“Oh-okay, that’s enough.” He chuckles, trying not to give away how turned on he just got. “I believe you!”

You sit back with a giggle and grab another slice of pizza like nothing just happened.

Everyone looked at you with shock.

Eddie quickly gets up and excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

“What did you say?!” Robin begs.

You shrug in response like it was another day at work… which it has been.

“Damn, is it hot in here?” Steve pops the collar of his shirt.

“You guys need to loosen up, my god.”

While you were still enjoying your pizza, Eddie was having a crisis. Never had he thought of you in that way until moments ago, listening to those filthy words slip from your lips.

“I bet your cock is already nice and hard for me. Such a good boy, I want you to fill me,” your words replayed in his mind while he tried to fight the blood rushing to his stiffening cock.

He can’t go back out there like this. Eddie splashed cold water on his face to try to snap him out of it, but it didn’t help.

A quick rap on the door startles Eddie out of his inner monologue.

“You okay, big boy? You’ve been in there fifteen minutes.” He hears you laugh from the other side.

Had it really been that long?

Eddie’s issue had not been resolved; in fact, it had worsened as he tried to push down the thought of you naked and spread out for him… talking to him like that.

“Yeah-I-uh- just a minute.” Eddie wanted to pull his hair out at how frustrated you had made him.

You were just pals, bubbies, amigos.

You weren’t attractive… were you?

Eddie never thought to look at you in that way; you’re just a friend, always had been, always will be… unless?

The more Eddie thought about it, the more he realized he did think your hair looked really pretty tonight. The way you always did your makeup really brought out your beautiful features…and when he got a whiff of your delicious perfume when you twirled his hair, he thought his.

“You sure?” You try to jiggle the door handle, but it’s locked.

“Shit,” Eddie curses under with breath.

“Come on, Ed, talk to me, please?”

You hear the lock unlatch and watch the doorknob slowly turn as Eddie pokes his head out.

“Hi,” he’s short and sounds a bit out of breath.

“I hope what I said didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Ed saw the worried look in your eyes.

“No! Well, I mean, yes, but…no.”

“Yes, but no?”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. He didn’t see a way out of this. He stepped aside to let you in and shut the door behind you.

“Eddie?” You look up at him.

“Hm?”

His eyes snap to your concerned face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was a big deal! It did it all the time for work; I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. clearly, I overstepped a boundary-“

“You’re not the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

Eddie moves his strategically placed hands to reveal the tent formed in his jeans and watches as your face falls into amused shock.

You cup your mouth to stifle an unexpected giggle.

“That’s not the reaction a guy wants when he shows a girl how turned on he is.”

“I’m sorry, I just!-didn’t think?”

“It’s okay. I’m just trying to get rid of it, but it’s not going away.”

“You mean?”

“I’m waiting it out.”

“Oh, ok.” You nod awkwardly.

An awkward silence washes over the both of you as you try so hard not to stare at his crotch.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for your help if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Ok…”

Another very uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, trying to do everything in your power so as not to look down.

“I um… I guess I’ll just.” You point to the door that he’s blocking.

“Uh. Ok,” he nods and steps to the side.

You close the door behind you but don’t leave. You lean against the door and take a deep breath, trying to make sense of the evening.

Why did the thought of turning Eddie on excite you? He’s a friend. Just a friend. I always had and always will be.

With a deep breath, you go to push yourself up off the door, but before you’re able to, you hear your name being moaned from the other side of the door.

You froze. You knew you should move, but your feet were locked in place. More heavy breaths and the sound of muffled moans seeped from under the door gap, and you pressed your ear to the door.

Eddie was jerking off because of you… and you liked it?

Eddie bit back screaming your name as he finally released himself into the bathroom tissue. Finally, he could return to rejoin everyone without being physically uncomfortable.

He discarded his release, tucked himself back in, washed his hands, and unlocked the door, but he was ambushed when you fell onto him when he went to open the door.

You let out a squeak as you lost your balance, falling into Eddie as the door was opened from under you.

“Woah,” Eddie catches you before you’re able to fall. His rage hands wrap around your biceps, gripping tightly to brace your fall.

“Were you spying on me?”

“Oh god, sorry” you’re so embarrassed. The whole evening has been one shit show. You scramble to find your fitting to create space between you and Eddie.

“You were spying on me!”

“Shhhhh! Keep your voice down.”

“You totally were spying on me!” He accused.

“You’re the one who moaned my name!” You defend.

Eddie’s cheeks reddened.

“You’re the one who said all those… things!” his hands flailed.

“You’re the one who egged it on!”

“So!”

“So?”

“Yeah, so!”

“Woah, guys, what’s going on here?” Steve pops his head around the corner.

“Nothing,” you both glare.

“Ohhhhhkayyyyyyyy,” Steve turns a heel and walks back to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“Eddie,” you sigh, “I don’t want to argue. This is dumb, and we can pretend it never happened.”

“We could, but I gotta know.”

“What’s that?”

“Did you like it?” He took a step closer, filling the gap between you.

“What?” You look up at him.

“I asked if you like listening to me?” he brushed your hair behind your shoulder.

You gulp, not expecting Eddie’s demeanour to switch on a dime.

“I… I don’t know?”

“I think you did, and you’re too scared to admit it.” You can smell him. He is so close to you.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” You watch as he leans in closer.

“Just trust me.” His hands find the back of your neck, pulling you close.

“Eddie?”

“Let me try something.”

“Kay,” you whisper.

Eddie’s lips graze yours ever so lightly before he presses them fully.

A million and one thoughts run through your mind as Eddie kisses you.

You blame the cheap beer for letting this happen. You blame the beer for liking it. You blame the beer for kissing him back. You blame the beer for the tongue slip and the beer for how you wanted to moan when he pulled away.

“Woah”

“Yea woah,” you repeated dumbly.

“um… did you like it?”

“Yeah… did you?”

“Yeah.”

“cool… now what?”

“go out with me,” Eddie states confidently.

“Like a date?”

“what else would it be?” He chuckles.

“I don’t know?” You shrug, embarrassed that Eddie is getting you all flustered.

“You’re cute when you don’t know what to say.” He smirks.

“I’m cute?” You never thought hearing Eddie say those words would send butterflies fluttering through your tummy.

Eddie doesn’t answer verbally; he leans in to kiss you again to confirm his statement.

“We should get back to the others.” You sigh as you pull away.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“You didn’t ask me anything.”

“Yes, I did. I asked you out.”

“No, you said go out with me. That’s a statement, not a question.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No,” Yes, you were totally messing with him.

“Will you go out on a date with me?”

“Just say yes! You’ve been gone for half an hour!” You hear Robin yell from the living room.

“Robin!” You hear Steve scold.

“What?”

You can’t help but laugh and can’t believe the next world’s coming out of your mouth.

“Okay, I’ll go out with you, Eddie.”

[parkerslatte]

It’s Been a Long, Long Time

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: memory loss.

Summary: The last time Azriel had seen his mate was nearly four centuries ago. The bond went silent and for those many years, Azriel believed his mate was dead. As he sits with Elain in her garden, the bond suddenly comes alive once again.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The day Azriel lost his mate, he was in agony. Not because of the pain, no. It was because of the lack of knowledge if she was alive or not. The bond fell quiet and Azriel could hardly grasp onto it. It was as if he were trying to catch smoke. There was nothing to touch. For years he searched for her, he never wanted to give up. He knew that every moment he waited, she could be in danger. 

Even long after she disappeared, Azriel still searched. However, as the centuries ticked by, Azriel began to lose hope. He was sure he had searched every possible location. There was no trace of Y/N. 

Azriel sat with Elain in her garden. He had noticed a positive change in the middle Archeron sister for the past few months. When Rhys tasked him to watch over Elain and help her adjust, he originally hated the idea. But he knew the reason why Rhys had set him the task. It was coming up to the 400th anniversary since Y/N had disappeared. 

As Azriel looked down at the ring in his hands, he could feel his heart plummet. Even if being around Elain had helped distract himself as she explained all of the flowers to him and their various meanings, the closer it got to the anniversary of Y/N’s disappearance, Azriel felt himself slip away from everyone and everything. 

The ring was still beautiful even after all this time. Azriel made sure it was. Despite vowing to never take off her wedding ring, Y/N always took it off before bed, deeming that it was uncomfortable when she rested her head upon her hand to sleep. But the first thing she did every morning was slip the ring back upon her finger. The night she was taken it had been no different except one thing, Azriel had not been there. His job had kept him away for an extra day, and for the first time since they were mated and married, Azriel had not fallen asleep next to Y/N. He had regretted that for four hundred years. The only reminder of her was the ring he found on her bedside cabinet that morning. 

“Azriel!” The sound of Elain’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

“Sorry?” He lifted his gaze from the ring and met Elain’s. 

“I asked you what that was,” Elain said, gesturing down to the ring in his hand. 

Azriel stilled. He never liked speaking about it with anyone but Rhys or Cassian. But seeing how Elain’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern, he could tell that a saddened expression had slipped onto his face. 

Azriel sighed. “It was my mate’s wedding ring.”

“Mate?” Elain said, her expression falling slightly. 

Azriel cringed internally. He knew about Elain’s small crush on him. She did not hide it well. Though he did not return her feelings, he still enjoyed her company. With her, she understood when he just wished to sit in silence and when he didn’t want to talk, she continued the conversation on her own. 

Perhaps there was a time where he could have retired her feelings, Elain was rather beautiful, but she would never compare to Y/N. Azriel had never had another relationship after Y/N disappeared. He only ever wanted Y/N and he would only ever want her. 

“Yes,” Azriel said, swallowing hard. “She- she disappeared four-hundred years ago. I was never able to find her.”

The small hurt expression on Elain’s face changed to one of sympathy. “Azriel, I am so sorry.”

Azriel nodded and looked back at the ring. “I have looked everywhere and there is no trace of her. I have always felt…empty since she disappeared. She was part of my soul that I have never gotten back.”

Elain dropped the bulbs she was holding back into her basket. “How do you know she is not out there? You couldn’t have searched everywhere on the planet?”

“I have searched everywhere where it was possible to take her,” Azriel answered. “I have found absolutely nothing.”

“Then believe that she is still out there,” Elain said.

“Elain, it has been nearly four-hundred years,” Azriel said. “I gave up hope of her still being alive a long time ago.”

“Do you still love her?” Elain asked. 

“More than anything,” Azriel said instantly. “I haven’t been with anyone after she disappeared. I tried, about two-hundred years ago but I couldn’t do it. It felt so wrong. No one will ever compare to her.”

“Then you shouldn’t give up hope,” Elain said. “You don’t give up hope on those you love.”

Azriel did not reply. He simply looked back down at the ring once more. It was centuries old yet it still looked brand new. Azriel made sure that the silver band never tarnished. Made sure that the gem never stopped sparkling. It looked the same as the day he had slipped it onto her finger. Elain, sensing Azriel wished to no longer talk about the topic, returned back to her garden. 

Ever since Y/N had disappeared, Azriel had always felt like he had lost part of his soul, and he supposed he had. Y/N was everything to him. She was who he lived for. She was the one and only love he ever needed, ever wanted. The night the bond snapped for them was one Azriel would never forget. Even if he tried, he would never be able to forget it. The initial shock then the pure feeling of the love she sent him. For the first time in his life, Azriel knew what it was like to be loved so deeply and unconditionally. It did not matter whether he deserved it or not. When he was with Y/N, none of that mattered. All that mattered was him and her and the fact that they were together. 

As Azriel tucked the ring back into his breast pocket, a large surge of emotion was brought to life within him. He clutched at his chest. Azriel cried out.

“Azriel?” Elain questioned, shooting to her feet. “Are you okay?”

Her voice was muffled as Azriel continued to claw at his chest. Something was threatening to burst through. 

“Something is different,” he forced out. 

“Do I need to get anyone?” Elain asked. 

“Rhys,” Azriel said. “I need Rhys.”

Elain nodded and ran out of the garden and into the house in search of his brother.

Azriel tried to stand but fell to his knees immediately. He could barely breathe. The pressure in his chest was gradually increasing and he could not place the feeling anywhere. 

“I have Rhys,” Elain said, rushing back into the garden, Rhys following behind her. 

“Az, what’s wrong?” Rhys asked, kneeling down next to him. 

“I don’t know,” Azriel said, breathing heavily. “There is a pressure in my chest. I don’t know what it is.”

“What were you doing before it started?” Rhys asked.

“Telling–” Azriel cut himself off as he yelled out. The pressure was becoming worse and Azriel was sure that if he tried to repress it anymore, it would surely kill him. “Telling Elain about Y/N.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Elain asked quietly, standing a small distance away.

“Az, you need to relax,” Rhys said, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“I can’t,” Azriel said through gritted teeth. 

“The pressure will kill you if you don’t relax,” Rhys said sternly. “So, please, relax.”

Azriel met Rhy’s eyes and stopped clawing at his chest. The pain in his chest gradually got worse and worse. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

“Rhys,” Azriel whispered, his voice full of pain. “I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” Rhys said. “Just relax, Az.”

Azriel closed his eyes and relaxed his body, letting the pain overtake his body until he cried out once again. However as soon as he cried out, the pain stopped and a new feeling overtook his body. It was overwhelming and Azriel backed away from Rhys’s touch. 

“Azriel,” Rhys said. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t–”

Azriel cut himself off as a familiar feeling rose within him. This time he didn’t claw at his chest, he gently placed his hand upon it. The emotions he was feeling weren’t his. They were someone else’s. Azriel hadn’t felt this way in a long time. He had forgotten what it felt like. But it felt right. 

“The mating bond,” Azriel said. “I feel the mating bond.”

Even Rhys looked shocked as he looked at Azriel. “Are you sure?”

Azriel nodded. “I can feel it. I can feel her, Rhys.”

Tears sprung to Azriel’s eyes. He tugged on that bond that had lain dormant for four hundred years. It was weak though he felt her tug back. Azriel could have sobbed at that feeling alone. 

“Take me back to my home, Rhys,” Azriel said. 

The home Azriel shared with Y/N. He hadn’t entered it in a long time. He could never bring himself to. Every single time he tried, he couldn’t open the door. That house was the home he made with Y/N and Azriel did not want to be there if she wasn’t. 

“Are you sure?” Rhys asked.

“I’m sure,” Azriel said. “She is there, Rhys. I can feel it.”

Rhys nodded and winnowed them to the outside of Azriel’s home on the outskirts of Velaris. As soon as they arrived, Azriel could already smell the familiar scent of his mate. He pushed away from Rhys and opened the front door. 

And there she was.

Y/N stood in the middle of the room looking around with her hands on her hips. “You could have dusted, Az.”

Azriel simply couldn’t believe it. “Y/N? Are you really here?”

Y/N smiled softly and Azriel nearly collapsed right there. That smile was always in his dreams but seeing it again in person…

Azriel rushed over to her and scooped her in his arms as they both sank to the floor. Azriel couldn’t stop the sobs that came from him and neither could Y/N. The bond between them hummed happily. Four hundred years of being apart and now finally being reunited. It was something Azriel had given up on a long time ago. 

“How are you here?” Azriel mumbled, his sobs subsided but his tears didn’t. “I thought you were dead.”

Y/N pulled away from the hug and cupped Azriel’s cheeks and wiped away the tears. “You are exactly as I remember. It has been so long since I remembered what you looked like.”

“What do you mean?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N sighed and held onto Azriel tighter, as if she were afraid she was going to be taken once more. “The night I was taken, I was drugged, they wanted me for my power of healing and I refused to give in. They were bad men and I was not going to help them no matter how hard they tried to convince me. They drugged my food to make me compliant but the only thing I could think about was you and our bond. Once they realised who I was and who I was mated to, they gave me another drug. This time it was one to dampen the power of the mating bond. It made me stop feeling you.”

“I remember that night,” Azriel said. “I thought you blocked it off.”

Y/N shook her head. “Once the mating bond was dampened, they drugged me with something else. Over time I began to forget things, important things. My name, where I came from, my family, my friends…you.”

Azriel wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her body flush against his. The sound of her heart beating was enough to bring a new surge of tears to his eyes. He never thought he would hear it again.

“They took me to a place on the continent, an entire city deep below ground with its own artificial sun and moon, whole fields and towns. Once I did not remember anything, they gave me a new identity and a whole new life.” 

“You didn’t remember me?” Azriel asked.

“I didn’t,” Y/N said sadly, threading her fingers in his hair. “But I always felt that there was a part of me missing. Even though the mating bond was repressed, I always felt that something was not quite right.”

Azriel’s heart fell. This whole time he had been in agony that his mate had been missing, while she did not remember him at all.  “How did you escape?” he asked. 

“If you believe me or not, there are good people in that community, incredible people,” Y/N said. “They helped me flush the drugs from my system and helped me remember who I once was.”

“The bond?” Azriel asked. “Did they help with that?”

Y/N shook her head. “Once the drugs were from my system and I was finally above ground, I felt you. I winnowed back here instantly. Consider me surprised when this house looks exactly the same as when I left four-hundred years ago.”

“I haven’t been able to come back here since you were taken,” Azriel whispered, his voice soft and vulnerable. 

Y/N caressed his face and wiped his tears away. “Oh, my darling. I am here now. Only if you still want me, of course.”

Azriel frowned. “Why wouldn’t I want you?”

“Az, my love, it has been four-hundred years. I would understand if you moved on in those years,” Y/N said. 

Azriel shook his head. “There has been no one else. I tried almost two centuries ago but I couldn’t do it. All I wanted was you.” When Azriel looked at her face again, he nearly burst into tears once more. It had been so long since he had looked into those loving eyes. The type of love he once thought he never deserved. “If you had found anyone, I would understand. You didn’t remember me.” Just that statement alone made Azriel hurt all over again. 

Y/N sighed a pained noise. “I won’t lie to you and say that there was no one, Azriel. There were a couple of people I have been with over the past four centuries.”

A new surge of tears streamed down Azriel’s cheeks as he gripped onto Y/N tighter. 

“But,” she continued, “there has been no one for many years and no one ever stuck around long. I could never fully commit. It was as if my body knew that it was wrong. I did like a few people but I never loved them. I could never love anyone more than I love you.”

“I never want you to go anywhere again,” Azriel whispered into her hair. “I missed you so much.”

Azriel’s fingers tangled in her hair as he rested his forehead against hers. Her soft breath fanned his face and Azriel swore he could nearly faint. Her scent, her touch, her breath. They were all things Azriel never thought he would ever witness again. 

“I am never going anywhere again,” Y/N mumbled. “I will remain beside you forever, my love.”

Azriel reluctantly unwrapped one hand from around Y/N and reached into his pocket and pulled out her ring. Y/N gasped once she saw it. 

“You kept it?” She asked.

“Of course I kept it,” Azriel said. “I always have it on me. It was the only thing I had that reminded me of you.”

Y/N wiped her tears away as Azriel took her hand gently in hers and slid the ring onto her finger. “Perfect,” he whispered.

Y/N looked him in the eyes. The love she held within them was something Azriel never forgot. He would see them in his dreams and nightmares. It was something he never thought he would see in person again. 

“Can I kiss you?” Azriel asked, almost afraid of the answer. 

Y/N smiled. “Az, I am your mate and your wife. There might have been a four century gap in our relationship but those two facts do not change. I love you. Of course you can kiss me. Kiss me until you can’t anymore.”

The shadowsinger smiled. “Then I’m afraid we will be here a while.”

Azriel finally kissed his mate and wife for the first time in four hundred years. 

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- return.

summary: the obey me brothers react to mc coming back to life!

tags: obey me brothers x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied character death

i. lucifer

lucifer quietly steps into diavolo’s office, his usual professional mask quickly slipping onto his face, mouth set in a firm line as his eyes wander about the room. he freezes where he is when he sees who diavolo is talking to.

a familiar side profile, those kind eyes and soft lips he remembers so well, and he feels his breath hitch in his throat. this wasn’t real, he saw you die in front of his eyes. just how could you be here right now?

“lucifer!” you call, his presence being made known by diavolo, who grins wide upon seeing lucifer’s mesmerized expression. “oh, i missed you so, i–” you grip onto him tight, lucifer hesitating to return your affection out of both fear and regret. surely, he’d wake up any moment now in his own room and see that this was all a dream, remembering he had similar dreams after lilith’s fall. oh how his heavenly father liked to torment him so, even now.

“how did you…?” he clenches his jaw to keep himself from breaking. not in front of diavolo, not in front of you could he cry. lucifer hadn’t cried in eons, not since he was cast out of the celestial realm, but now, more than ever, he feels the weight of centuries of living creeping up on him, bubbling to the surface like a pressure he had let simmer for an eternity. “it’s really…?”

“it’s really me…” you whisper, putting your hand on his cheek. his hand comes up to cover your own, wishing he could shred the glove so he could feel the warmth of your hand on his. “it’s hard to believe, right? i was in the celestial realm for a while but… then i got sent back down here.” lucifer’s eyes flick to diavolo, who sits back in his chair with a smug grin on his face. he’s sure he now owes him two lifetimes worth of debts, one that he’d gladly work to pay off. you being here was worth more to him than anything the three realms had to offer.

“you’re never leaving again, understand?” his tone is more desperate than commanding, linking his fingers with yours. his other hand touches the spot where your mark is from making a pact with him, an eternal reminder that you both were connected. “from now until forever, you’re staying at my side.” 

you laugh breathily: “yes, i’m yours, lucifer.”

ii. mammon

an unexpected knock at the door resounds through the hall. he doesn’t have the energy to get up and open it, knowing it was probably asmodeus out from a wild night out. hearing the knocks once again, he sighs, slinking over and throwing the door open, ready to snap at whoever is there.

when he’s greeted by your smiling face, eyes bright and glittering as you choke out words that he’s been dreaming of hearing ever since that night you died, he grips the door so tight that it threatens to shatter under his grip. lucifer stands behind you, his arm linked with yours and the brightest smile he’s seen on his older brother since the days spent in heaven. 

he doesn’t care if he’s imagining things, he doesn’t care if it’s just a cruel illusion – mammon is greedy. he reaches out and pulls you out of lucifer’s grasp, holding you tight against his chest like you'd slip out of his arms if he let go. his breath hitches in his throat, hands running up and down your body, trying to commit this feeling to memory in case it turns out his hunch is right.

a flurry of emotions runs through his head, he has the urge to be angry that you left him, if only you could see the lengths he went to to get you back, all the restless nights spent bargaining with witches in back alleys and dark places. but he’s always cared for you more than he’s cared for his own pride, maybe even more than he’s cared for his own self. if this were an illusion he’s damn sure he’d sign over his own life to make it real, if even for a moment.

“hey,” your voice is more gentle than he remembers, “i’m here, i’m back, mammon.” when you push him back gently to cradle his face, he shatters, bursting into a fit of loud and childish sobs. he doesn’t care, he doesn’t worry about how pathetic he might’ve looked to you, you were back in his arms. 

iii. leviathan

levi hardly ever left his room, not since the night you had died. he only came out when he needed to eat, or when lucifer would forcefully drag him to class. the days were long and dull, not even TSL seemed to make him light up anymore – it was much too painful to face the world without his henry at his side.

he gets curious one night when he hears the sobs of his older brother downstairs; had something else happened? stepping out of his room, he could’ve never imagined seeing the sight in front of him: mammon sobbing in your arms, lucifer stroking your hair from behind, the two brothers sandwiching you in like a vice.

it’s you, his breaths grow shaky as he nearly jumps over the banister trying to get to you, it’s his henry, his best friend, his–

“you left me, but you’re–!” he quickly pulls mammon aside, tears of his own pricking at the corner of his eyes. “you’re back… why did you leave me? why did you–?” his tone is harsh, but the way he’s gripping onto your shirt, fists balled up and tugging you out of lucifer’s grip and into his chest, you know he’s more upset with himself than anything.

“…promise me you won’t leave me again,” his voice is small, and it has fresh tears running down your cheeks.

“i promise.”

iv. asmodeus

he comes home late, in the hours where the devildom was at it’s darkest, smelling of alcohol and the perfume of other demons. fully expecting another lecture from lucifer, he tries to open the door as quietly as possible, slinking through the doorway, making his silent entrance. as he sneaks up the stairs and towards his room, he sees that the door to your room was open.

that’s odd, he thinks, but not entirely strange – mammon would often tuck himself away under your covers, sleeping in your room as it was like a second home to him, even when you were gone. 

but then he hears it, the sound he so often dreamed of, so often tried to pull out of others as his fingers danced down their sides, but it was never the same. your laughter. 

he hurries in, a sight in front of him he never thought he would see again: you with your head in lucifer’s lap, levi cuddled up beside you, mammon hugging tight to your other side. as your eyes snap up to meet asmodeus’s, he feels his cheeks heat up, the shame of what he’s done since you’ve been gone creeping up on him slowly. 

but then you’re up and running to him, latching onto him like a vice and he finds himself smiling, the warmness of your body against his melting away his guilty thoughts like snow in the spring. 

“it’s about time you came back,” he kisses you over and over, not missing an inch of your face. you taste salty, and he doesn’t know who’s tears he’s tasting at that point – yours or his. “you’re mine. don’t you ever think about leaving again, ‘kay?”

v. satan

a quiet knock at his door in the early hours of the morning alerts him, and he stiffens, knowing it was probably lucifer here to check up on him. the thought of seeing his brother made him sick, so he continues reading his book as if he heard nothing.

“can i come in?” a soft voice that sounds like yours asks. has he lost it? has he been awake for so long now that he had finally slipped out of sanity? if he tells you to come in, it doesn’t register until the light from the outside hallway makes its way into his room, satan hissing at the way it blinds him.

the way the light wraps around you makes you look not much different than an angel, ethereal and as radiant as the sun. you reach down and touch his cheek, noticing how hollow his cheekbones and how dark the circles under his eyes are. he hadn’t been taking care of himself, had he?

“satan, i’m here,” you smile down at him gently, “i missed you. i missed you so much.”

“you… you’re actually alive?” he heart beats wildly in his chest, “but… but i researched this and… and it said there was no hope! how can you be here now?”

“i’ll explain later.” you kneel in front of him, hand still on his cheek. “now, i just want to see you.”

he wants to be angry at you. he wants to scream at you until his throat is burning, wants to make you feel every second of agony he had felt since the moment you died. but he can’t, no matter how angry he was at himself for his failures, he could never take that out on you. “this is real, right?” he grits his teeth, sure you could hear how fast his heart was beating. “i’m not going to wake up and you be gone, right?”

“i’m not leaving you, satan.” you shake your head, “not now, not ever.”

he finally cracks, pulling you into his lap and burying his face into your neck. you smell just how he remembers, and he pulls you close, close, closer until you’re flush against him. even then it’s not close enough.

satan doesn’t trust himself to speak, no words seeming accurate to say how he felt in the moment. he lets the tender moment pass by in silence, until his brothers come in after deciding the both of you had enough alone time.

vi. beelzebub

the darkness of the devildom starts to wash away as the morning hours come. of course, it was never truly bright as it was on earth. beel finds himself waking up after another nightmare, hand clutching at his pillow like he would often clutch onto your hand when he had dreams of lilith. 

in his dreams he sees you, shining like you always did, snuggled up against his chest. in the next moment, he sees blood staining your clothes, eyes wide in horror as you beg him to save you. beel is never quick enough, dying before he even had the chance to touch you, the last words of yours as cruel as a knife to the gut: why didn’t you save me?

beel makes his way to the kitchen, having left quietly as to not wake up belphie. he’s sure that it was levi’s turn to cook breakfast – not that levi would actually do it. levi didn’t leave his room unless forced to, after all. beelzebub could at least take over that job for him.

he passes by the common room, hunger pains keeping him from checking to see what his brothers were doing convened in there.

“oh, beel!” beelzebub whips around at the sound of your voice. he could never forget, not in a million years, just how sweet you sounded. like the brightest symphony or the softest lullaby. after you died, he found himself replaying your recorded phone calls with him over and over, to soothe him before he fell asleep.

“you’re… alive?” his eyes widen, and you pull yourself out of asmodeus’s lap to sprint to beel, who easily catches you in his arms, hoisting you in the air and spinning you around. tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and he crushes you into his chest. 

“yes, i’m here beel!” your voice is a bit strained due to how hard he’s squeezing you. 

“i’m sorry for not protecting you,” he whispers, “it’s my fault you were–”

“it’s not your fault.” beel leans down, letting you run your fingers through his hair, “not for lilith… not for me. none of it’s your fault. you did all you could.”

he smiles a watery smile, hands still strong around your waist: “thank you.”

vii. belphegor

as most nights go, belphie dreams about you. his head resting in your lap, your soft hands threading through his hair– it’s pure bliss, and he wants to cling to the dream as long as he can.

in fact, if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel something stroking his head in real life, his head resting on a surface both familiar and alien– did his favorite pillow always feel like this? but soon, beel’s voice pierces through the gauze, tearing his dream apart, and belphie opens his eyes.

blinking irritably, it takes him a second to process what’s going on– beel is smiling in a way he hasn’t seen in years. and his head is resting in your lap. you’re gazing down at him, something tender in your eyes, beel by your side.

it’s a dream. it has to be. there is no way you can be here, that you can be real– you were gone, and he was stuck, going around and around in his own head uselessly– but then you breathe, “belphie, i’m home,” and he turns and hugs you so hard you fall back on the bed, startled.

there is a flurry of limbs, of movement– beel has wrapped his arms around you from behind, and belphie is clinging to your front, head pressed in the crook of your neck, hands running all over to make sure you’re real.

hasn’t he wanted this moment forever? his two favorite people in the world, by his side? he doesn’t need an explanation, a reason. in fact, he’s sure mammon or lucifer will storm in in a couple more minutes, and he will have to tear himself from your side. belphie will have to share you with his five less lovable brothers.

but for now, you are his again. and it is enough.

[pacifythots]

[!] POSSESSIVE SUO. hcs. f!reader + yandere-ish and spicy-ish content?. he's ... yeah ; i promise its okay lmfao. i saw a togame one, so ofc i had to do my man. this is a lowk long hc list ...

hayato is the type to be extremely possessive of his friends, but he's so good at hiding it that no one can tell. if need be, he's ready to act like a snap of a finger, though more times than not, knowing his friends well enough, they have the situation under control.

hence, based on that, he's pretty (secretly) possessive over you pre-relationship. he's likely more so because you're a girl. not in a 'you're weaker,' way but more of 'i can't trust them around you' way.

hayato suo has a slick tongue.

he knows what to say, and when to say it. after all, the emotional intelligence he has is through the roof for someone of his age. at times it scares you how accurate his observations of you. often times, he notices things leagues before you do.

"you are aware that guy is flirting with you right?"

"unless you want the others to get a negative impression of you, i'd fix your expression."

"she's nervous, say something to help her relax."

specifically the first example, countlessly.

hayato suo is not a jealous person, after all, he's not dating you, how could he be jealous? though, there's something that pisses him off about those guys that approach you.

all of them were either sleazy or borderline misogynistic.

the first time you told him you were going on a date he almost burst a blood vessel.

it was at this point that suo realized he would have to do a bit more than the things he was doing to catch your attention: feigning injuries, "forgetting" his accessories around you, subtly purchasing things you enjoy, etc.

essentially, he was a boyfriend before he officially became one.

and even as you date, his shenanigans don't decrease. in fact, it increases. albeit, in a way you can't exactly point out.

instead of a dumb keychain or little figure he sometimes bought, he'd bring stuffed animals, necklaces, books, rings. the jewelry is always a matching set. he needs to let others know that the both of you are taken. you are a pretty girl, he has to stand his ground.

speaking of standing his ground, specifically in a fighting sense. he is always ready to through hands at someone for you.

someone is causing you anxiety? insults you? heaven forbid they assault you?

that time he had to be pulled away from mauling that dude? yeah ...

he'll through hands quickly if the disagreement can't be settled with words.

another way he proves being possessive, in a bot so subtle way, he'll leave small hickey's right where the line of your shirt sat. sure, they didn't show at the present moment, but you move the wrong way and anyone could see the way your lower neck and collarbone are littered in hickeys.

he's also a man to be alright with PDA. he's not too keen on too intimate activities, though small kisses and hand holding is his favorite thing to do.

(though he's not opposed to making out with you, biting and sucking on your bottom lip so when you go out it's kiss-swollen)

suo kisses the back of your hand and treats you like a princess while he's glaring at some poor unsuspecting man.

he's legitimately so happy to have you as a girlfriend. if they didn't know already, he's eager to introduce you, but if you wish to take it slow he will.

i mean he's also the type to ask you to cover his face in your lipstick via kisses.

having a possessive side to him, he loves seeing when yours decides to debut. he doesn't purposefully intend to make you jealous, but he couldn't exactly be rude.

he finds it cute when you have that huffy expression on your face, he'd annoy you as much as possible just to see a face like that.

adding on to material things he covers you in, he loves to see you in his clothes. the first time he saw you in one of his shirts, he almost lost it. instead of saying the ... things, he wanted to say, he decided to hug you from behind with a little tease about the situation, hoping you wouldn't feel something presses against your back.

i am severely sleep as it is 1:14 am, so in short, his possessiveness doesn't present in a way that you'd be able to point it out. others seem to point it out at times, but overall, he does normal boyfriend stuff but with ulterior methods of keeping you all to himself. he throughout enjoys your company and love, no one can take that away from him.

[ally-writes-many-things]

Dicking you Down (L. Kennedy) 18+

Summary: just pure smut. Little to no plot

Words: like 2k?

Warnings or A/N: MDNI. Female receiving. Male receiving. P in V. Fingering. Eating out. Just finished watching a play through of RE2R and RE4R and I couldn't get Leon out of my mind. My first Leon fic. Hopefully it wasn't too ooc for him.

For what felt like the hundredth time, you couldn't help but roll your eyes at Leon. His cocky attitude seemed to have multiplied tenfold ever since he rescued the president's daughter. Some of the newer employees, hired during his mission, were openly ogling him. "Do you ever fucking stop talking, Kennedy?" you finally snapped.

The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at you in shock. "Oh, please. Don't act surprised. We all know it's true," you added, unapologetically.

You faced Leon directly and spoke your mind. "Enough with the hero act for rescuing Ashley. Any of us could have done it if given the chance. Many of us have faced far more dangerous situations than saving a teenage girl from parasite-infested kidnappers," You declared, rising from your seat and striding out of the room.

☣

Hours had passed since the encounter, and now you were back in your office. Admit it or not, you secretly wished for the same longing looks from Leon that he was giving those new employees. You'd be lying if you said you didn't crave his attention. The way his clothes hugged his muscular frame, driving you to distraction. Your thoughts wandered to how his strong arms would feel wrapped around you as he fucked you, imagining his touch and taste.

As you tried to focus on the reports sitting on your desk, the image of Leon kept invading your mind, causing a warm sensation between your thighs. You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts, but they kept returning to him.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up to see Leon standing there. "What do you want, Leon?" you asked, crossing your legs under the table.

"I want to know what your deal is," he replied, entering your office and making himself comfortable in one of the chairs.

The way he sat only fueled your desire. With one arm casually draped over the chair beside him, his broad chest was on full display as his legs spread slightly apart.

"You want to know what my deal is?" he asked.

"Yeah, I do," you replied.

You uncrossed your legs and made your way to the door, shutting it firmly and turning the lock. Though you were fairly certain you were the only ones left in the building, you couldn't be too careful.

You approached Leon and straddled him, feeling your dress ride up your thighs as you held his chin to meet your gaze. "My issue is I want you to fuck me," You confessed.

Leon's hands eagerly grasped your thighs, lifting your dress. "I thought you couldn't stand me," his voice was low.

"I never said I hated you. Sure, you can be annoying, but that doesn't change the fact that I've been craving you for a while," you admitted.

After a moment of silence, Leon pressed his lips roughly against yours.

Your fingers weaved through his hair as he roughly guided your hips to grind against him.

He bit on your lower lip, wanting access. You obliged, parting your lips as his tongue explored your mouth, deliciously savory flavor that filled your taste buds.

His lips traveled along your neck, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. He slowly licked from the top to the bottom of your neck, before biting down just above where your neck met your shoulder. As his teeth sank into your skin, you couldn't help but buck against him, eliciting a moan from his lips. Breathless, he asked, "Are we really doing this here?"

"We're the only ones here, aren't we?"

"Yeah.”

You slipped off his lap and your hand slid up his pants, feeling the outline of his boner. "Do you want to go back to my place, yours, or just have me right here, right now?" "Fuck, you look sexy on your knees for me," he breathed.

"So, do you want it now?"

Leon nodded in response.

You flashed a smile at him before popping open his zipper and freeing him. You proceeded to lick the entirety of his length, causing him to moan. You took him fully into your mouth and started to bob your head on him.

He forcefully grabbed a handful of your hair, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. You gagged as he reached the back of your throat, eliciting a response from him. "Fuck. That sounds amazing," he moaned as he repeated the action several times.

After briefly holding your head in place, he released you, allowing you to take a quick breath before resuming sucking his dick. Your hands work in sync with your mouth to pleasure him. You could feel him getting closer to his release, his moans growing louder and his hips thrusting slightly. Finally, with a loud groan, he filled in your mouth, the salty taste flooding your senses. You swallowed it all.

Leon pulled himself out of your mouth and gripped your neck, urging you to stand before he pressed you against the desk. Releasing his hold on your neck, he tugged at the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the ground. With a swift motion, he tore off your panties.

He lifted you up and sat you on the desk before dropping to his knees in front of you, his gaze fixed on your form. "Now, that's a sexy sight. On your knees for me," Leon said with a smirk. "I'll gladly get on my knees for you,"

With your legs draped over his shoulders, he lowered his head to your core as he started to lick you.

His warm tongue flicked and teased, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. Each motion was deliberate and skilled, expertly finding every sensitive spot and driving you closer to the edge. You let out a loud moan as his tongue worked its magic, taking you higher and higher into a state of pure ecstasy.

Your hands reached down to grasp his silky blonde hair. His movements grew faster and more desperate, his desire matching your own as you both chased the release that was tantalizingly close.

He was aware of how near you were, so he used both hands to pull your ass closer to the edge of your desk. With one finger inside you, he began a slow, deliberate movement that made you arch your head back in ecstasy. "Yes, fuck, yes," you moaned.

After a few rough pumps with just one finger, he decided to add a second, intensifying the sensation. Each time he reached deep within you, he skillfully curled his finger, hitting that magical spot that sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. "Just like that. Keep going," You moaned.

With a final, deep plunge of his fingers, you felt the wave of pleasure crash over you, your body arching in blissful ecstasy. He continued to lap at you, drawing out your pleasure until you were left breathless and completely satisfied.

You pulled him up to meet your lips, tasting yourself on him as you kissed. “Get the fuck in me now,”

“Eager? Are we?”

"For you, definitely," You gasped, spreading your legs for him.

Leon chuckled as he stroked himself, then rubbed himself against your pussy. A sharp moan escaped your lips as he entered you. "You're so tight," he whispered.

"You're so big," you replied breathlessly.

Leon began to move slowly, but you didn't want it to be gentle. "Fuck me like you want it, Kennedy.”

Leon pulled out of you completely before plunging back in with force. A cry of pleasure escaped your lips as Leon established a rough and relentless rhythm.

His hands gripped your hips tightly as he pounded into you, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. The sound of skin slapping and your cries filled the room, mixing with the primal grunts and groans escaping Leon's lips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you matched his movements, meeting each thrust with equal fervor. The intensity of the pleasure building between you was overwhelming, each sensation heightened by the primal connection you shared in that moment.

As Leon's pace quickened, you felt a familiar tightening in your core, signaling your imminent release. With a final, powerful thrust, you reached your breaking point and came all over him. He swiftly withdrew and pushed you back onto the desk. With your elbow supporting you, he pumped himself a few times before releasing a deep groan and coating your boobs and stomach in his cum. He admired his handiwork with a grin, as if it were a masterpiece.

"Not the last time we do that," you remarked, locking eyes with him.

"If you were craving me dicking you down that badly, all you had to do was ask. We could have been doing this much sooner," He replied with a smirk.

[ghostheartfelt]

*:･｡☆ warnings: heavy gore, torture, hurt/comfort, whump, s/a towards reader, men being gross, gunshot wounds, stab wounds, blood and violence, branding (torture method), waterboarding (torture method), reader (thaye) is a badass, first kiss, dismemberment of fingers, eye trauma, protective!ghost, implications of smut/sex, aftermaths of torture. (there is probably a lot i missed, but idc lol all the other shit should b enough warning!!) 〔☆〕 desc: you and the 141 are deployed to austria with the intel of a drug boss known as rolmuth who is harboring romanian soldiers to the east coast to smuggle illegal mercenary personnel into america. what happens when a rapid snowstorm picks up and you (callsign 'thaye') are separated from the others then further captured and interrogated alongside your lieutenant?

—✩ PHANTOM TOUCH ✩—

word count —15.6k

a/n: sorry for my inactivity! the entire time i was workin on this shit... let me tell you.. this is 51 pages on google docs LMAO so i hope the length and word count makes this fat fucking hurt/comfort one shot worth it.

VIENNA, AUSTRIA.

“Move, move, move!” Price yells.

Snow fell and blanketed the ground beneath you, you were dressed in white camouflage tactical gear. 

Your movements were slower as you trudged yourself through the snow, you turned in every direction searching for your captain. 

Your lieutenant. 

Anybody. 

Rapid snowy winds smacked you in the face, nearly forcing your eyes shut as you traveled through the gusts. 

“Soap?!” You shout, planting your feet below into the patches of snow, 

Your arms raise to cover your face. 

“Fuck!” 

“Thaye!” A voice echoed through the snow that encased you in a blanket of long silence. 

Snow nestled into the ground below—everything around you seems to just slow down.

You traipse yourself heavily through the thickness around you as you snap a clip into your M4 carbine, swinging it behind you like it had been previously.

Thump.

Your head droops down and you feel your heart drop into your stomach seeing the body of one of the men you were deployed with face up.

His head four inches deep in the snow and his right eye completely destroyed, his chest marred with several bullet wounds.

The root of his nose is fractured to the point where it’s flattened into what’s left of his skull. 

You swallow the knot in your throat that might have also been barf trying to make its way out of you, kneeling down to peel the soldier’s dog tags off of his corpse.

Hudson “Scooter” Wheeler. 

It makes you smile slightly, your thumb dragging over the metal tag to wipe off the thickness of blood that had coated the carving of his name.

“I’m sorry, Wheeler.” 

The loss of fallen soldiers leave footprints and engravings on one’s heart that never allows them to be the same, again. 

You wished sometimes you could just be without the worry about who you have to lose and who you have to save. 

Restless nights followed by mornings and afternoons full of nothing but unpromised resolutions. You nearly felt as if insanity would be a better route than going through the pain of losing the people you stood side by side with, enduring the effects of grief, bloodshed, and war.

Although there were moments of bonding and camaraderie that were forced to turn into utter gore and distrust due to the change of the objective that deemed those to turn against one another in hopes of survival and success. 

Pride; a fickle sense that could drive an individual to the depths of madness and create a staked claim to prove more power then they own or deserve.

You didn’t understand it. Nor did you want to. 

You were left in a society where the drabness of gray ruled the world and pain of loss clenched to the soldier’s  hearts almost desperately. 

And yet that perpetual colour of gray; a colour so dull but so compelling, it still lights the depths of hell you lived in by merely a petite dose.

Your mouth had begun to feel tacky with your muscles stiffening as the weather conditions intensify by every fleeting moment. 

Inside your combat boots, you feel your feet begin to grow numb; similar to the feeling of stepping on fresh-cut grass and grazing dull needles. 

Now, you wonder what hypothermia would feel like. You weren’t used to this sort of weather. 

Even under your white half-face balaclava, you felt your lips and their absence of moisture. 

Still, you trekked forward, squinting eyes searching for any sign of life around you.  

Your face lights up at the sight of a shadow-like movement through the blistering storm and rapid winds once you wipe off the frost lingering on your goggles. 

They moved closer—it seemed to be one person. 

There’s a tree to your left—your legs manage to jerk themselves through the snow until you're beside it.

You cautiously lower your body into the snowpack below you, clutching your rifle in your grip while your eyes fixate on the moving figure ahead of you. 

Your finger grazes over the trigger of your carbine rifle.

A leg comes before the torso, then the face. 

The skull mask.

Ghost.

Relief washes over you immediately—raising to your knees.

“Lieutenant!” You call. 

His head immediately snaps in your direction, and the time spent staring at each other seemed everlasting, though in reality it was just a few seconds before his large hand was squeezing your shoulder and he was right in front of you.

“Thought we lost’ya,” Ghost rasps.

“What’s the sitrep?” 

“Enemy force has ordnance on standby—Price ordered all units to the West Safehouse,” he says.

You nod softly. 

“Why’d you hang back?” 

His eyes widen under his balaclava and you open your mouth to speak—Ghost tugs you by your vest, pulling you to the side.

“Gh—“

There’s a person behind him.

Sounds muffle around you, complete silence surrounding you as Ghost’s head is slammed with the butt of a rifle. 

Your hands reach down to pull your handgun from off of your hip, pointing it towards his attacker, squeezing on the trigger and unhesitantly dropping him to the ground before he can double back and finish him off.

No words leave your mouth as you turn in one quick jerk, the barrel of a L1A1 being aimed between your eyes. 

Not even seconds later was the thick handle of a bowie knife met with the back of your head. 

Immediately, your body meets with the snow, and you feel the coldness of the snow over your mask. 

You struggle to pick up your head, pain surging in the back of your head enough to blur your vision. 

Keeping your eyes open was a challenge—they constantly blink shut as you watch the enemy force yell at each other, manhandling Ghost by ripping his weapon sling off of him and dragging him by his fur-lined parka. 

His body was dragged up into a Humvee and roughly thrown in before you were picked up by your ankles and wrists and tossed right on top of him.

Your head slumps against Ghost’s bicep as you're washed up by incapacity, your mind fogging against your will. Enervation holds you captive and sweeps you off your feet. 

You’re met with blackness, next, yet the only thing you could think of was your failure to protect your superior.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

You awoke to the sounds of struggling—something teetering on the floor. 

It takes a moment for you to come to your senses and stir from unconsciousness, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings.

The ever-present smell of waste and deteriorated flesh smacks you with reminiscence, the overbearing cold, the taste of grime, blood, and bile in your mouth. 

When you go to move your hands, they’re immobile; binded by thick ropes that with your state of exhaustion and physical weakness, would be impossible to escape from. 

Your heavy head manages to shift for oneself to observe the room—your gear was purloined, leaving you in your cargos and a tank-top.  

Below you, the ground was concrete and stained with blood that led to the large metal door that had a closed hatch. 

Vaguely, you recall in short and brief flashes why you were there, your eyes shutting for a few moments before opening once again.

Ghost.

Where was Ghost?

“Lieutenant,” you cough. “Ghost, wh—“ 

“‘M here, kid.” Ghost wheezes. “To’yr left.” 

Your head turns, stopping at the sight of his mask on the concrete, blood smeared across the maw of the skull, over the eye socket. 

“Ghost, are you injured?” 

“No.” 

Slowly, your eyes trace up the ground beneath you until Ghost’s boots are in view. 

His soles skid against the ground as he attempts to drag the dentist chair he’s strapped in. “Fuck!”

You shift in your wooden seat in an attempt to reach your hand down to pull up the velcro flaps of your cargos. You couldn’t reach.

Ghost’s boots stop skidding against the floor as the metal door’s rusted hinges creak, the door being flung open to welcome a man inside—three other men were behind him holding military grade rifles with drum magazines.

The man inside the room raises his hand, offering departure in the Hindi language, to which his men shut the door behind him.

His arms were wrapped behind his back, the sound of his heavy boots echoing off of the thick stone walls. 

He walks around the room for a while, allowing you to raise your head to take in who he was.

A European man that’s approximately 184 centimeters with long pushed back shaggy dark hair; his eyebrows arched, a bushy beard. 

On his cheek, a nasty deep laceration scar that reaches the end of his eyebrow. Under his left eye, another scar reaches the bridge of his nose. 

The man is inches from your face, now, a tilt in his head. 

“We see how long it takes to break you, Sergeant.”  His eyes crinkled as his lips upturned in a depraved smile. 

He lifts himself from his bent position, grips the crest rail of the chair, and pulls you farther from Ghost.

“Who is your commanding officer?” He asks, feet spread apart as he looks down at you to assert his dominance.

“Fuck you.” You bite back.

The man’s hand roughly takes hold of your chin, tilting your head up towards the dangling ceiling light. 

“I eat boys like you for breakfast.” 

Ghost chuckles beside you.

His eyes narrow as he releases a choked scoff, his head swinging back before bursting into laughter.

“My drug ring reigns across the entire country—my men swarm all city.” 

His accent is thick, though his English  isn’t terrible. 

“It is either you tell me now and you and friend die quick, or you die slow of bleeding until we find on our own.” 

“Good fuckin’ luck,” Ghost grunts.

You swallow thickly, groaning as the man pulls your head back by the scalp of your hair. 

You purse your lips as you collect saliva from the walls of your mouth, spitting just above the man’s eyebrow and watching as the gob runs down over his eye.

He snarls, dragging an open hand down his face. Using that same hand, the male flexes his hand into a fist and socks you in the jaw. 

“Hey!” Ghost shouts. 

You hear it pop and you immediately outstretch your neck and slam your forehead into the bridge of his nose, arms jerking in an attempt to escape your restraints. “You motherfucker!”

He lets out a groan, his head flinging back as blood streams down his nostrils, his hand trembling over his nose.

“Bitch! Madarchod! Bevakooph veshya…” He hisses through clenched teeth. “Broke my nose!” 

His palm smacks you across the face so hard, a pinkish red hue starts blossoming across your cheek. He repeats it again, then again, and again. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself as numbness circles inside the flesh of your cheek, a similar feeling to those static electricity globes that you’d get for your twelfth birthday and press all five of your fingertips against.

“Hey! This is between you an’ me, a’right?” Your lieutenant gives a sharp nod, trying to reason with the man. 

He stares at Ghost for a few moments, squeezing his fingers in his fist before leaving the room, the door slamming loudly behind him.

You take the moment to actually look at Ghost, your eyes taking in his features entirely.

From his long and messy dirty blonde undercut, to his shade and stubble. 

To his bruised and bloodied lips and the thick scar running from his top lip to the underside of his chin.

To his thick and beautiful eyebrows, the scar on the start of his left eyebrow, running down to the bridge of his nose.

To his deep and all familiar brown eyes—long and light eyelashes accompanying their shape.

To the scar that spread out from the right inner corner of his lip and across his cheek as if it was the engravings of a smile line.

There were several scars littered across the male’s face; each one of vast distinction from the other. 

Once again, the door thrusts open and the man returns, cotton wads up his nostrils with another male by his side, pushing in a rolling mayo stand with different tools and items you assumed were torture devices.

“Hey! Hey! What’re y’doing?” Ghost jerks in his seat, his eyebrows furrowing as the man picks up a syringe, flicking the glass and squeezing out a droplet of the liquid inside. “What th’fuck is that?”

“You will have your answer soon enough,” he simply replies. 

“Agarwal—blade.”

The second man grabs the rotary tool from off the tray, a saw blade in the other. 

Your hands tug against their bindings enough to chafe your wrists, it feels as if your skin is being shredded with a cheese grater. 

“Paip rinch, ab.”  The taller man holds out his arm, to which the man who was now identified as Agarwal hands him a pipe wrench.

“English, asshole.” You grunt.

He slings it over his shoulder and slowly walks towards Ghost as he whistles. 

Ghost’s eyes don’t avert from his gaze, even as the pipe wrench drops from off his shoulder to clatter on the floor, hanging from his wrist and dragging along the ground.

“Who…is…your…superior?” His voice is grim, each word coming out as he takes a step.

Using the hook jaw of the wrench, he lifts Ghost’s chin.

“Piss off,” the blonde huffs.

Not even seconds later does the man swing the wrench around and belt it into his stomach. Ghost lets out a wheeze, his body lurching over in reaction to the sudden pain coursing through him. 

“No!” You yell. 

“Who.” He asks again with spite in his tone—he was demanding, it no longer was a question in his favor.

“You’ll know who when he comes’a knockin’ ‘n blows lead thru th’lot of ya.” Ghost says with a slight raise in his head.

The wrench is swung back into his stomach, causing Ghost to hurl and expel vomit onto his boots.

“Leave him the fuck alone!” You kick yourself forward a bit using your boots. Agarwal’s hands grip the slat of the chair and pull you back towards the tray.

“No, no,” he nearly coos, yanking your head back by the thinner group of hairs on the nape of your neck. 

You clench your jaw and subside, lifting yourself up with your hips to help avoid the pain.

His eye’s strain, beads of sweat rolling down the end strands of his hair regardless of how cold it was inside of the formidable room.

“Get me my player,” the bearded man says as he trails his 12” redwood handle knife across Ghost’s jawline.

Agarwal’s hand releases your hair to your relief and he leaves the room. 

“Disgusting—“ the male snarls. “Making mess of my floor.”

Your eyes narrow as you watch a pool of blood start to form as he slashes Ghost’s cheek, a groan spilling from your lieutenant’s throat.

“Fuck you ‘n y’r floor,” Ghost coughs. 

He drops the wrench to the floor, then uses a rag that was hanging out of his pocket to swipe off the blood from the knife’s blade.

Two men walk in, one pushing in a record player and the other holding a tactical vest and a book.

Your vest and your book.

His name patch reads “Gamble”, the one who throws your vest and the book onto the floor. 

“Rolmuth, the woman—she has had access to our radio frequency and has been writing down our shipment codes and locations.” 

Ghost’s head raises, his pupils shrunken as he takes in the sight of the morse code book. 

The man holding the knife cracks his head in your direction before proceeding towards you.

“Thaye…” he susurrated.

You don’t flinch when his arms raise to swing the knife over towards your temple, a maniacal laugh escaping through the barriers of Rolmuth’s teeth. 

The knife lowers to release one of your hands, though before you can reach for anything, he slams your arm backward against the back leg of the chair, the feeling of your bones snapping beneath your skin causes you to let out a sharp, excruciating cry as your now-broken arm falls limp to your side.

“Thaye!” Ghost shouts. “Fuckin’ bastard…” 

“How?!” Rolmuth yelled through his teeth, lips drawn back in a snarl as he nearly foamed out of his mouth. 

His fist meets with your cheek and your eyes squeeze together in grimace to the pain as he punches you again. 

Ghost calls out your name and you can hear the metal of his chair scrape and grind against the ground. 

You feel your cheek begin to swell, the tender flesh on your face blooming into purple and blue bruises.

He walks to the record player and takes a record out of its sleeve that was resting on the shelf of the small table the player was brought in on. It has wheels on it—similar to the mayo tray.

Rolmuth blows on the record, though the sleeve looks too clean to hold any dust, then places the record on the platter. After pressing play, he drops the tone arm down.

The record scratching sends chills up and down your spine before the music almost beautifully fills the room.

Why does the sun go on shining?

You watch Rolmuth pick up a pair of pliers.

Why does the sea rush to shore?

You wonder if he’s going to try to rip out your teeth.

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,

He clasps them around one of your fingers on your broken arm.

Fuck.

The cold metal around your finger makes you nearly want to cry.

‘Cause you don’t love me anymore?

He was going to rip off your finger.

“Who is your captain?” His hand squeezes the pliers, applying pressure to your singular finger. 

“Go…to hell—“ 

A scream rips itself from your throat as you feel your sinew and flesh tear, the pliers tearing your finger from off your bone.

“Tha’s enough!” Ghost jerks and flails in his seat, there’s a sip of panic in his voice. “Get th’fuck off of her!” 

Why do the birds go on singing? 

Rolmuth wriggled the rest of your finger off, your eyes daring to skim down to look at the bone sticking out from your knuckle. 

Blood spews out of the gore, coating your entire hand and dripping from the crevices of your skin into your lap, staining your cargos, turning their white color into several distinct shades of red.

Rolmuth sets the finger—your finger down lightly on the standing metal tray besides you. 

Why do the stars glow above?

A penetrating ringing fills your ears; one so loud it felt like it’d be the cause of your tears instead of the pain surging through the entire left side of your body.

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?

You’re in shock, unable to speak. Your jaw is locked, your teeth are clenched so hard it feels as if you might shatter your teeth. 

It ended when I lost your love. 

Ghost’s voice echoes in the back of your mind, when he calls out your name, you’re pulled out of your trance. You jerk your slumping head up.

You want to call out his name, but it seems like your throat is swallowing every little word that is being screamed inside of your head. 

The room is spinning and you can’t feel your arm, you can’t feel the finger move that was just severed from your hand.

“Look at me, look at me, love…” your lieutenant simpers. 

Your eyes search the room until they land on Ghost’s, he sounds far away. You feel your eyes widen as cold metal wraps around another finger once again. 

Why does my heart go on beating?

Rolmuth’s lips close in near your ear as he tugs lightly at your middle finger. 

“You don’ want to lose this finger, do you?” You feel the man’s hot breath run up the side of your face and brush past your ear.

“Who…is…your...captain?” 

Why do these eyes of mine cry?

Every nerve in your body seized, your spine stiffening with every urge to kill the man standing beside you. 

Ghost coughs up blood; internal bleeding. 

“I’ll fu…cking…skin you…” you croak, your words finally becoming coherent.

He laughs. Rolmuth’s single arm raises in a humorous gesture of surrender. 

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?

Your eyes squeeze shut, though shoot open at the rush of heat, the pliers applying clutched pressure to your finger before Rolmuth started ripping off the second finger, wiggling it until it broke off skin and sinew. 

It ended when you said “goodbye.” 

“Look at me, Thaye.” Ghost’s voice sounds desperate, so you offer him a short glance as your jaw slacks and your body retracts.

Your strained eyes snapping to the bearded man as he places down your middle finger on top of your pointer finger.

A gag surfaces in your throat and your body twitches as you watch your finger fall and roll almost as if it’s the most natural thing. 

Ghost yells your name again.

You finally focus on him, your eyes welling up, reddening and puffing against your will.

“Jus’ look at me, angel,” Ghost’s silked voice calms you, although in a manner you can’t hear him as well as you want to. 

Every muscle and ligament inside of you feels tense and stuck.

Why does my heart go on beating?

You had three fingers on your left hand—three fingers.

Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring.

“Y’ll kill her, she’s losin’ too much blood—she’s goddamn delirious!”  

Gamble’s fist barrels into the side of Ghost’s head, you hear a feral groan leave his gullet.

At least I can still put a wedding ring on my left hand. You thought.

Those three fingers trembled and twitched, it was the only movement on the left side of your body besides for your left eye—is he going to take one of my eyes? Your head is swarming with thoughts.

“Ghost…” you slur, still locked onto the blonde’s eyes. 

“I know, love,” he says as gently as he physically can. “So proud of’y…” 

His speech comes out as a garble, but you’re still able to understand him. 

“‘M gon’ get us outta here…alive, a’right?” 

Your head slumps at the attempt of a nod. 

“Save y’r energy, lovie.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Agarwal grips Ghost’s earlobe, pulling him closer. You’re not able to cognize his words, but you’re aware of the vexation in his countenance. 

You flinch once Rolmuth drops the pliers on the metal tray. He removes his latex gloves that were blanketed in your gore and throws them onto your lap. 

“Clean them up—she still is of use to me.” His voice grows more distant as he leaves the room.

Gamble injects Ghost with a syringe that was hanging off of his waist, casting him with drowsiness, his eyes struggling to keep open before he’s blacked out.

“What did you do—…what did y’do to him?” Your eyebrows stitch together. “What did you do?!” 

They unstrap his arms from the chair, then his ankles.

“Answer me goddamnit...” You seethe, tears warping in your eyes.   

“Shut the bitch up,” Gamble nudges Agarwal in the shoulder before he pushes Ghost further out of his restraints, his body still and unconscious allowing the scarred man to bind his wrists with zip ties. 

Agarwal simply nods and paces toward you. The stock of his gun smashed into your jaw before you could react.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY TWO.

The woman in the doorway was bedraggled; tired eyes and shrunken tear-stained cheeks. 

There’s a light illuminating from the pulled-back curtains—a light so bright it could dry the shining tears that spill out scarlet fluid over the eyes of the miserable.

You feel only patient while waiting for the morning sun to rise over the horizon line of the ocean side.

It’s deteriorating yet caliginous frame of murky grey stone and vast sorrow of an arched entrance sat in disposition from harrowing memories filled with bloodshed, grief, and war.

Your face relaxes at the distinctly ravishing but delicate overcasted ray of light shot down from the amidst along the ruins, the melancholy ambiance nearly sent chills down your spine.

Heavenly cries of forgotten mothers begging for forgiveness of their past sins, children's playful and beatific screams, although it was nothing unknown to you.

Screams were usually followed by split rib cages and bullet wounds—tears, blood, those screams and sweat, you went through it all just for it to lie unheard and forgotten.

You searched the odd and seemingly afterlife-like realm with your eyes, you could only wonder where you were, and why you were there.

Why the flowy white dress draped over your body oscillated with the wind in a gorgeous motion.

You're lifting your head out of the water now. 

The taste of salt seems so thick, heavy. Like you could drown in it. Like you could get drunk off of it.

The waves crashing onto shore sound so loud atop the eerie silence, their white crests phasing through your body as if your presence was unknown to them.

You loved the ocean because as opposed to the ones who were supposed to; the ocean loved you and was never afraid to come too close, even at your worst.

As you move farther from shore, the water slowly travels up your body, submerging your frame. 

You close your eyes as your head is the last thing the water consumes. You feel the water bubbles tickle your skin and elevate themselves up to the surface. 

It doesn’t take long for that familiar burn inside your lungs and that familiar feeling of being gagged by the water to swarm your senses.

Your head jerks up and you let out a loud gasp as you fade into consciousness, slipping into colored imagery instead of just monochrome. 

Waking up felt like hell; your mouth was dry and most of your limbs felt unresponsive. 

Only when you see Ghost curled up on his side, laying on the floor in front of you, are you able to register where you are and what’s going on.

His knees bucked up into his abdomen  with his hands zip tied behind his back and his face battered and bruised. 

Specks of dried blood ran from his scalp down his face reaching his compression undershirt. 

He was asleep.

There was a gentle rise and fall with his chest—you could still hear his labored breaths from where you were. 

It felt colder. 

Your eyes wander down to your left hand that was wrapped in bandages that were stained red, your two fingers missing and replaced with nubs that were uneven from each other.

If your arm wasn’t broken, you could use it to break the leg of the chair and wield  it against the next person to walk through that large metal door that made you wonder if it was life or death upon you.

If your fingers weren’t missing, you could use them to untangle your restraints on your other hand.

You could barely move your wrist—the pain that swells your entire arm makes it nearly impossible.

Ghost stirs on the floor, his body curling into itself further before his legs straighten out. 

“Lieutenant,” you mumble. “What did they do to you…?” 

His eyes flicker to yours. 

“‘M alive, aren’t I?” Ghost says.

His voice is so hoarse and weak—he sounds dehydrated.

“You are.” 

Your eyes close a moment to allow yourself to breathe in the air around you.

The single door breaking up the dull room that held them hostage creaks open on rusted hinges allowing Rolmuth to enter.

Two different men from the day prior push in the same record player and the same rolling metal tray that was stained with your blood. 

“Rise and shine,” one says, his boot meeting harshly with the lower section of Ghost’s back.

 The blonde’s eyes stay intent on the movements of Rolmuth as he lifts up different record sleeves to read their names. He slides one out and places it on the platter.

That familiar sizzle fills the room before the gentle hum of the music begins.

A short gasp leaves your mouth as Rolmuth kicks down your chair by the back stile, your head immediately jerking forward before it slams down onto the cement floor.

He dismisses the two of his men.

Rolmuth’s hand levitates over the tray and he grasps an old tan hand towel, draping it over your face.

You can hear the buckle of Ghost’s pants tink lightly on the floor as he jerks himself. “Fuckin’ bastard!” He yells.

I don’t want to set the world on fire. 

It was going to be okay, you told yourself. You trained for this. Truthfully, you were one of the best swimmers on the task force. You can hold your breath—but if that rag manages to cave in, you’ll most likely panic and lose focus.

I…just want to start a flame in your heart.

“Are you ready for talk, now?” Rolmuth arches over you. 

In my heart, I have but one desire…

Your voice muffled, you call him something along the lines of an asshole and a prick, which is quickly silenced by the pressure of water that smacks you in the face.

And that one is you, no other will do…

Ghost watches the man pour a jerry can of water over your face. His breath hitching in his throat watching your body twist and turn trying to evade from the water. 

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim

Your body arches up in protest, head jerking side to side as if it would make it any more easier on you.

I just want to be the one you love…

Focus on the music, you tell yourself. You can barely hear your own voice. 

And with your admission…that you feel the same,

Rolmuth’s smile is ear to ear as he continues tipping the canister over your cloth-covered face.

I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of, believe me…

You violently thrust your body, panic surging  through you as you feel water invade and swallow your lungs. 

I don’t want to set the world on fire…

Involuntarily you gasp and choke in more water, you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head.  

I…just want to start…a flame in your heart.

Your throat was burning like scolding lava, your heart throbbing inside your chest threatening to rupture. You don’t dare to make noise. 

You’re gagging, gasping, sputtering. That you can’t handle. But you don’t let yourself cry. Not like this.

I don’t want to set the world on fire, honey,

The music is starting to garble. 

Why is it starting to sound so distorted? You ask yourself. 

I…—you too—uch.  

“Stop, y’ll fuckin’ kill her! Bloody tosser!” Ghost grits his teeth before spitting out words.

Now that you have the chance to think about it, that song reminds you of someone.

I just want to start…

Your grandfather—you’d sit on that circular crocheted rug and listen to that song as him and your grandmother baked apple fritter.

A great big flame…

He loved that woman more than life itself; when she’d started to get sick with bone cancer, he helped her bathe, he helped her eat, get dressed. 

Down in your heart.

Your mother told you about how he had asked her doctor to keep the fact that she only had three weeks left to live just between them. 

You see, way down inside me,

She was still happy. So happy. He wanted to spend those last three weeks with her. He retired from his job and took her to all the places she’d talked about visiting. 

Darling, I have only one desire. 

She passed away, and he spent every day doing all her favorite things. He watered her plants, he baked. He listened to her favorite songs. 

And that one desire is you, 

He adopted a puppy—a beautiful Australian Shepherd which he named after her. Your mom would say that your grandma’s being was reincarnated into that dog. 

And I know nobody else ain’t going to do. 

Would that happen to you too? Who would you want to belong to? What kind of dog would you be? 

A deafening ringing fills your ears, you finally stop fighting. Breathing.

“She’s not movin—“ Ghost wheezes. “She’s not fuckin’ movin’!” 

He was trained for this. He couldn’t break. He couldn’t.

“Enough!” The blonde yells again.

They could crack him, but they can’t break him. They wouldn’t kill her. 

Rolmuth finally puts down the canister and removes the rag from off your face, his body bends over to lift your chair back up. 

Your body twitching, struggling to release the water clogged in your gullet

“Wake up, bitch,” he snaps and his open palm cracks against your cheek. Your eyes shoot open.

Your mouth opens, your strained and bloodshot eyes widen with horror as you vomit out water, sputtering between your lips as you hack and gag. 

The taste of bile is sickening to your empty stomach. 

Ghost calls out your name, catching your attention as you stabilize from your state of stupor. 

“So proud of’ya, Thaye,” he groans. “Y’r strong, ‘lright? We’ll kill these bastards, all of’em.” 

You can hardly spare the man a small nod before your chin is grabbed by Rolmuth’s uncut nails—blood and dirt caked underneath them.

“You tell who you are work for, I consider sparing life.”  Rolmuth runs a blade across your cheek, increasing the pressure slightly to slit your skin—a feeling similar to a paper cut. You moan in pain. “Your friend I can not speak for.”

Blood trickles down from the incise, slowly flaring through your cut and pushing from the barriers beneath your top layer of skin. 

“F…uck…—“ your silenced by sudden metal on your tongue, scraping gently like a threat. 

“I will carve out ur pretty little tongue, cut it in bits, and feed it to you.” Rolmuth coos. “Would you that, yes?” 

“Y’sick fuck, get th’fuck away from ‘er!” Ghost attempts to jerk himself up, the bonding on his ankles not allowing him to, his bruised ribs protesting in pain as he lets out a sharp breath.

Your eyes burn into his, your neck flinching as he slowly pushes the blade farther down your throat, his hand prying your mouth open. 

He chuckles lowly, small “ah’s” leaving him as he slowly opens your mouth farther to allow the tip of the knife farther down. You salivate, drool racing down your chin and over the creep’s knuckles. 

Ghost’s eyes divert from your face to the man’s hands. Disgust laced in his features. 

He swallowed thickly, he could feel his skin boiling. He wasn’t angry. 

Pissed.

He was incensed. 

More than that. 

“G..host…” your slightly muffled voice trembles.

His gaze fixes back on yours, watching as your left eye twitches at each of Rolmuth’s motions. 

“I know, love…J’s look at me, ‘lright? J’s look at me.” 

It presses onto the skin of your tongue, it’s curved edge digging into the fragile skin and tissue causing the metallic taste of iron to taint your sense of taste.

You still bore into your lieutenant’s gaze.

Saliva and blood dribbles down your neck, the sight no doubtedly arousing the male in front of you—his tongue leapt out to slowly trace along his bottom lip.

You might drown in your own saliva at this rate.

Your lieutenant purses his dry and cracked lips, but he doesn’t look away. 

He takes the blade out of your mouth, rubbing it against the cloth of his pants to clean it. 

Rolmuth raises the knife and pierces your thigh, the feeling of cold metal hitting you first along with the shock, the sound of cloth tearing.

“I want names!” The man hollered, spit landing on your face just below your eyes.

Ghost watches your pupils shrink, his own eyes widening and slowly shifting to your thigh. 

An intense tingling sensation swarms your entire leg, then a heat. A heat that felt unbearable. 

Ghost searches for your eyes again, his mouth moving, though you can’t hear anything he says.

He broke through skin and sinew, twisting the knife inside of the laceration.

“Talk, bitch!” Rolmuth’s eyes darken. 

It takes a few moments for the pain to surface, and when it does, it’s scorching. Your jaw slacks open as your eyebrows pinch together, a shrill whimper escaping you. 

“Don’ look, don’t.” Ghost pleads with you. Even he was struggling not to look at your thigh.

It didn’t take eyes to tell there was blood bubbling from the wound and dripping down your pants and trembling leg. 

A narrow vertical split across the midsection of the flesh of your thigh. Your eyes didn’t leave Ghost’s.

Was his hair bleached? It seemed like such an unnatural shade of blonde. Brunette underneath. He must bleach it himself.

Rolmuth gave it one more twist, releasing a thin, raw, scream from your throat. 

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them get the satisfaction of that from you. Especially not you. 

“They’ll b’ere soon, Thaye.” Your lieutenant says.

“You are weak,” Rolmuth spits. “You will break.” 

He rolls his shoulders before gripping your pointer finger and holding a jab saw above it.

Your eyes flicker to Rolmuth’s and Ghost calls your name. 

“I want a name!” Rolmuth’s scream makes your head spin. 

“Fuck y—“ your voice is replaced with a high pitched cry followed by gasps and whimpers as Rolmuth’s new blade carved through sinew and bone. He lifts up your finger against the blade and with one swift movement, your finger falls onto the floor. 

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you, y’bastard!” Ghost’s lips twitching in pain mixed in with a whole lot of anger. 

Your body jumps up, an animalistic noise escaping your throat as you swing your head back and wince loudly, the pain in your thigh 

“Name! Or I take another!” Rolmuth yells just inches from your face. 

You couldn’t handle it—your vision is swarmed by black spots and your head is killing you. Your body is in so much pain you feel so much, but so little all at the same time. 

When your eyes roll to the back of your head and lolls, you can faintly hear the man yell ‘shit’ before you’re unable to comprehend what is happening.

Everything fades into a subtle blackness, and the last thing you hear is Ghost yelling your name. Screaming your name. 

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 4

You wake up to the sound of loud groaning and thumping. 

It takes you a few moments to register that you’re awake and you can actually move. 

So you do—you upheave your head and take in the light spilling in the room from between the iron barred vent. 

It stings your eyes, blotchiness surrounding your peripheral before you’re able to adjust to the light. 

Ghost is on the floor taking blunt forces into his lower abdomen—the blonde sputters out a cough as his entire body jerks at the contact. 

The man grips the neckline of Ghost’s shirt, lifting his head from off the ground as thick red paste runs down his split and swollen lips.

His legs lift themselves up in an attempt to propel his body up and out of the man’s grasp, but he falls flat as his neck is slammed back onto the cement. 

Before Ghost can gasp for air the moment his neck is released, a closed fist slams into his cheekbone, knocking the wind out of him. 

“Stop,” you rasp. “Let’im go…”

Ghost is twitching on the floor, blood spilling from his mouth. His entire face is caked in red flakes and black and blue blemishes—the entire left side of his face is fattened with knots.

“No…” you snarl.

The man whirls his head and glares at you, an amused expression of disbelief stamped onto his face.

“No?” He says cockily.

The man paces towards you and cuts off your bindings, bundles your hair in his fist and drags you over towards Ghost, you whine and raise your unbroken arm to try and pry his hands off, but he only tugs harder. 

He pulls your hair up until you're positioned on your knees, chin raised up and neck tilted.

You hear a click, it wasn’t a gun. 

He unsheathed a pocket knife. It was a fairly decent size. You were tired of seeing knives.

Ghost watches the man’s hand lower to your abdomen, fingers pirouetting across your delicate skin, it sends a shivering fear throughout your entire body like electricity. 

“Please…” you meekly whisper, attempting to pull yourself away, your body is so weak from lack of use. Your voice came out as a croak. 

His other hand holds a knife that teases the neckline of your shirt. 

Ghost thrashes against the floor attempting to wrestle out of his bindings. “I’ll skin you,” Ghost’s voice is hoarse.

“How would you feel If I just…” His fingers trace along the scars on your stomach. “Touch her, ever so lightly…Right in front of you?” The man snickers.

You yelp as his knife cuts a thin line down your blood-stained neckline until your cleavage is exposed. 

Tears surface the corners of your eyes. 

No, no, no, no…

“Keep y’r eyes on me,” Ghost whispers weakly. “That’s it, love.”

You feel your shirt tear entirely down the middle and fall down your arms, pooling around your wrists. 

Your vision blurs and your mouth starts to feel dry, teeth chattering in unison with your trembling lips. 

When the knife rests over the center gore of your bra, your breath hitches in your throat and tears bead down your cheeks. 

The blade slices through the cloth and immediately your hand rises to cover your nude chest.

Ghost’s eyes stay locked with yours, one half-closed from being beaten beyond his control.

You feel his facial hair scrub raw against your skin, sipping in your fear and vulnerability.

“Team Delta en route for seaside, Corbin, what’s your report?” 

His radio.

The man pauses and takes his hand off the midline of your ribcage to grab his radio.

“Delta, this is Pooch on standby—hostages are stable, the woman is awake.” 

You release a choked sob, causing the man to release the talk button and bash it against the side of your face, sending you straight onto the floor. 

“Thaye…” Ghost croons.

You clutch your chest with your one hand as you feel the right side of your face swell. 

“It’ll ‘b over soon,” you tremble, releasing a shaken breath. “They’ll find..us…”

“Shut the fuck up,” his voice is slicked with spite. “Both of you.” 

“Pooch, this is Delta, rog that. Don’t kill our intel—0-7, signing off.” It crackles.

You lift your head and turn it slightly, blinking causes the pain on your cheekbone to burn like acid. 

“Go to h—“ the radio is bashed into your face again causing your vision to swim and make your head stumble. 

The sound of blood trickling and hitting the floor fills your ears, your left palm flattens against the cold floor. Missing fingers wrapped to keep you alive, not because they care.

He punches the radio into your right eye. You keep your head down in submission.

“You wanna act tough? Get treated like you're tough!” He yells.

His hand tugs your head back—you can see your own blood splattered against the communicator before you’re met with the same fate.

Ghost watches as the man beats the right side of your face in with the butt of the radio until it’s practically unrecognizable—caked and blistered. Bruising and swelling so tender on your skin. 

He can’t do anything.

He can only watch. 

You whimper and cry, hissing through your tears while your jaw clenched, the radio mercilessly landing on the same spot allowing more blood to cascade from the wound. 

The last hit is the hardest, sending your numbing cheek staggering back down onto the ground, you wheeze. 

If Ghost’s hands weren’t tied behind his back, the man standing above the two of you would be a mangled corpse. He knew that. 

Your breaths are shallow and rasped. It feels like hell to breathe—to move your face. Crimson just pools beneath you as Pooch flicks off your gore from his communicator.

He grunts in disgust as specks splatter onto the ‘cleaner’ side of your face. Like water spots on a windowpane or glass shower door. 

When you hear the door slam behind you, it makes you flinch. 

Your body has broken into tremors now, maybe it’s not tremors—but your spasming. 

And your hand is still covering your scar-ridden chest, but you feel like you might pass out again. 

Ghost’s own breaths are ragged—you wonder if lunderneath all the blood on your face if you’d look just like him. 

“Sleep,” he rasps. “I’ll watch ya.” 

You relax as much as you possibly can, your single eye twitching shut in favor of your other one. 

All you’ve had these past four days was sleep, yet it didn’t replenish. It didn’t make you feel any less tired or exhausted. 

With your bones feeling brittle and sore, it was hard to shift yourself into the mindset of falling asleep, but you tried. 

You felt Ghost scoot himself towards you, possibly just to shield your unclad chest and give you a taste of comfort. 

Your eyelids feel heavy with pain and fatigue, your body stilling as you allow yourself to sleep.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 5

Your hands are tied above your head, a gag set between your teeth which you gnaw at in an attempt to drag it down to hang around your neck.

Ghost is a few feet away from you—both of you hanging on metal piping with rope around your wrists. 

Ghost’s boots were on the floor, he was too tall to hang like you, where you could swing your feet. Did they take your shoes? 

You watch the steel poker ignite in the industrial furnace; the end of it glowing all shades of red, yellow, and orange. 

It was two different tools Rolmuth was holding, now. They had two different symbols on each one that you were unfamiliar with. He was choosing.

Rolmuth spun the branding irons with his thumbs and pointers, chuckling dryly to himself as he approached Ghost, setting one of them back inside the boiler.

His boots were so loud, they echoed off the walls of the room they were in—It looked like some sort of boiler room, but you weren’t too sure. 

You two must’ve been in a warehouse of some sort. 

Rolmuth has to look up to look your lieutenant in the eyes. 

When they’d woken you up, they threw you a gray tank top, so you weren’t as exposed as you were before. 

The Hindi man pulls down Ghost’s gag. 

“460 degrees of heat on metal…” he says as he lifts the hem of Ghost’s shirt. “You talk, I spare you more scar.” 

“Go fuck y’self, y’manky twat…”  the blonde snapped.

An open mouthed yell left Ghost’s throat as the metal is lanced firmly over the middle of his stomach, tugging at his flesh and skin.

Ghost’s eyes squeeze shut as loud whimpers escape from him, ragged winces. 

“Stop!” you cry.

God, you’d never heard him in so much pain. You never thought you’d ever hear him scream in agony, in physical pain. 

You're forced to watch the smoke trailing up the rod, Ghost’s back arching in tormentation. 

“You piece of shit!” You twist and turn your body causing the rope to shred through layers of your skin. 

His muscles tense and his knuckles go white from how hard he’s gripping the pipelines holding him up. 

Rolmuth removes the metal from Ghost’s skin—it could be described as a flesh eating parasite; the way that his skin sticks to the rod as if it’s desperate for that contact.

A hitched gasp manages to make its way past his lips as he feels a tinge of relief, his body twitching and pained moans and hisses filling your ears.  

You jerk your body weight down, kicking your bare feet until you feel the metal start to dent. 

Rolmuth sets the iron back onto the furnace over a rack, he’s bending over to adjust the heat, the fire is roaring.

You tug your arms down and you let out a strained whine at the feeling of your wrists starting to bleed.

When the metal gives in above you, it creaks and drops you down.

You slide down the metal and Rolmuth’s body swings up from fidgeting with furnace levers and knobs. 

His arms are immediately reaching for his gun while you lift your legs up and kick the heels of your feet into his shoulder blades, hard. 

Rolmuth’s head slams back into the brick base of the furnace, he lets out a groan, his form dragging down and slumping against the floor.

Your body lands harshly on the ground, an excruciating response coming from the back of your head.

Black spots cloud your vision as you slowly try to regain your composure. Your vision is blurring, everything sounds far away and echoed. 

The gun slides across the floor.

Your jaw clenches as you pick up your heavy head, your eye searching for the gun regardless of the pounding that distracted you.

When you spot the muzzle, you lurch yourself forward and reach, finger grazing the trigger guard before your pulled back by your hair, earning a yelp to leave you.

Your lungs refuse to cooperate in your chest as your scalp is nearly torn from your head. 

Rolmuth growls with clenched teeth, pulling you away from the gun and towards him as he kneels himself over you.

This was the first time you were able to get a decent look at his face—if it weren’t for your messed up eye—but you only can see the rage dispersed over his face as his hands gather around your throat.

He slams your neck down, adding onto the pain thrusting through the back of your head.

“Bitch!” Rolmuth snarls.

You suck in your gag, causing panic and adrenaline to rush through your entire body as your binded hands thrash and attempt to push him off of you. 

You duck yourself, bend your leg and kick it against his ankle to heave yourself up with all your weight upwards. 

He exclaims in his native tongue, some of which you can only recognize as insults and swears.

Ghost calls your name weakly.

Rolmuth’s hands slip from your throat allowing you to breathe and sit yourself on top of him, you tug your body and maneuver yourself until you're behind the man, pulling the knot of your bindings against his throat and crossing them over. 

His neck lifts to try and give himself access to air, though you tug and hold his waist steady between your knees. 

You yell with your clenched teeth, the fabric between your lips making the muscles in your jaw ache. 

Him wheezing beneath you, fingernails clawing at your split and abused hands before he shifts.

“Thaye!” Your lieutenant hollers.

Rolmuth’s hands reach down to his vest to pull another gun, aiming it at your foot and pulling the trigger causing you to let out an agonizing scream, pain racking your entire body. 

The bullet shoots clean through, you knew that for sure. It was too close. 

Your grip on his neck loosens so you can slap the gun out of his grip.

In three quick motions, Rolmuth’s back atop you with his hands grasping your hair again, dragging you towards the furnace until your face is close enough to feel the heat radiate onto your face.

You feel the thickness of gore engulf your foot and drip down your toes onto the floor. 

Your grunting, muffled, and loud breaths make your head pound as the man squeezes your jaw and forces your neck towards the mouth of the forge. 

“No…” you snarl with bared lips, kicking your legs regardless of the pain, throwing yourself towards him to keep yourself as far from the flames as you could.

Rolmuth laughs dryly accompanying his guttural breaths, his body stretching yet keeping a firm hold on your mandible as he takes hold of one of the branding rods. 

“No!” Your eye widens and your hands reach up to push his face away from you.

“Fuck!” He growls, shaking his face to keep your hands off as he pulls the iron out of the furnace.

He wastes no time pressing it into your side regardless of the thin tank covering your skin, and the cloth does absolutely nothing in regards to the sudden gut wrenching sensation that makes it feel like your entire body was drenched in gasoline and set on fire with a blowtorch. 

Your cry is deafening to the ears and the smell of burning charred flesh is quick to fill your nostrils. You feel and you hear your skin bubble up, sizzle, then pop, then stick to the metal and entangle itself around the start of the handle taking the appearance of something similar to chewed bubblegum. 

Even trembling and shaking, you manage to find a way to position your hands so you can plant your thumbs into his eyes and use some of the only fingers you have left to press them into his eyes, causing the man to yell. 

Still, your screams aren’t matchable as your fingernails gouge into his sockets and claw at his eyelids, shredding through flesh easily as blood began to dribble down his face and over his lips like tears. You still manage to scream louder in anger than the man can in pain. 

Your fingers shove deeper into the grooves of his eye sockets, the organs are pushed so far back that blood sprays across your face and he finally releases the rod.

It clangs to the floor, and he starts sobbing in his native tongue, convulsing hands reaching up towards his red-painted face as you pull your gag out.

“Go to hell,” You seethe wobbly as you lift yourself and steer yourself behind him, taking Rolmuth by the nape of his neck and forcing himself inside the mouth, against the grills inside the furnace. 

He shrieks and cries, moving erratically as his face is engulfed by the fire. Slowly, yet quickly, his skin is shredded by the blazes and the bottom rows of his teeth are exposed. 

It takes him a while to stop making noise before you pull his head out and throw his twitching body onto the ground, then you finally allow yourself to lean against a boiler tank and take pressure off your injured foot.

You propel yourself off the tank by your palms and drag yourself regardless of your ankle to the edge of the furnace, turning yourself around to scrape the rope against the brick.

A gasp releases from your throat at the sudden relief around your wrists, the rope falling to the ground. 

“Ghost?” You lift your head. 

“‘M here.” He replies. 

“I don’t know if I can get up.”

“I know you can,” Ghost urges. “Find…” he sputters up blistering coughs. 

“…Fin’a knife, ‘n get me outta these binds, yea?” He huffs. “‘N I’ll do the rest.”

Your eye blinks as you grip the ankle of Rolmuth’s corpse, pulling him toward you to start flipping up his vest and pant pockets.

He didn’t have a knife on him. 

Got to be fucking kidding me.

A door is swung open, a singular set of footsteps stepping into the room.

Your eye searches for a weapon—anything that can deal enough damage.

A metal fire poker is hanging off the wall to your right, so you swing your elbows back and lift yourself up by the palms of your hands.

As quick as you can, you hoist yourself up by using the support of a metal deaerator, your arm sliding against it as you limp and throw yourself towards the wall creating a subtle thud. 

“What the fuck…?” A man’s voice murmurs.

You silently curse to yourself under your breath as you grab the fire poker off the nails that were being used to hold it up.

Using the heel of your injured foot, you shuffle against some shelving, looking between the gaps for the man inside the room. 

He’s holding a Fennec, nothing you haven't dealt with before. 

He’s twenty seconds to your left, carefully skimming along the floor with his eyes down the sights of his gun.

You pinch a metal screw off of one of the shelves and toss it into the corner closest to you to lead him your way. 

“Fuck,” the younger male jumps slightly. He looked young and lanky, at least from his physique.

When you hear his boots start to rub against the floor, you lift your head slightly to watch him turn towards your direction. 

Your fingers and nubs flex on the thin metal, it’s hard to gain a clear grip.

The man comes around the corner of the shelves, the sounds of his tactical gear shuffling alerting you when he gets closer until his helmet is in sight.

You immediately thrust the fire poker into the gap below his collarbone and into his scapula, dampening the fabric of his undershirt in that area as it rips. 

Out of panic and shock, his finger grips the trigger and you have to jerk him away before any of his bullets are able to hit you.

“Please!” The boy pleads, gun dropping to hang around his neck as he grips the caps of your shoulders. You only glare at him before plunging the fire poker further into that same spot until it tears and mauls through his back, sticking out on the other end.

He’s gasping out, but it’s almost like no air is exhaling, mouth held agape as his grip on your shoulders releases. 

You shout and cry out at every thrust until the hole carved into his skin is able to suck in the hooked tip. 

The male’s head falls and you allow his body to slump down and forward, the metal rod holding his stilled body up. 

You heave dryly and press a palm on the wall to support yourself, your foot is killing you—literally.

The blown out flesh and puckered skin walls made you want to barf. You could stick a finger through your foot and feel your pulsating muscles just hug around your finger. 

You lean down and unclip the knife holster from the gun belt, unsheathing it then hobbling around the shelving towards Ghost who was still hanging from the pipes. 

“Okay, okay…” you breathe sharply, struggling to lift yourself up onto the brick platform of the furnace, nearly stumbling off before you catch your footing. 

“Keep still,” you say, arching your hand to start cutting at his bondings until he’s dropped onto the floor.

Ghost lets out a loud groan, his arms clutching his ribs. They’d broken one of his ribs, maybe multiple. You both were in bad shape.

It takes him a moment to get himself off the floor as you seat yourself and scoot off of the hearth. 

He grabs both of the hand guns that had been dropped onto the floor, holding one out to you.

You unclip the magazine, then snap it back into the chamber at the sight of one missing bullet. 

It was the same one that Rolmuth used to shoot your foot. 

Ghost’s hand rests on your cheek, gently. “Y’did good, ‘lright?” He spoke with a lilt. 

“Can y’walk?” 

“A little.” You nod. “Fuckers took my shoes…” 

He lets his hand fall to check his magazine, then he nods. “‘Don’t know if I can carry ya with m’ribs.” 

“It’s okay, just don’t wait for me.” You reply.

His eyebrows furrow. “Bloody hell, Thaye, I ain’t leavin ya.” 

“I know but—“ 

“No.” 

Ghost’s half-lidded eyes glare at you, giving you all the warning to stop.

“Stay behind me.” 

He starts walking towards the door, slowly peeking it before leaving with you behind him.

Walking hurt—even while you only applied pressure to the heel on your injured foot, the muscles contracted and the pain was torturous. 

One man entered the hallway holding a box from another room, which Ghost took care of by shooting a single bullet between his eyes.

The box had opened and dropped glass equipment, alerting four others who had been lingering in the room he came from.

They yell and communicate in their native tongue, one sticking his head out of the door threshold to aim his rifle.

Ghost fires his pistol and the man swings his head back into the room, still opening fire into the hallway.

“Fuck!” You hiss, dodging the bullets and moving quickly behind a filing cabinet, lowering yourself down. 

Ghost’s back presses against a door to your right, pulling himself out of cover to fire at the man.

Two bullets miss and the third causes his head to fling back and smear blood as his body arches and falls down to the floor.

You lift your head and aim your pistol, gasping when your throat is suddenly hooked back from behind you. 

When the combatant turns you around and attempts to make a slash at your throat, you manage to extract yourself by gripping his wrist and snapping his elbow out of place, the sounds of bones snapping as he yells.

His knife drops from his hand and you scramble to pick it up from the floor.

You groan as his boot digs into your bandaged hand before you're able to pick it up, then his hand grips your neck to lift you up.

He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, locking his wrists over each other at your back. You clench your teeth and jerk violently in his grasp.

Ghost is fighting four other men, locking them in the crook of his elbow and smashing their skulls between the doors.

The man holding you in position crushes you in his grasp even with his broken arm. He tries dragging you into another room.

“Let me the fuck go,” you gasp, causing the man to laugh. 

“You will regret ever trying to leave your room,” he utters. 

You breathe a moment, heart pounding through your chest as you swing your head into the side of his neck and sink your teeth into his skin with all the strength in your jaw. 

Crimson liquid seeps into your mouth and down the front of your neck as you yank out the flesh of his throat. You spit out the skin and blood, wiping your mouth and tongue against the skin of your arm as the man’s grasp loosens

His shoulder blades and chest are glistening in red, gore spurting out of the torn spot in his throat as his body stumbles and he’s gargling on his own blood trying to speak.

“Fuck you…” You shutter weakly, eyes slowly skimming down to the knife lodged inside your waist. 

Shit.

He must’ve stabbed you before lifting you up, your adrenaline pumping so fiercely you couldn’t feel it until now.

You stumble on your feet slightly, shaking hands lowering to wrap around the handle and pull it out of the slit.

The runnel of red paste turns into a thick stream down as it drenches your tank top. 

You lift your head slowly and throw the knife overhead across the hallway, hitting a man who’s pointing a handgun at the back of Ghost’s head. 

It’s blade spades into the back of his skull and makes his body wriggle down onto the floor.

“Ghost…!” You gasp and press your open palm over your soaking top and open laceration. 

Ghost steps over both legs of a bloodied man before shooting him dead and advancing towards you.

“Shite…” He huffs, gently removing your hand and placing it back after gaining a clear inspection.

His hands grip the hem of his shirt and roughly tear at the fabric creating a long strip, then he moves your hand aside again to tightly secure it around your wound. 

You hiss and groan, hand gripping his shoulder as he tugs and pulls at your body while tying the knot of the fabric. 

“I’s ‘lright.” Ghost mollifies as he scoops his arm underneath your armpit.

It offers you some support as he guides you both out towards a staircase.

It wasn’t a warehouse—you and Ghost were just in a basement that was turned into a meth lab. 

Boxes and boxes full of lab equipment scattered along the floors. 

You’d never seen such a big basement, one with torture chambers and stonework rooms. 

Hell, in the corner of the room with all the steel liquid tanks and chemical barrels. 

A woman is in bright blue hazmat coveralls and a chemical mask standing on top of a metal stool. 

Ghost raises his pistol and you lower it slightly with your palm, his eyes glaring at you with his head kept facing forward. 

“You can’t miss, we don’t know what corrosives are in these tanks. Is it worth it?” You keep your voice low, personal between the two of you.

He doesn’t reply, instead he looks forward, then squeezes the trigger and picks the woman off by shooting her in the side of her neck.

You swallow thickly as her body spasms on the ground, the stool getting caught in her ankle as crimson fluid rises and bubbles inside of her mouth. 

Ghost guides the two of you up the cobble stairs, one hand dragging up the wall and the other across your lieutenant’s wingspan.

Your eyes flash at the sudden two objects being thrown down the stairs, the sudden silence as they roll down step…after step…after step before Ghost is swinging you up into arms and yelling.

He’s breaching himself through the door, into open fire before the staircase you had come up from explodes into the emitting heat compressed air and blasts behind the two of you sending you both flying forward. 

Smoke engulfs the room, giving both you and Ghost coverage to get behind cover.

You're pulled by the back of your shirt behind a deep freezer, bullets flying and hitting the metal.

“Fuckin’ pricks got us pinned!” His head lifts over to fire at three of the men who have ballistic shields covering those firing LMGs behind. “‘N I’ve got four left.”

You can’t see through the thick smoke—you can’t breathe while wheezing into the crook of your elbow. “Seven,” you inform him. 

“Cover me,” Ghost grabs your arm for a moment, letting go and serving around the freezer. 

You follow behind him with a raised pistol, shooting off at any glares you're able to see through the fumes.

Six…Five…

A man steps out from cover behind a wine cabinet, but before he can fire his rifle, you pop him in the eye.

Four…

Ghost quickly crouches down and shimmies the rifle out of the corpse’s grip, grabbing at a magazine and stuffing it into his vest he’d managed to keep.

You groan and push over a bookshelf behind Ghost once you’re both out of the smoke. He takes aim and opens fire at three men, blowing holes in their chests before he rams into the fourth with a loud yell and slams down the stock of his assault rifle into his face until his teeth and nose are finely pressed into the persian rug.

You finish off two more who try to walk through the threshold of the room, turning your head over your shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Two…

You jerk yourself away before you get slugged by a riot shield, ascending yourself and shoving your firearm past the barriers of his lips from behind. You pull the trigger and his head flings as the bullet rings out and creates a sizable hole in the back of his head.

One…

Before his body hits the tile, you take hold of his riot shield and deflect the hail of gunfire from the individual who came emerging from the threshold corner.

You walk forward until his clip is empty to drive the shield into his vest-covered chest, stunning him so you can push it aside and fire your last shot into the underside of his jaw. 

Zero.

Bullets continue spraying throughout the entirety of the house while you make sure you don’t pass out from the amount of blood you’ve lost.

You grab the TAQ-V from off the floor and click a new magazine into it, shoving a spare into your back pocket before pushing into the same room as Ghost.

He’s piling bodies on the floor, wrestling for dominance over a knife. 

You fastdraw another handgun you’d grabbed off of one of the bodies and shoot the man in his knee cap to allow Ghost to gain the upper hand and pierce the man’s temple with the weapon. 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly. 

You nod softly, inhaling sharply as you feel wet blood pool around your uninjured foot. 

They took your shoes for no reason, like they had a use for them.

Maybe it allows you to move around more quietly, but it still disturbed you that they took the time to even peel off your socks. 

“What intel did y’know that we didn’t?” His chest is against yours, head craning down to keep the conversation between the two of you.

“Lieutenant, we don’t…” You pause a moment, your head spinning. 

Hunger, thirst, the cold, the blood loss. There was so much holding you hostage and you weren’t even able to comprehend how you were still standing—limping.

“Well, Seargant?” His voice is low, still holding the same husky British drawl.

“We don’t have the time for this, for now—“ Ghost shoves you aside before you can finish, raising the muzzle of his rifle to open fire on the men entering the room.

“Fuckin’ riot shields!” He pulls you behind a flipped over tattered blue couch that had already gone through its fair share of bullets.

A bullet flies and hits the side of the couch a hair’s breadth from your face. 

“Goddammit,” he curses while replacing the magazine in his gun.

The men brandishing shields push further.

When one reaches close enough, you run in front of the shield and grab the sides before he crashes into you. 

You turn him until his body is vulnerable to Ghost, your teeth ground into each other.

“Ghost!” You yell to catch his attention, head snapping in your direction to fire a single round into the back of his head.

You throw the body off of yourself and yank the riot shield to cover yourself, ducking your head as you recoil your fist and punch one of the men baring LMGs hard twice in the jaw.

You thrust the shield into the next, throwing it into his abdomen as he topples, finishing him off by shooting him down in the chest.

One turns with his M4 raised, but you turn your gun around and bash the stock into the base of his chest, then again into his cheek, swiping your leg across the floor and knocking him down then picking his head up and slamming it down on a thick shard of glass sticking upwards to finish him off. 

Ghost drops the last body, finishing off a magazine into his vest and throwing the weapon aside. You toss him another one, which he catches with ease.

“We’ll force upstairs, look f’r our shit, ‘n leave.” He says as he picks up a frag grenade from off a vest.

“There should be Skimobiles somewhere around here, the ones they were using in the FFO,” you nod.

“A’right,” he groans while rolling his shoulders. “On my mark.” 

He trudges past bodies until he’s at the threshold of the staircase, stepping up slowly with the grenade in one hand and his gun in his other.

You follow behind leisurely, eye down the scope of your rifle. 

He pulls the clip and tosses it up, arm stretching behind to press his hand against your shoulder blade. 

“Oh shit—grenade!” A man yells from upstairs before detonation. 

“Go!” Ghost immediately backs up off the wall and skips over two steps into the corridor, prefiring as he loops around a wall.

There’s already bodies and limbs splayed across the room from the combatants who were hit by the frag.

Your back rubs against the wall as you lean to shoot down the hallway, whirring bullets firing past you.

After a few back and forths between staying flat against the wall and leaning to fire off your gun, bodies drop and you’re able to progress down the hall. 

Ghost is somewhere on the opposite side of the house, you still hear heavy gunfire.

You pause at the sight of another man at the end of the hallway and you recognize him immediately.

The look in his eyes and the scruffiness of his face made your lips stretch in almost the most feral look.

Corbin, that was his name. Callsign ‘Pooch’.

Anger burns in the depths of your lungs and stomach as you grip the wall for support, lunging yourself forward to lift your feet over each body that was littered across the hallway floors.

Sweat ran down the sides of your face and splotched down around the neck of your shirt with the blood.

You watch his face twist into a wolfish grin as he slings his gun over his shoulder and walks towards you. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” He purrs. 

White noise fills your ears.

All you can see through the glossy shine of your eyes is the man who humiliated you in front of your superior. 

All you can see through the blinding red rage is the man who beat Ghost and cracked his ribs, forcing you to watch him retract and twitch at every fleeting fist. 

Even the hail of gunfire is silent in your ears as you drag your injured foot. Everything sounds underwater, everything feels dull.

His fist intersects and meets with your cheekbone causing your head to shift to the left and your body to stumble where you stand. 

You grip his wrist and divert his second punch by lifting your arm and thrusting your knee roughly into his thigh to tamper his movements.

He groans, with grim chuckles following after. “I’m going to enjoy every last second of this,” he coos.

Your body shivers in disgust as you slide your fingers down to your waist, priming the knife stuffed beneath the hem of your shirt. “Go fuck yourself…” you hiss.

His eyes flicker down to your hand and his boot immediately connects with the middle of your torso, sending you across the floor with a loud thud.

Pooch steps between your legs and lifts your upper body by the neckline of your shirt, his knuckles slamming down to beat on your already swollen face. 

Drool and blood pour from your mouth, a strangled gasp leaving you at every punch before he releases you harshly back down onto the floor. 

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, the pressure and swelling in your face and head being all too much for you.

A boot is savagely kicked into the lower pit of your abdomen, making you gag on air.

“Get the fuck up.” Pooch spits. 

You clutch your stomach and turn, slowly feeling for the knife, then quickly lifting the edge trimming of your tank top and grasping the handle, pulling it out and sweeping your leg around and behind his ankles to knock him off to the side.

He yells out swears as you level yourself over him, his legs kicking out to make your chest rest on the soles of his boots. 

Both of your hands grasp the handle of the knife making it easier on your lack of fingers. His hands grip your forearms as you cry out and try forcing the knife down on him.

He kicks his legs up and backwards, upending you over him and sending the knife flying. 

You hiss and give yourself no time to recover, flipping on your stomach and army crawling with your forearms to grab the knife.

He topples atop your body, planting a piercing slap across your face before reaching for the knife and propelling it downwards into you.

Before you’re able to block, the knife breaks through the skin in your stomach, your hand managing to grab his wrist before he’s able to gut you open.

You seethe and let out a sharp whine followed by a croaked cry, your other hand circling his wrist in an attempt to push him away. 

Quickly, you roll your body off to the side and let go of him, causing the knife to pierce into the wood flooring as you grip a console table to succor yourself up.

Corbin abandons the knife and flings himself upwards, swinging his gun into his arms. 

“I’m done playing games.” 

You advance on him, grabbing the rifle and pushing it into his chest before he can aim it at you.

One of your hands grip the upper hand guard while the other grips the bolt and holds the muzzle up.

You yank his body over towards the window behind you, turning your body then grabbing the man by the back of his hair and smashing his head through the glass.

It shatters from contact and leaves cuts and shards in his skin, a loud yell clawing its way from his throat.   

His finger grips the trigger and bullets roll out into the floor as you pull his head back.

You pull the rifle sling from off his shoulder, tossing it aside and disarming him from the X12 tucked into the back of his pants.

He growls at every tug of his scalp as you shoot him in the back of the leg and force him onto his knees.

A loud wail echoes the hallway from the man below you.

 “Shut your fucking mouth,” you snap.

“You don’t get to scream.”

“You don’t get to cry and whine like a little bitch.”

There’s no remorse in your voice, no sense of mercy for the man being held on his knees and whimpering.

You smack the magazine onto the base of his nose, blood dripping it’s way down his nostrils as a struggling noise spills from his lips.

“You…fucking….” he chokes on his own words. 

His entire body violently trembles at the tortured scream he releases as you squeeze the trigger again, shooting Pooch in his shoulder then proceeding to stick your thumb into the ravage wound harshly.

“Bitch! Fucking bitch!” He strains and pants like a dehydrated dog trying to jerk away from you.

You replace your finger with your foot, lowering his back against the floor as you press your toe into the bullet hole.

Another scream tears out of him as you blow another hole into the other side—his chest convulses.

Blood seeps from his mouth, you hold the grip of the handgun with both hands and sob out loud as you empty the entire magazine into his head until his face is unrecognizable to the amount of bullet holes.

You keep pulling the trigger, even as the gun starts to click announcing its out of ammunition.

The entire floor below you is covered in gore; flesh, messings of brains, blood, skin. 

So much.

Your body snaps around as a hand abruptly drapes over your shoulder, your arm raising the gun ready to bash it into the skull of the next man to try and touch you.

“Thaye, Thaye—y’got him! Thaye, he’s dead!”

Someone calls your name trying to snap you of out haze.

Ghost—your eyes soften with glistening tears as he calmly disarms you after deflecting the hit with his forearm, tossing the handgun aside so he can push you into his chest by the back of your neck.

“‘S over, sweet girl.” Ghost says with intonation. “Can’t hurt ya anymore.”

Your eyes are wide with terror, hands bundling your lieutenant’s shirt as you exhale a shaky mewl.

It’s him who releases you first, handing you your custom rifle and radio.

His balaclava is back on his face, along with the skull mask.

“Y’r vest ‘n boots are in the room I came from,” Ghost jerks his head.

You nod softly and shamble towards the doorway in the direction he’d pointed out.

You pause.

A little boy walks out of the threshold—he’s holding a gun far bigger than his head.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Did these men take you from your family?” 

You turn your head over your shoulder to call for Ghost, the sound of a bullet whirring filling your ears.

Ghost wastes no time pulling out his handgun and shooting the little boy in the head before running towards you.

Your right shoulder is screaming at you as time seems to slow down to a crawl. You hear Ghost yell behind you and the gunshot ringing as the little boy falls back and you do too, hitting the ground hard.

The masked man is on his knees in front of you within seconds, lifting your head into his lap.

“Thaye! Thaye, don’t y’fuckin’ die, not now…” He growls, applying pressure down onto your shoulder with both of his gloved hands.

Your lips slant in a tired manner, eyelids feeling heavy. His bloody hand kneads your cheek, smearing gore along your already dirtied skin.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he curses loudly. “Stay awake, love, please…”

God, he was hurting, it hurt to have your head against the burns on his stomach, but he wouldn’t let you die.

“Babygirl,” he says weakly. 

All you can see is an uncleanable amount of red seep and cover your shirt.

Your lungs clutch together inside your chest, labored breaths escaping you with a strained noise.

“I know…I know—keep those gorgeous eyes on me, sweetheart.” He inhales a shaky breath, flipping up your blood-crusted hairs from sticking to your forehead.

You whisper an apology, catching his attention as you grip his waist. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow.

“Don’t. Don’t say sorry,” he says. “You did this, you saved our lives, love.” 

“‘M just finishin’ the job, ‘lright?” His split and bloody lips find a place on your temple, planting a raw and long kiss to your throbbing skin.

“…’least I got to see your face before—“ 

Ghost holds you, squeezing your hand as a slight warning. “Don’t talk like that.” 

It was a demand. 

“That an—“ you spur into a coughing fit, blood spraying onto the man’s vest. “…Order, Lieutenant?” 

“Spare y’r energy,” he huffs. 

“Simon—“ you slur.

“Stop.” He snarls.

Your ragged breaths start to stray, causing panic to surge through the man above you.

“No,” he growls, squeezing your smaller hand in his a bit tighter than before. “Don’t, Thaye,” he says through clenched teeth.

Your body falls limp in his lap, the grasp loosening on his shirt making his heart pound through his chest, a painful pounding that felt similar to acid reflux.

“No!” Ghost yells, desperately palming at your tangled hair in panic. “Fuckin’ massacre,” he exhales shallowly.

One arm scoops beneath the back of your knees, the other across your shoulder blades with his hand holding your arm. 

A loud strained groan claws it’s way from his gullet at the sudden pain inside his ribs as he lifts himself up and off the floor. 

His muscles tighten inside his body, a burning sensation in his abdomen as he clutches you close to his chest, feeling your blood seep into his shirt.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

The gentle rhythmic beeping and steady flow of air through your nostrils was something that felt unreal and forced.

You slowly flutter your eyes open to light slipping in between the beige curtains. Your eyes are half-lidded and threatening to close against your will as your bandage wrapped hands rests atop the metal railing on either side of you.  

It smells of strong floor cleaner and hand sanitizer, a scent that is slightly uneasy on you as you slowly slip back into consciousness. 

Your muscles feel tight in your body; pain racking your shoulder and neck as you crane it to take a look around the room. 

The walls are spinning and the ceiling above you is spiraling making you sick to your stomach. 

On the bedside table to your left—closest to the window—there’s flowers. They’re too withered to try and recognize what kinds, shredding to flakes in your fingers when you caress them between your pinky and thumb.

Your hand drags up to pull nasal tubes out of your nostrils. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe air, throat tightening and lips so still from lack of moisture.

There’s a penetrating migraine in the back of your skull as you carefully swing your legs over the side of the bed, the thin baby pink and spotted hospital gown flowing down your sides leaving you slightly exposed in your thigh region. 

Bare and bandaged feet slide along the smooth cold tile, sending chills up your body as you grip the IV stand with your trembling hand, the other holding onto the bed railing for support. 

You groan and strain as you struggle to lift yourself up, propelling upwards with your palm and grip on the stand until your knees straighten and your standing up somewhat decently.

Where was Ghost? Is Ghost alive?

So many thoughts coursed through your head along with the punishing feeling of dehydration. 

You guide yourself using the wheels on the IV stand towards a counter, your hands gripping the handle of the sink and pulling it upward.

A choked moan manages to break from you as you scoop the water in your hands and swill the rich liquid. 

Water dribbles down your chin, which you wipe away before lifting your head to look into the medicine cabinet mirror. 

Your hand rests on the wall in front of you as you heave.

They cut your hair shorter, not too short but enough so that it was comfortable. Your entire right side of your face being bandaged, stains of blood being a faint copper color.

Bandages wrapped around your neck and reached down your shoulder you’d been shot in.

Your hair had been taken care of neatly while you were in a coma, that was obvious.

Ghost. Where?

You grip the IV stand and hobble towards the door, turning the knob and gripping the threshold with your other hand as you step out. 

A nurse pauses in her tracks, rushing to your side in an instant. “How are you up? Your injuries are critical,” she gasps, palm flattening against the small of your back.

“My lieutenant—…my lieutenant…” you say in an undertone.

“You need bed rest, you’ve only just woken up.” Her voice is gentle yet commanding.

“No,” you bark, shuffling out of her hold. “Please take me to him.” 

The woman bites her lip before nodding hesitantly, hand against your back again to guide you towards his room.

It was only a few doors down from you—when the nurse opened the door, allowing you into the room.

You see the back of Ghost’s head facing in your direction, his hair tousled from the bandages wrapping around his head.

“Ghost,” you call.

His head turns from facing the window to facing you, you hear him murmur your name in reply.

“Y’minx,” he breathes. “Hell y’doin’ out ya bed?”

You carefully walk yourself towards him, the nurse holding her hands atop her chest nervously. The sound of the plastic wheels of the stand makes his breath hitch in his throat, the sound of reassurance that you were alive.

“You okay, big man?” Your voice is hoarse from lack of use, but he’s able to that you perfectly.

“D’ya ever worry ‘bout y’self, love?” Ghost asks with a tinge of humor. 

Heavy casting was on his right leg, bandages and patches on practically every inch of his body—similar to you.

“Sometimes,” you smile softly and push strands of his hair out of his face, your heart slightly shatters in your chest at the sight of him flinching at your touch.

Ghost scoots himself over slightly, wincing at the sudden movement.

You seat yourself beside him on the large gatch bed and his hand pushes you down to lay beside him.

“Wait, Mr. Riley—“ the nurse takes a small step forward.

“I’ll ‘b fine,” he grunts.

Her eyes blink slightly as she takes a few steps back, her lips separating to speak though no words come out. She simply turns on her ankles and closes the door behind her.

Ghost secures an arm around your waist, pushing your back flush against his bandaged chest.

Your eyes trace his tattoos and the muscles of his arms, every scar and blemish.

“Where’s the force?” You ask quietly.

“Left recently,” he mumbles back tiredly, pressing his nose into your hair. “Y’smell like pomegranate—got y’self a damn spa crew while y’were out?”

You laugh dryly, breaking into a light fit of wheezes.

“Not too hard, Seargant.” Ghost’s finger tucks a loose strand of hair from your bangs behind your ear.

Your wet bandages on your hands rub against his knuckle as you hold onto his hand, he seems to pay no mind.

You turn your body slightly so you can get a better look at his face. “Odd seeing you without your eye black.” You quip.

His closed eyes open to look down at you. “Mm, might as well see m’down in me knickers then, eh?” He chuckles huskily.

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes lightheartedly. 

You catch his small glances to your lips, his hand leaving your chest to run his thumb down your bottom lip until that same hand is cupping your cheek lovingly.

His eyes narrow, he’s sleepy, but you still catch yourself propping your body up with your elbow and closing the gap between the two of you. 

Instantly, his head cranes and tilts to deepen the kiss, his fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to press his thumb into the underside of your jaw and drag his fingers along the nape of your neck.

Ghost breathes into your mouth, the taste of mint leaf and citrus enveloping your taste buds as his tongue laced over yours.

The kiss was passionate, you feel his eyebrows furrow showing his desperation as you both kissed softly at a gentle pace and motion.

Your eyes flutter open as you feel his warm lips leave yours with a quiet pop, both of you panting lightly with his forehead pressed against yours. Ghost’s eyes are unable to open for a few moments after you disconnect. 

When they do open, your eyes bore into his brown orbs, the dark purple hue circling under his eyes showing his deprivation of sleep.  

When he feels you buck gently back into his groin, he releases a small grunt, lips meeting yours again for a small chase kiss.

“Not like this,” he says quietly. “I’d take you on this bed right here, right now, but y’ve recently waken up ‘n we’re both still in r’covery.” 

You hum in agreement, his hand finding it’s place on your chest once again with the knowledge of your lower abdomen injury.

“‘N to b’honest—‘can barely feel m’damned balls, feels like ‘ve got whiskey dick.” He grumbles, and you bite your lip to suppress a giggle.

“Simon!”

“Don’ you laugh at me, woman.” Ghost lowers his head into the crook of your neck, biting the skin gently 

“My deepest condolences, Lieutenant,” you purr, catching his lips in another kiss when you jerk his head upward with your uninjured shoulder. He growls against your mouth in reaction.

There’s a long yet short line of silence as you turn towards his back again, your legs tangling with his as you hold your lips against his knuckles.

“Y’have no clue how strong you are.” He swallows the knot in his throat as he speaks. “God, Thaye, they…they told me there was a chance y’d never wake up.” 

“Hey,” you hum. “Stop that, I’m here now.” 

His eyes stare blankly at the wall ahead of you, maybe even the same wall you were staring at—if your eyes weren’t closed already. 

“I just don’ know what I would’ve done if I made it outta there ‘n y’didn’t make it with me.” He says. 

“Y’r the reason I made it out with you in the first place. If y’hadn’t pulled that barmy stunt—“ he pauses, and you feel the rise of his chest and the fall as he exhales deeply.

“Y’survived internal bleeding, trauma to the head ‘n eye, two broken ribs, second and third degree burns, asphyxiation, dismemberment, stab wounds and gunshot wounds..” Ghost squeezes his fist tighter against your chest. 

“So did you, Si.” You coo softly. 

“Christ…” he mutters. 

His fingers interlock with yours best they can, regardless of the most of them being numbs on your knuckles, and it wasn't until your hand rested on his chest and rubbed over the raised scars, that he realized he hadn't been touched so gently in nearly eleven years. It wasn't a new feeling, but it was a feeling that he had craved desperately. 

Never had fallen in love before, but he knew you had bad experiences with it—figuring out that your ex-fiancé had cheated on you while on deployment. Someone had to love you, and he was skeptical of it being him, but it was clear you loved him too and now he was scared you’d stop. 

But hearing your gentle breathing as you slipped back into sleep hunched into his form led him somewhere he’d never been. You cleared his mind and cleared away his thoughts. For the first time, he doesn’t want to look away from what he has the ability to feel.

[onelittlespiral]

Tf where someone's huge musky cock keeps turning others into massive muscle bros on accident?

FML: Cursed

Up front, I’ll say this one’s a bit different. Let me know if you all like it. -❤️

Everything was too bright. My head was pounding. Memories were fading in and out from last night. Fuck, how much did I have to drink last night? I stumbled out of bed, trying to forced myself towards the bathroom to take a piss. I had made a New Year’s resolution to quit the bottle. Yeah, so much for that. I managed a quick piss and splashed some cold water on my face. That helped a bit. At this point all I wanted to do was bury my head back in my pillow. Slowly, I shuffled back towards my bed:

“Yeah? You coming back for more of this?”

A man. A man was in my bed. A hunk of a man was flexing in my bed. My mouth hung open for a moment as my brain chugged to life. I couldn’t quite believe it.

“…God damn it! Uggh, what did I let happen?”

“What, not in the mood? I can be quite,” he started a little pec dance, “persuasive.”

I was not in a mood to be amused by his flirting. “No, no it’s not you-or at least it is you now but-” I stammered, “Look. It’s complicated. Get up, please, I need you out of here. If you take some time to… cool off… it should pass.” I paused a moment, “I’m sorry.”

Quickly, I started pulling together what clothes I could find that would fit his new stature and tossed them at him. Even facing away from him I could tell he was a little taken aback. I’m sure in his current brain he couldn’t quite believe he was being rejected. But I knew it was better for everyone that he leave now. I scooped up his old clothing and threw it all into a tote. It wasn’t his fault he was here in this situation, getting kicked out of a stranger’s house early in the morning. Maybe that’s why I scribbled down my contact info and slipped it into the bag. He would have questions later, he deserved some answers. By now he had managed to put on the cut off tank and the shorts I had thrown him. The shorts were a size too small and left nothing to the imagination, but it would have to work. I doubted his canvas shoes would fit over those behemoths. He would have to go barefoot. After a few awkward pleasantries where he asked me if we should lift together some time and I politely declined, he finally got the message and slipped out the door. I locked it behind him and slumped to the floor. I still had a headache.

It was going to be a long day. At this point I was awake, so I just decided to hit the shower. The steam helped clear my mind so I could try to piece the night together. It had been two years now and it was still happening. I wish I knew how to stop it. But looking back, I’m not sure what else I could have done. Every time it happened though, every time I saw his face, I just replayed that day again in my mind:

We were sitting at our favorite cafe when I broke the news.

“What do you mean? You’re breaking up with me?” my ex boyfriend was stunned. Truly, I don’t think this had ever happened to him before.

“Please don’t act surprised. We both knew this was coming. We aren’t good for each other.”

“Baby, we aren’t good for each other,” he cooed, leaning over and cupping my jaw, “We’re great together. You can’t pretend to deny it. I can feel that cock twitch, hear every moan when you’re inside me. Come on, let’s go home and I’ll bring you to your knees.”

“No. This isn’t about us in bed. This is everything outside of it. I don’t like how you talk to me, how you treat me, how you touch me,” I said, slapping his hand from my face, “and how you treat everyone in the world as your plaything. I just can’t put up with it anymore.”

That finally set him off, “Oh, you have no idea what I can do.” He snapped his fingers.

I watched as a man in a suit next to us dropped his book. He began to convulse, and I watched in horror. He reverted from his fifties to his late twenties in a moment, smoothing his wrinkles as his hair turned from silver to brown. His skin tightened around his swelling body, as his muscles easily ripped through his shirt and pants. A deep moan escaped his mouth as his clothes reformed themselves into a tank top and gym shorts. As a snap-back hat formed and tightened around his head, I grimaced, knowing that his mind was being assaulted with a new identity. I knew the look on his face well as drool flowed from his open mouth. Then, all at once it stopped. He just picked up his book and kept reading. No one else even seemed to notice what had taken place.

It was a thinly veiled threat and we both knew it. “See? This is the shit I’m talking about. What happens to him now? He had nothing to do with this, you just can’t contain yourself.”

“Oh relax, he’s fine. I didn’t dumb him like I do to you. No one will ever remember anything different. Though I imagine whatever new hires at his firm will be confused why the new boss is a jacked gym bro while everyone else in the office is pushing 40 and wearing suits.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“I can’t! I can’t do this anymore. I don’t ever want to see you again.” I gathered my things to make my exit.

He came round the table, in a far less joking mood, “You’ll regret that,” he grabbed at my groin and cupped my package, “from now on, whenever that gets going, I have a feeling you will be seeing a lot of me” I felt a stirring in my sack. Something had… shifted?

“What did you do?” my shouting had finally drawn the attention of onlookers.

“Good luck, baby. You ever want that resolved, you’ll have to find me.” With that, he turned heel and left.

Now, two years later, he was right. I had seen far too much of him. The water had gone cold. I turned the faucets off and stepped out to dry myself off.

The first time had been a shock. I had given myself time to heal from the relationship, but about two months in I decided to head to a bar. Immediately something was off when I entered. I saw a few old flings, and a friend or two who were surprised to see me there. But it was like when I entered the whole place shifted towards me. Men were buying me drinks and fawning for my attention. The bartender even slipped a few comments in. They all looked smitten with me, trying to get just a little closer. By the end of the night I had some twink sitting in my lap. I decided it was time to blow off some steam. I took him to my place, where he immediately began tearing off my clothes inside the door. I managed to get him back to my bedroom before he had my boxers off. Immediately he buried his nose into my bush. Admittedly I hadn’t been keeping shaved since the breakup, and I guess that was doing it for him. He went to town on my cock. I wasn’t prepared for him to take it in one thrust, but he wasn’t waiting. All I could do was grab his hair and hold on as he worked my cock like a pro. I felt his hair curl beneath my fingers as I held on for the ride, moaning as he pushed all my buttons. He knew just when to pull back to keep me edging, his thick fingers holding on as he devoured my cock. Finally I knew I needed to fuck him. I pulled him off of my cock, but as he stood up and his dazed expression met mine I screamed.

“Fuck baby, where have you been all of my life?” he said.

He was the spitting image of my ex. The hair, the muscle, even that stupid nickname. In shock I pushed him away as he gave me a look of confusion.

“What are you doing here? I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

He looked back at me confused, “What are you talking about? We just met like a few hours ago. You invited me over. Sorry.”

Something about the statement rang true. I only realized later it was because he apologized. My ex would never. “Did he put you up to this? What’s your name?”

“Hey, I’m not sure who you’re talking about, okay? I’m Justin. I was just looking for a good time.”

“Have you seen yourself? You don’t look like the twink I met at the bar.” I retorted

He looked in the mirror, and his face seemed to puzzle for a sec. I knew that look. He was trying to reconcile memories he had. Fake memories. Then he smirked, “Yeah, pretty hot right? I’ve been working out, getting that more twunk look going.”

So he was clueless then. It was weird seeing someone look so much like him, and have a mix of his mannerisms and others. He had certainly made sure his cockiness was implemented. The asshole.

“Look, I’m not sure tonight is going to work out. I need you out of here. Now.” That was a little mean, it wasn’t his fault. But he had to go. I gave him some of my ex’s clothes he had left lying around and pushed him out the door without saying goodnight. It was only next week when I went to the bar that I saw him again. He had seemingly gone back to normal, besides a very distinctive mustache and stubble he was growing now. It didn’t fit his thin, hairless body and it made me chuckle…

*BZZZZZT*

My phone was getting a call from an unknown number. I guess it was time to answer some questions:

-Hey, I found this number in my bag. This the guy from last night?

*Sigh*

-Yeah, it’s me. Are you, uh, feeling better? More… yourself?

-So I’m not crazy! What was that? What happened?

-I am so so so sorry. It’s a long story. Let’s just say my ex is… a looot.

-Well hey, who’s isn’t?

I chuckled

-You’re taking this surprisingly well. Most guys don’t want to look at me after all this.

-So this has happened before?

-Yes. But I promise I didn’t mean to. I must have gotten too drunk last night, and I know that’s not a good excuse. But I’m not sure what to do about it and at this point I’d starting to think I never will

-Woah, woah. Calm down. Would you want someone to come over? To talk to?

I paused.

-No, I think I’ll be fine.

-Please, I want to. I want answers and it seems like you need someone.

-I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Plus, I don’t think I can see you like that.

-I promise. I don’t think I have anything the same.

-Promise?

-Here, look

He did look back to normal. And he was quite cute. I can see why drunk me decided to pick him…

-Still, I’m not sure…

-Nope, it’s decided. I know the address, I’ll be there later tonight around 6. *click*

What had just happened? I think, against all odds, I just got roped into a second date.

God damn it.

[theemporium]

hello, could you write something where your relationship with James is in the beginning and he's always the one who kisses you, and one day you want to kiss him but you're too embarrassed to just do it?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

James Potter was the kind of boyfriend you dreamed of having.

He was sweet, unreasonably so. He was charming and he made your head spin in the best way possible. When you were with him, you felt like his number one priority. There was never a moment with James where you felt anything but adored.

The relationship was new and still blossoming, but you knew you were in it for the long run with James. And he knew that too. You were as enamoured by him as he was with you.

And with the small time you’ve been together, you had picked up on a few of his habits. How he was never a morning person, always a little grumpy when he settled down beside you until he had some food in his stomach. How his hands moved animatedly when he spoke, regardless of what he was talking about. How he always preferred to be on your left, whether it was walking down the hallway or sitting next to you on the couch in the common room.

How he was always the one to initiate any sort of affection, whether it was a hug or a holding your hand or even a kiss.

James always initiated it and you never stopped him, because you were more than happy to let him do so.

But there were times when sometimes you wished he would turn around to catch your eye during a conversation. There were times where you wished he wasn’t so distracted by the textbook he was reading over. There were times where you wished he hadn’t run out for quidditch practice so quickly.

Because all of those times, you just wanted to kiss your boyfriend but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Because you didn’t want to come off as clingy or desperate. Because you didn’t want James to think you were constantly leeching onto his side for affection and love.

Because it was so early on in the relationship and you didn’t want to ruin anything, even if your fingers itched to pull him down for a kiss more often than not.

“You good?”

Your eyes snapped away from the random patch of grass you had been blankly staring at for the past few minutes, instead focusing on the boy beside you who had a look of concern splashed across his face.

“Huh?” You blinked before smiling. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

His brows furrowed together. “You gonna tell me the truth now?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play off his question as you turned back to the book on your lap. “I’m fine, James, honestly.”

“Ouch, my full name as well,” James murmured, poking your thigh slightly. “What did I do?”

Your face softened slightly. “Nothing, you didn’t do anything.”

Because it was true.

It was a Saturday afternoon, you were sprawled out on a picnic blanket with your boyfriend. You had a good book in your lap, with James leaning against you like a pillow as he dozed off, and the moment couldn’t have been more perfect.

If it weren’t for your racing thoughts.

“Baby,” he groaned softly as he propped himself up on his elbow, giving you a pointed look. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

There was a small pause.

“Please?”

You sighed as you sagged back against the tree he had set the blanket under. Your eyes focused on anywhere but your boyfriend, your cheeks heating in embarrassment as you muttered out your response.

“I want to kiss you.”

James raised his brows, trying to bite back the grin that wanted to spread across his face. “Yeah?”

“You want to laugh,” you grumbled as you reached up to cover your face, but he quickly grabbed your hands before you could do so.

“No, baby, no,” James shook his head, grinning at you. “I would never laugh at you. I think it’s cute.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, you can kiss me whenever you want, princess,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your inner wrist. “Don’t need to worry that big brain of yours over it.”

“I just…” you trailed off with a sigh. “I don’t know, I just thought maybe you wouldn’t want it?”

James almost looked offended. “Princess, I would kiss you all day if I could.”

You snorted.

“I’m serious,” James continued, sitting up a little so his face was a few inches away from yours. “That would be my dream job.”

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured affectionately.

“An idiot who’s waiting for his pretty girlfriend to kiss him,” James corrected.

It was hard to kiss him when you were grinning like an idiot yourself, but you did your best as you leaned forward with a hand pressed against his cheek. You kissed him like you had been wanting to kiss him for ages. You kissed him like it would be your last time.

It was soft but eager, and James didn’t think he could ever get tired of your kisses.

“Good,” he murmured against your lips, his nose nudging against yours before he leaned down to kiss you again. “I expect that every five minutes now.”

And his grin only widened when you leaned your head back to laugh

.

[nisuna]

NOOOO I LOST THE ASK ABOUT GOJO X GETO'S LITTLE SISTER 😭😭😭

So I'll just post it like this I'm so sorry to that person

The gist of it was that you got caught watching him shower and got fucked hard<3

But anyway, HALF of you voted for this one on my poll so here you go, hope you enjoy!!

Thank you for your take!!<3

~drabble~ 18+ MDNI

<3masterlist<3

TW: brief eating out, mating press, doggy, Satoru's very cocky and mean but oddly nice in the end, breathplay, choking, hair pulling, spanking, slut calling, used whore once

You didn't mean to look. You really didn't mean to, but when you saw the bathroom door slightly ajar and heard his humming you had a moment of weakness. And you felt your thighs squish together once you took a peek inside. Darn. There he was, naked and in all of his glory. You saw the water droplets run down the dips of his trained back, god, has he always been this ripped? Your eyes trailed down to his ass...cute, you thought to yourself. Then your eyes wandered to his strong legs and as soon as you heard a groan your heart stopped. Your eyes shot up only to see him stretch his arms above his head. You sighed in relieve and totally missed the way the white haired man in front of you shot you a glance with a smirk. He'll indulge you for now. When you looked up again, he was back to flexing his huge arms. Big palms and thick fingers were massaging the shampoo in his hair. You felt your mouth go dry.

Even though Satoru was slimmer than your brother he was a bit taller, but right now he just looked so incredibly big in every sense of the word. For as long as you could remember he always towered over you. He used to tease you about it, but now you didn't feel annoyed at the height difference anymore. No, you felt weak. As your thoughts kept wandering you wished that he would turn around so you could catch a glance of his toned chest and hard abs, maybe even his-

You froze when you heard his voice, "Are you just going to stand there or will you join me?"

Huh?... What? was all you could think, when you tried to hide behind the doorframe.

"C'mon what wrong? You look likea deer caught in headlight. You didn't think I saw you staring this whole time? I even put on a show for you. Didn't you like it?", you heard foot steps come your way and as you were about to run away a naked Satoru wearing a towel, that hung so dangerously low on hips you could see his happy trail peeking out, stood in front of you grinning. "I think your face is telling me you ate that right up."

Gulp.

"Oh no I didn't see anything I just came here and was about to leave haha sorry," you lied, completely avoiding eye contact. Just as you were slowly backing away from him he grabbed your wrist keeping you in place, "Oohh-tto, hold up where ya goin', pretty girl. Can't blame ya for staring, hmm? So dirty watching your brother's best friend shower..", he mumbled pulling you closer.

"I said I'm sorry please-", he muffled your sentence with pressing his lips against yours, making you squirm in his grasp. You pulled away with a gasp.

"Satoru, what are you-?"

"I'm giving you exactly what you want. Don't lie to me. How long have you had a crush on me hm?

"Stop, It's not what you-"

Putting his other arm around your waist he pulled you into his damp body. "Then why are you blushing so hard right now~ Also, don't you think it's unfair?

what?

"You saw me naked, now's my turn.~"

-

"You're so sensitive, baby", he said between licks, curling his fingers inside your dripping cunt. "You sure you're not a virgin?"

"Mhh, stop.. I've had boys before, okay, just shut up and-"

"Those boys ever make ya cum?"

Your silence spoke volumes.

He pulled away from between your legs with a sigh, pity in his big blue eyes, "Don't worry, I'll show you how real men fuck. Fuck those boys."

Fuck those boys indeed.

Before you knew it you were on your back, legs pressed against your chest as you watched Satoru bottom out in your pussy.

"Shit- you're so tight. Baby relax, you're gonna snap my dick off if you don't."

"Can't- can't help it, you're so big, fuck.. feels good."

"Yeah? Like getting your cunt stuffed by your brother's best friend, hm?"

All you could do was whine at his words as he started moving his hips against yours. With every hit of his tip against the spongy spot inside of you your moans and mewls of his name grew in volume.

"Shh not so loud", he shushed you with his palm over your mouth, "We wouldn't want your brother finding out his little sister's being such a slut right now, yeah? Or that you were caught oogling me while showering? Hmm, want your brother to see you like this, you'd get off on that, wouldn't you? Fucking whore. He'll definitely notice if you keep being that loud."

"Noo.. don't say that please, mmhh I'm trying my best it just ah- feels so good. I'll try to be quiet it's just so hard I can't.", you whined, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes from his harsh words, as you tried to hold your legs up with shaking hands.

"I think I can help you out with that.", he whispered as he wrapped his long fingers around your neck, momentarily cutting off your airflow, which made you squeal. Eyes blown wide open.

Your panicked expression made him loosen his grip. "Shh, don't worry. I'll try to be gentle. I'll make you feel reaaal good.", with that he picked up his pace alternating between letting you breathe and choking you. He felt you gush at each squeeze of his hand. "You're so messy for me. You like being choked? You feelin' good? I'll make ya feel even better. C'mon on, all fours."

After a particularly hard squeeze he let go of your neck and pulled out of you. You sucked in a deep breath as you got up, sticking your ass out.

"Oh fuck, such a nice view. Prettiest pussy I've ever seen. And that ass, shit." He made you yelp as he spanked your ass, hard.

You were about to speak up, only to get interrupted by another mean spank, while he pushed his cock back inside your cunt. It made you arch your back impossibly more while you burried your head in the pillows below you, letting out pathetic moans.

"That's right, keep that pretty mouth shut and enjoy.", he slurred while holding your hips in place, stuffing you to the brim. He kept his relentless pace, spanking you from time to time, which only made you sob and squirm.

"You're so mean to me...", you whined into the pillows.

He felt his heart drop a bit. Oh no, did he overdo it?

His harsh thrusts turned into sensual rolls of his hips, "Shh 'm sorry baby. Cmon, I'll make it up to ya. I'll even play with your pretty little clit. See? All better now, huh?", he mused.

As he leaned forward to push his thick fingers onto your puffy clit all of your sadness faded, replaced by pure bliss. The mewls you let out made him grin.

"See, all better now hm? I'll make ya cum so hard, you'll never find someone better."

So cocky.. gaaah, but he does it so well. You'll let it slide this once.

"Ah- mmh yeah like that please~", you cried

Your words made him pick up his speed again, "Good girl. Gonna fuck you good. I got you." he slurred while kissing your back which only made your arch deeper as you squeezed him tight.

"God, you're gonna be the death of me. You're so tight and tiny down there, it's coiling around me nicely."

The way he was talking to you made you whine as you felt yourself getting close.

"'Toruu so good oh god-"

"Yeah? 'm I the best you ever had?", he questioned, cruelly slowing his fingers to get an answer out of you.

So annoying, but you indulged him. You'll say anything to cum on his cock right now.

"Yeah you're so good, the best. Only want you please, please make me cum. Need it so bad Toruuuu~"

His fingers went back to rubbing thick circles into your clit as he groaned, "Oh fuck, can't say no to you. Okay then, cum round my cock. Make a mess of me, pretty."

As soon as he uttered those words you let out a drawn out mewl, creaming around him, squeezing so tight he almost chocked on a breath

"Yeah thats a good girl, so good for me.", he praised you trough your high as your tongue lolled out and your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

Thank yous spilled out of your mouth, while he rubbed you into overstimulation. Just as you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he moved his hand from your clit to your hair, pulling your back flush against his chest

"'M gonna cum inside yeah? You're gonna take it all right?"

"YEAH PLEASE FILL ME UP SATORU!!"

"Shit", he thought to himself and with a few more thrusts he filled you up, cum already dripping down your leg.

When he pulled out, you fully expected him to just leave you there. But to your surprise he pulled you in a tight embrace, kissing the top of your head.

"You did so well. I hope I wasn't too harsh.", his voice sounded gentle and genuine.

Whoa..

"No, it's fine.. it was really hot actually. Thank you."

"Hehe", he grinned, squeezing you tight. "I know right, I'm the best."

You jabbed him in the ribs. "Don't get too cocky, you only made me cum once so far."

"Sorry, sorry can't help it if it's you." he laughed, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. "Is that a challenge? Wanna see how many times I can make ya cum, no problem-"

"Y/N? Satoruuu~?", you both felt a chill run down your spines.

oh fuck.

"I hope to god you weren't just doing what I think you were~~", your brother mused.

Oh you were so dead. Both of you.

----

Feel free to send me your Hot Takes as well ^^

[hvly]

No, cause let’s talk about the virgins tired of being virgins.

My personal favorite is that Oikawa has never gotten any type of close with a girl because of the sheer amount of bitches he has around him

(Also, I stumbled across your blog and I think I’m in love??? Please say you’re not taken 👏🏼)

ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴍ 🗣️ : anon, babe, forgive me for getting to this so astronomically late. BUT now that I'm here, let's talk about it 🤭 Oikawa is a hoe in theory, not practice. And I am more than happy to elaborate.

ᴄᴡ: virginity loss (male), afab reader, light praise. not proofread so be nice.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ : 1k+

Humor me for a minute. Imagine what it'd be like to take THE Tooru Oikawa’s virginity. To be his first, if you will. He'd try to be really smooth about it. Using his flirtatious nature to cover up the fact that he's inexperienced when it comes to being intimate. And who, honestly, would doubt or question his validity? 

The volleyball player is far from short on potential sexual partners. Throngs of fangirls practically throw themselves at his feet, hoping to land on his radar for just one chance. And like any good idol, he gives his adoring fans what they wish and pray for.

Pandering to his female fans by addressing them as “his girls”, giving hugs instead of handshakes at fan meet-ups, and playful flirty banter to appear more personal and within reach. No one who’s ever interacted with him would get the impression that he’s a “virgin”. 

To say he had you fooled would be quite the understatement. And to say you were pleasantly surprised to be the one to find out would be an even greater one. 

You stare down at where your bodies would soon connect, your hand gently leading his member to align with your entrance. Oikawa's bangs tickled your forehead as he watched, his breaths gradually getting shorter out of what you could only assume was anticipation. “Are you ready?” you ask, looking up at the brunette through your lashes. 

He nods slightly, breathing out an airy ‘yes’. You felt your heart skip in your chest, the way he answered catching you off guard. It felt surreal guiding the reputed womanizer through his first time and seeing him like this. Meek, breathless, desperate. How lucky you were to have this opportunity.

“Okay,” you whisper, taking a deep breath before leading his cock into your welcoming walls, using your legs to gradually pull him in. Oikawa inhales sharply from the new sensation, quietly muttering to himself as he sinks inch by inch into you. 

You lay still when Oikawa bottoms out, allowing him a moment to adjust to each other’s bodies. “How does it feel?” you ask, your hands coming up to cup his face. His cheeks were warm in the palm of your hands, ears hot against the pads of your fingers. He’s breathy when he responds, brown eyes misty as he looks at you. “Good...Really good,” he mutters, his collarbone peaking through with each breath he took. “Can I?” he paused, voice breathy and barely above a whisper, afraid to appear too eager. He looks like he’s close to tears, eyes glassy against his flushed skin. You peered back into those warm eyes, rubbing your thumbs across his cheeks as you nodded.

Oikawa swallows and fixes his hands to your hips. You felt him move backward, his cock dragging against your walls. He starts slowly, his hips rocking in a steady back-and-forth motion. Soft groans and hushed curses sounded from the boy as he relaxed, less rigid and more confident. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, lip caught between your teeth as you let Oikawa use your cunt to find a comfortable pace he could build on. Gradually, his movements quickened. His thrusts became less tentative and more precise, hitting faster and deeper every time his hips connected with yours. You gasped quietly, your eyes snapping open upon Oikawa’s (frankly unexpected) new pace. 

Your breaths start to quicken as pleasure slowly builds in your core. “Yeah, keep going,” you moan. Oikawa huffs out some sort of acknowledgment as he continues to drill into your tight walls. You vocalized your pleasure loudly, praising the brunette for how well he was doing. And in such a short amount of time for someone who claimed they were inexperienced. 

For a moment, you wondered if the pro volleyball player was lying about his virginity. Maybe he was using it as a type of ploy to garner sympathy from his fans.

But the thought went as soon as it came. Your attention was brought back with a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine, your hips bucking in response. You gasped before it was quickly replaced with a loud moan, your hands gripping the pillows behind you. Oikawa groans above you, his fingers digging into the fat of your hip. 

Any timidity that he previously had was now long gone. He thrust into you with a new found confidence. Or maybe it was just pure lust and pleasure that drove him. You went into this fully expecting not to orgasm, but the virgin boy proved not to be underestimated. 

You couldn’t help but rain praises down on the brunette, his performance truly commendable.. ‘Yes ! Just like that’ and ‘You’re doing so good’ falling freely from your lips as the coil in your abdomen steadily wound up. Oikawa threw his head back with a loud moan before looking back at you with hazy chocolate eyes. “Gonna cum…Fuck, I’m cumming,” he manages to choke out, squeezing his eyes shut as he nears his end. You moan in time with his frantic thrusts, yeses ringing throughout the room like a mantra. 

His cock twitched with such intensity you swore you could feel every vein on his cock, even through the latex barrier he wore. You reach climax first, your cunt fluttering around Oikawa. He pumped into your walls once, twice, three times before his hips suddenly stilled. Oikawa gasped loudly, an equally loud and drawn out moan filling in any possible silence within the room. You felt his load steadily fill the condom, the faintest traces of warmth within your walls. Every twitch of his cock added to the feeling of (technical) fullness, and you were almost certain that he’d spill out of it if he kept cumming like this. 

Oikawa collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding against your shoulder. You smiled a bit, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair. He chuckled breathlessly, propping himself up to look at you. 

“So,” he smiled, a smirk tugging on his features, “Did I earn the title of womanizer?” Oikawa’s expression was light and playful, not taking himself too seriously and well aware of his reputation as a “lady-killer”. You giggled, shaking your head lightly.

“Almost. Still gotta teach you a few things before then.”

© 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴𝘰𝘯 2023. 𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺.

[hwanchaesong]

┗🖋️In between fights and smoke / Daydream collides with a poison cloak / Putting nightmares into a tight choke / Fixing it with a lust-filled stroke 📖

🎧: Taylor Swift - I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

wc: 2.4k

genre & warnings: angst, sprinkle of fluff, smut, stoner!hee, petnames, weeds & alcohol, kind of like toxic rs, cursing, appearance of other enha members, cunnilingus (f receiving), fingering, slight nipple play, creampie (?), unprotected sex, etc etc mdni

a/n: this is a part of The Tortured Poets Department series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

The device shook on your palms, the icy night breeze seeping in your skin, truly, you should've worn a thicker jacket instead of some flimsy cardigan on your way here.

But who could blame you?

Getting a cryptic message out of nowhere, more so if it's about your oh so, loving boyfriend, would make you bolt out of your house even during the ungodly hour of 2:37 am.

You read the text again, and you couldn't help the scowl in your face.

"Get your boy."

You've always wanted to receive the magical three words. Not the vomit-inducing one.

Sighing, you tucked your phone inside your pocket, proceeding to walk into the spacious rustic porch of the eerily quiet house.

No knocks were needed, the owner of the residence opening the door once you're in front, motioning for you to come in.

You did and the first thing that you could think of is the unusual atmosphere of the building. Most of the time, the blaring music and glaring lights would repulse you, but there were none of those today.

Did the party end early?

Before you could ask where he is, the male with you answered your unspoken question.. or questions at that.

"No rave for tonight because we decided on another festivity, down in the basement." he says, giving you a weak smile as he shoves his hands down in his pockets.

"Thank you, Jay." you returned the smile, which he wasn't able to see for he's already heading into his kitchen.

You then sauntered at the said place where you could find the person that you have personally come to pick up.

Entering the area almost made you want to go to the hospital. The smell was revolting, a mixture of burning fronds, sweat, ashes of joints and alcohol invaded your senses and it was nauseating.

You stood there for a minute, scanning the realm of awfulness until your eyes landed on the guy that was supposed to be in bed with you. Cuddling you and whispering sweet nothings to make you sleep but here he is, giggling like a child, blowing out a puff of smoke that paints his lungs black.

"Heeseung." you called, paying no mind to the other inhabitants of the spacious basement, footsteps nearing closer in his figure that was slumped on a sorry ass sofa, "Let's get you home."

His eyes snapped open, craning his neck to peer at you, recognition flashed and his expression lighted up. He threw you a wide grin, patting his lap as an invitation for you to take.

"There's my baby! Look, everyone! My baby is here!" he mused, pointing at you, and for a second you'll dare say that he looks nothing but an angel.

Big bright eyes, squinting just a tiny bit with how wide his grin is. Vermillion tresses frame his cheeks so well, pink pouty lips, and an adorable scrunched up nose.

An innocent one. Your innocent one.

Except you know who, what, and how he is. But you're not one to back down from a challenge. The moment you decide to date him, to let him in your life, you know that you're in for a disastrous ride.

"Really, Y/N? Him?"

"I thought you were wise and smart."

"I wish you luck, dear."

You shook the echoing voices in your head, opting to focus on the current dilemma at hand.

"Hee, let's go. Yeah?" you murmured softly when you're in front of him, attempting to get him out of this hell hole with you.

He whines, pulling you into him out of the blue, that made you yelp, gripping his shirt to steady yourself in his lap.

He dips his face on the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet, vanilla scent, a stark contrast of the environment he's in for the past few hours.

"My baby smells like cake, delicious." he hums, his hands going over your waist, and you tried your best to get him off you in a lenient manner.

"Go get a room." his friends, Jake and Sunghoon, who are also in the room fake gagged, and Heeseung didn't take that well.

He takes you with him when the annoyance shoots over his veins, hauling you with him and out of the house but not without yelling a playful yet condescending statement.

"At least I'm not like you losers! I actually have a girl that gets my dick wet!"

You kept your mouth shut, the scolding will come later but for now, it's your turn to do the dragging, ushering him into your car so you can finally drive away from here.

Arriving at your own home felt like breathing fresh air, well, the groans of your boyfriend brought you back to reality.

"Lee Heeseung!" you shout in anger, and despite being in a dopamine-incited state, he still has half a mind to be alert when you used his full government name.

"Woah, baby? Why?" he's struggling but manages to come over to you, his hands moving to wrap you in his arms.

You dodged the affection he was about to give, choosing to throw him daggers through your eyes, "Why? Why?!" you shout in pure exasperation.

"You can't just say that! I am not your toy that will 'make your dick wet!' That was so disrespectful!" you imitated his words from earlier with a mocking tone, jabbing at his chest harshly, "I don't deserve that."

His eyes soften, cupping your face and his thumbs caress your cheeks, smoothing your wrinkled features, "Of course you don't. I'm so sorry baby, I was joking with them."

"That wasn't a good joke, Hee. That hurt me." you utter, leaning into his warm touch.

How you hated it when you're this weak for him, then again, this is what you swore to protect and reveal to everyone who judged him early.

They don't know that his calloused hands from all the fighting he did can bring such velvety skinship.

They have no idea that his vulgar way of speaking can actually be so honeyed and gooey if he wants to.

They don't know him like you do. So, it is your mission to show them that a wild man can be tamed.

"I'm sorry, baby," he lifts your face, allowing you to look into his apologetic caramel orbs, "let me make it up to you, hm?"

You stare and nod, because if you're going to be honest, there's no getting out of this.

He presses his lips onto yours in a searing, messy kiss, tilting his head to further deepen it. Your hands cling to his hair, tousling it the more the make-out session gets hotter.

His hand squeezed your left breast over your clothes, causing you to moan and he took that as an opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, licking every corner that he can reach.

Your tongue clashed with his, not for dominance, but for the sole purpose of riling each other up. He moans when you suck on his tongue, unexpected surprise but he loved it nonetheless.

He returned the favor with much zeal, disconnecting from you and the string of saliva broke when he dipped his head to smooch all over your neck. Trailing open, wet mouthed kisses down your clavicle, then biting on your collarbone and sucking on the damage, leaving a purple patch on its spot.

He slowly raises his head, his pointy nose scraping on your mastoid until he reaches your ear, his hands grabbing your ass to bring your lower area to his, making you feel his hard member poking on his jeans.

"Am I doing a great job of making it up to you?" he inquires, like a puppy in need of some validation.

"I think," using your palms to lift his head, giving him an eskimo kiss, "you have to do more."

He smiles, hoisting you in his strong arms and easily manhandling you into the comforts of your shared bedroom, hurling you onto the mattress with matching pecks on your face and lips.

"Guess I'll have to do my best." he murmurs against your lips before all hell breaks loose, clothes tossed everywhere until you're both stark naked.

You gripped his hair tightly when his mouth snaked on your chest, popping a nipple and sucking on it while his left hand played with your other mound, pinching and tugging on it. His right hand slithered down your stomach, passing by your navel until it reached your core.

A gasp was heard from you when he dipped a finger in your wetness, swirling the juices around your labia and his index finger played with your clit in an up and down motion.

He lightly nibbles on your nipple before switching to the other one, giving it the same treatment as he continues his actions on your pussy.

So many sensations all at once and it had you twitching and drenching under him. He's always been good at having you at his mercy when it comes to things like this.

His ministrations came to a halt when you moaned his name. No, he won't let you come if it's not in his mouth.

Heeseung positioned himself in between your thighs, his fingers digging into your plush flesh and spreading your thighs wider, his face so close to your heat but you don't have the time to be embarrassed when he sticks and flattens his tongue out on your pussy.

He licks away your juices, humming in delight with your taste. He's not a man of patience, evident in how he inserts two of his fingers inside, curling it in a relentless pace and it hits the spongy spot perfectly.

"H-hee! Ah!" you mewled, his name is the only thing in your mind. He's so fucking good, your good boy. It shows when he frowns, concentrating on giving you the fitting pleasure to make up for his mistake.

He sucked on your clit harshly, alternating to licking it with his hardened tongue while his digits worked you to oblivion. Soon enough, you've come undone, releasing in his mouth which he graciously received, slurping you clean, only stopping when you have to physically push him away due to overstimulation.

You were breathing heavily, then you steeled yourself when you felt the tip of his manhood poke your hole. Half lidded eyes staring at him, giving him the signal that he can go on and ruin you into his liking.

"bab- fuck! Feel so good." Heeseung groaned when he entered you in one go, your walls clenching around him. When he feels your hips move, he begins to slam into you, docile at first then he hears you beg for more.

How could he even say no to his precious baby?

His hips rams harder and faster, it makes your whole body shake. Every drag of his length accompanies a squelching sound with how wet you are but you couldn't care less, it's the result of what he's making you feel.

Even in your rapture drunken stupor, you can still feel the vein on the side of his cock, sliding so exquisitely inside.

With his large hands supporting your hips, he lifts one of your legs on his shoulder, a completely different position but it allows him to plow deeper into you. Pushing his cock further until it kisses your weak spot, a rather melodious moan erupting from you and that was enough for Heeseung to know that he had hit the jackpot.

He continues fucking into you, your wetness spreading on his balls, thighs and sheets yet it turns him on so much.

He gazes down at you, and my god, a scene worthy of jacking off when he's not with you has been engraved in his brain. You are so fucking divine under him.

Eyes almost rolling in the back of your head, tiny hands grabbing the pillows for dear life, and drool running down your chin. Sensual and messy are everything he had always wanted.

He lurches down to give you a kiss, swallowing your saliva and moans, he detaches and speaks, "I fucking love you."

"I-I Hees-" you tried to return his sentiment, but a coherent sentence isn't available at the moment due to your hazy mind, courtesy of the excellent fucking you're currently receiving.

Heeseung thrusts are becoming erratic, desperate and he knows he won't last long.

"Come on baby, cum with me, yeah?" he mumbles, "Don't hold back." he orders, every word punctuated with a powerful thrust.

You opened your mouth in a silent moan, gushing on his pulsating dick and your tight walls were sufficient for him to release his seed inside, milking him dry.

He pulls out, some of his cum smearing on your womanhood, and he collapses beside you.

Aftercare can be done later, too tired for that, but never for a cuddle. He pulls you close to his heaving body, both of you catching your breath.

"I really am sorry for what I said a while ago." he mutters, rubbing consoling circles on your flushed skin.

"Do you promise not to do it again?" you gazed at him, looking for any signs of deceiving when he agreed without any hesitation, but the only thing that you see is his ethereal halo made out of his hair.

"Hee.. please don't destroy yourself." you flopped back into his sturdy chest, tracing lines on his muscles.

"Of course baby. If I did that then I won't be with you anymore. We can't have that happening."

He chuckles and you do too.

Surely, you don't need any prayers from those people who act like they care about you. They don't have to go out of their way to make their god bless you, because you are already graced with the greatest blessing.

People will judge either way if you tell them that he's your boyfriend. But none of that matters because you have already decided that he is yours, and you are his.

The next time, or should you say, for the future times where you sit inside the bar where he works at, wearing the sexiest dress you could muster that he'll inevitably rip off of you later, you can simply shrug the comments of the nosy dumbasses.

Watching him sing his heart out while playing the electric guitar, you know that he is a force to be reckoned with but he loves you, and you believe that you're the one thing he needs in this cruel world to change.. to improve.

You'll fasten his seatbelt when his journey is turbulent, anchor him when he floats too high, and you will cement him here on earth if he flies away too much.

You will do everything for him, for Lee Heeseung is your heavenly man.

taglist:

@ramenoil @shakalakaboomboo

[wqnwoos]

minghao knows he’s in a mood again, but frankly, he couldn’t care less.

his whole day had just been wrong, and he’d set about it with a frown marring his features and a biting undertone to everything he’d said. it just happened sometimes — one of those bad, awful days where nothing goes right and it feels like everything’s against you.

it was when he snapped at jun that he finally gave in, retired to moping in his bedroom. his roommate had said he understood — jun had plenty of his own bad days, after all — but minghao still feels awful about it. he’s still too irritated to apologise — he will do it, though, he promises himself.

for now, he’s thrown himself on the covers of his bed, staring at the ceiling listlessly, and blasting music through his earphones — loud, but not so loud that he doesn’t catch the soft sound of the doorknob when you twist it, and slide yourself into the room.

you do it almost apologetically, a regretful smile directed towards him. you don’t even speak, just make your way over to his side.

minghao wishes he could be annoyed, but he never can be, at you. you’re his best friend, and maybe something more that he’s not quite willing to accept yet. it’s lurking, though, at the bottom of his chest, and it pushes up every so often — like now, as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, almost as if you’re unsure; uncertain if you’re welcome here or not.

you always are, but he doesn’t quite know how to say that yet.

instead he thinks about how he knows jun must have called you, just as he knows you, too good for this world, dropped whatever you were doing to come and talk to him.

not that you’re doing much of that — talking, he means. you’ve only flopped beside him on the white duvet; and yet it’s enough to relax a little of the tension in his limbs.

it’s so easy to be around you.

it’s so easy to offer you an earbud without even looking. it’s so easy to close his eyes, slip his hand into yours. it’s so easy to interlace his fingers with yours too, squeeze gently, keep his eyes shut, pretend.

and then suddenly it gets hard. when you shift slightly, card a hand through his dark hair like you’ve always been doing it — you’ve never done it before, he hopes you do it forever — and you blur the lines even more. that makes it harder, harder to breathe with your careful hand against his cheek, the smell of your conditioner against his lips, he can’t breathe, he thinks he loves you.

you move back slightly. the moment is gone, he can breathe, but the lines are still blurred and you can’t unblur them. god knows he doesn’t want to redraw them.

your hand slips back into his, and squeezes. his eyes flutter open — yours are shut — your breath catches — minghao realises, then.

“oh,” he whispers softly. and it’s his turn to brush your cheek with slender fingers, but he’s always been the braver of you two — he leans, he brushes his lips against your cheek too.

you might not be able to call it a kiss, but maybe you could call it a confession.

an / guys i think this might be one of my fav things i’ve ever written which is so annoying because it starts off kind of badly 😭 but also it’s 12:17am and i’ve slept like 4 hours max in the last 24 hours so my judgement may be misguided. idk. possible deletion when i wake up ⁉️

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Only girl

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Elizabeth have a quiet night at home

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. Just fluff.

MASTERLIST

It was quiet, not oddly so. Other than the occasional flip of a book page, the calm breathing, and the quiet hum of the fridge in the other room, there was so other sound filling up the house.

It wasn’t uncommon for that silence to creep in and you were usually thankful for it. It brought you peace, it made you relax after a long day. It was a welcome moment, especially when you could stay that way. Lying down on the couch, head resting on your girlfriend’s thighs as her hand ran through your hair in a soothing motion, your nose slightly touching the curve of her hip and one hand clutching her shirt as if she could disappear at any moment. Your girlfriend was reading a book for the last hour or so, quietly turning the pages and sipping her wine every once in a while, and you just knew she was enjoying this moment as much as you were. The TV wasn’t on, there was no music playing, and even the city outside seemed to understand you two didn’t want to be bothered.

It was one of the rare nights where you didn’t have to worry about being somewhere else or going to bed early because one of you had to be up before the sun was up in the sky. It was hard to have those moments where you could enjoy each other's presence and you would like to take full advantage of that. Elizabeth had promised you she would make an effort to slow down on her workload to be home more often, but you wouldn’t hold that against her. You would just enjoy your time with her.

You loved the way her fingers played with your hair, her smell, her soft thighs under your cheek. On the nights that she had to go through her scripts for an upcoming job, she would read a few things out loud to find the right tone and you would listen carefully because you loved the passion she put into her characters. There were nights you spent talking to each other with the same enthusiasm you had when you both met, as if the world was ending and you needed to hear all about her and tell her all about you, and you loved how that didn’t change even after you hit your third anniversary. You also loved to watch her cook, to be given small tasks to help her, to see the crinkle between her brows when she grabbed her phone to look up a recipe to make sure she got it right, to see her eyes sparkling when you eat what she made and say something as lame as "I wish I could kiss the chef, this is so good".

You loved Elizabeth. In a way you didn’t know you could because there was always something amiss in your previous relationships, and then suddenly you met her and it was like going back home. Even when she was across the globe shooting, even when she would spend most of her days inside a plane for press tour, because Elizabeth would always be home when you needed her.

"My love?"

You snapped out of your thoughts, blinking your eyes open and turning your head to the side to look at Elizabeth. The other woman was holding her book with her free hand, a finger marking the page she was on, and her eyes seemed amused and just a bit preoccupied. Her other hand kept running through your hair, though, and you couldn’t help but smile at that.

"Yes?" You asked with a deep content sigh.

"You okay over there?"

You nodded and turned back to your previous position with your face pressed against her. You almost didn’t reply because you weren’t feeling like talking when you were so damn comfortable, but you knew Elizabeth was worried enough to ask you so she would like an answer.

"Yeah," you sighed again. "Why?"

"You're clutching my shirt," she pointed out, although that didn’t make you let go of the soft fabric. "And I’m pretty sure I could hear your brain working."

The last part was said with humor and you chuckled softly at that. "I was just thinking of you."

"Oh." You thought it was funny how Elizabeth sounded surprised by that fact, as if it was such a foreign concept of you to be thinking about her. "What about me?"

"Too many things about you," you replied with a smile partially hidden against her.

"Good things I hope."

"Is there anything bad in you, Elizabeth Olsen?" You joked and, before she could start arguing, you kept talking. "What are you reading?"

You had opened your eyes to watch her again and saw as Elizabeth averted her gaze to the book as if she needed to be reminded what her book was about. "It's just poetry."

"Really?" You enquired with interest. "Care to read one for me?"

"Those aren't about love," she gently admitted with a soft smile at you. "Very tragic, actually."

"Oh no," you teased, finally turning around on her lap so you were lying with your belly up. "I don't need to know more tragic stuff, I see enough on the news."

Elizabeth laughed. "That's fair."

"Do you mind if I keep using you as my pillow?" To make your point, you hooked one arm around her thigh. "You're exceptionally comfortable."

"Do you need a blanket?" She asked as a way to reply to your request.

"No, I'm pretty warm already."

You smiled at her when you pulled your sweatshirt away from your body for a second to show it to her, receiving a gigantic smile that made your heart beat just a tiny bit faster. Well, that was Elizabeth’s sweatshirt, actually, but you had basically stolen it from her since you started spending the night at each other's house. It was her NYU sweatshirt from when she was studying there. It was a bit old, but so damn comfortable that you just had to have it. You used to wash it and slip it inside her closet when you would come over so it would smell like her again, but now that you live together you just make her wear it for a day before you take it back.

Elizabeth never complained. In fact, her eyes look softer when she sees you wearing it. So you would just count as a successful heist of yours.

"I can see that," Elizabeth said with amusement.

"Go back to your book, I'm trying to rest."

She chuckled when you closed your eyes and got more comfortable in her lap, but the silence quickly fell around you again. Her hand kept caressing your head and it didn’t take long for you to start feeling sleepy. You fought against it, changing your position a couple of times, but eventually you knew it was a lost battle.

"Babe?" You grumbled.

"Yes, my love?"

You didn’t reply, though you didn’t even know what you wanted to say to start with, and your lack of words caught Elizabeth’s attention. She looked down and, after realizing you had your eyes closed and your mouth slightly parted, she moved her leg from under your head.

"Babe!" You complained, but Elizabeth chuckled softly.

"Don't sleep on me, honey," she said. "It's still early and you won’t be comfortable on the couch. Besides, our food didn’t get here yet."

"I was pretty comfortable before," you whined and pouted.

"Come on, get up," Elizabeth insisted gently.

You sighed and rolled over so you were facing the rest of the living room. You took a few more seconds before you sat down, instantly snuggling against Elizabeth’s side. She laughed but wasted no time putting her arm around you and kissing your temple.

"Someone is very cuddly today," she teased you, her voice just a whisper when she pulled away.

"I'm trying, but my girlfriend isn't making things easier," you joked. "Speaking of her, do you think she would be willing to share her wine with me?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes fondly and put her book down to reach out for her glass. She took a sip of it before handing it to you. "The one who finishes the glass has to go fill it," Elizabeth declared, clearly amused, after you drank the rest of the wine.

"You tricked me," you complained although you were already getting up from the couch to go to the kitchen.

Elizabeth stopped you though, grabbing your hand to keep you in front of her, and then she raised her chin and smiled up at you. She was clearly waiting for something and you leaned down to give her a quick peck. After that, she let go of your hand and you walked barefoot to the kitchen. The wine bottle was placed on the fridge, so you opened it and grabbed the wine to fill up the glass. You thought about pouring some in another glass, but you could share it and there was no need to get more things dirty. You moved to put the bottle back on the fridge and saw the bowl with fresh blueberries Elizabeth had bought that morning. Your food was supposed to get there any minute now, but you couldn’t ignore the sudden desire to eat the blueberries, so you took them with you on your way back.

You handed her the glass and sat down beside her again, this time grabbing the remote so you could watch something while you waited. You put a blueberry in your mouth and chewed happily before putting the bowl on Elizabeth’s lap.

"Want some?"

"Dinner is almost here, you know?" She said, albeit she also grabbed a blueberry to eat.

You smiled and shrugged. "Just a snack."

"What are you going to watch?" Elizabeth took another berry.

"Oh, I don’t know about you, but I might watch The Empire Strikes Back."

You got the reaction you were hoping for. Elizabeth groaned and threw her head back on the couch. "That's unfair! You know that’s my favorite movie! I’m trying to read over here."

"Oh, well." You shrugged, feigning innocence even though you knew Elizabeth could see right through you. "You can watch it with your girlfriend or you can go back to that book."

"That might be the easiest decision I ever made," came her reply at the same time Elizabeth put her book away and started to move on the couch to get more comfortable.

You chuckled. "I wanna cuddle, give me room."

"Yes, ma'am."

Elizabeth opened her arms so you could snuggle against her again. You quickly did so, smiling at the feeling of being surrounded by Elizabeth, then put on the movie and reached out for another berry. Elizabeth took a sip of her wine before sighing contently.

"Don't get too comfortable," you said suddenly. "You have to go down to grab our food."

"Why can't you do it? Why does it have to be me?" She sounded amused.

"Because you love me," you replied without missing a beat.

"That I do," Elizabeth agreed. "We will just do rock, paper, scissors."

"You see? That's why I love you," you declared, hit play and hugged Elizabeth tightly.

On nights like that, it was easy to think there was no one else in the world besides you two and you were fine with that.

[fredwkong]

Genie: Pete’s Wishes

Pete was a little 20-year-old nerd who had just started interning for a big securities firm. He didn’t top 5’4”, even the extra-small button-up shirts looked baggy on his skinny body, and he seemed even smaller because of his habitual slouching posture. At his first day at work, his new boss yelled at him, causing him to have a panic attack in the bathroom.

That evening, he walked by a thrift store and decided to go in. He wasn’t making much money as an intern, but he wanted to buy something small to cheer himself up. He spotted a traditional brass lamp on the shelf, the kind that genies sometimes come out of. At $20, it was a bit pricey for a thrift store, but Pete grabbed it anyway. It would make a cool conversation piece, if nothing else.

Once he got home, Pete started trying to clean the lamp, which caused it to begin glowing and convulsing until a cloud of smoke billowed out. As the smoke dissipated, it revealed an absolute muscle man of a genie. He wore tiny daisy dukes on his striated thighs, along with a top cropped just above his big, dark nipples. The genie stroked his finely cropped beard as he looked down at Pete.

“So, babe, here’s the deal,” said the genie. “You make the wishes, and I’ll turn them up to eleven.” He looked over Pete’s tiny body and cringing posture again, and curled his lip. “And girl, let’s make those wishes count. We have a lot of work to do here.”

“Um, uh.” The only thing in Pete’s head was the moment earlier that day when his boss had yelled at him. “I… wish I was more assertive?”

The genie smirked. “Good idea.” With a snap of his fingers, the genie filled the room with purple smoke. As Pete inhaled it, he felt like it shot right up into his brain, filling in spaces he hadn’t known were there. He suddenly realised that the way to get ahead in life was to be decisive and commanding. His posture uncurled, and his gaze became sharper. No one was ever going to overlook him or yell at him again.

The smoke also embedded itself in his throat, and he coughed, letting out a much deeper, more resonant sound than he had been capable of before. He now had a thunderous bass voice, a sound that was impossible for anyone to ignore.

Pete met the genie’s eyes for the first time. “Thanks,” he thundered, his new voice incapable of whispering.

The genie gave him an ironic salute. “Come back tomorrow for another wish, babe.”

The next day, no one was able to ignore Pete. He walked with power in spite of his tiny body, and nobody could ignore him when he spoke up to his boss in a meeting in his booming new voice. However, with his tiny stature and ill-fitting suit, they laughed off his advice. When he got home, Pete summoned the genie again, filled with righteous rage.

“Genie,” he roared, “I wish I had the cash to really show up my coworkers.”

“On it, babe,” said the genie, and snapped his fingers. It seemed for an instant as if nothing had changed. Then Pete got a notification on his phone. “You should check that.”

Pete had received an email from someone who said they were his secretary, informing him that his company had closed a deal to trade stocks for a multibillionaire client. Pete was a high-powered stockbroker. As he saw the number of zeroes on his contract, he felt another rush of knowledge into his mind. He knew exactly how to play the market, buying and selling to make sure that he and his clients ended every day with more money than they started with. He wrote a terse reply to his secretary:

“Understood. See you tomorrow. Peters.”

For a moment, he wondered why he had written that name. His name was… Peters, of course. Just like the exclusive boarding school where he’d first started day trading, he still preferred to go by his surname, but kept it casual by dropping any honourific.

“Enjoy those millions, darling,” said the genie, vanishing back into his lamp.

The next day was an exhausting one for Peters. He had the money, he was the boss, and he had an assertive attitude and booming voice, but he was still a shrimpy kid in his early 20s. Clients raised their eyebrows when a short young guy walked into the boardroom to present, and the secretaries, most of whom were older than him, seemed to resent Peters’ success and advantages.

When he summoned the genie, Peters was ready with the wish he had been thinking about all day. “I wish I was truly impressive.”

The genie grinned wide. “Absolutely, master,” he said, and snapped his fingers again. Another thick cloud of purple smoke emerged from the lamp, and this time it cocooned Peters’ entire body. He felt his clothes dissolve, leaving him naked. As he inhaled the smoke, Peters felt years of experience fill his mind. His already deep and assertive voice dropped a few more steps, gaining an imposing rasp.

As the smoke sank into Peters’ skin, he transformed. His black hair went grey, styling itself into a precise, stylish look. His face aged until he looked like a handsome man in his late 40s, with piercing eyes and a stylish grey beard. His whole body filled out as his height shot past 6 feet, bulked up with perfectly maintained muscle. His little cock thickened and lengthened as his pubes lightened to grey, becoming an impressive third leg with churning balls to match. Finally, the last of the smoke coalesced into a scattering of grey hair over his chest, back, and legs, and an immaculate blue suit.

Mr. Peters, the 49-year-old stockbroker, nodded to the genie. “Good work,” he rumbled, testing out the sound of his new, even more thunderous voice.

“Oh, I’m not done yet, master,” the genie purred, and clapped. The hotel room Mr. Peters had moved to with his newfound millions the previous night was immediately replaced with a huge, well-appointed penthouse. Instinctively, Mr. Peters moved to the humidor he kept next to the genie’s lamp. He expertly trimmed and lit a cigar, enjoying the luxurious flavour.

The genie looked him and the penthouse over one more time, and nodded. “See you tomorrow, sir,” he cooed, and blew a kiss to Mr. Peters as he vanished.

The next day, Mr. Peters was on fire. He closed several deals for his company, making himself and his clients even more money, and got taken out for dinner by the director of a competing corporation attempting to headhunt him. The power got him hard, and he was pent-up with a raging boner by the time he got home to make his wish.

“I don’t have time for any dating,” he told the genie brusquely. “I wish for a husband to fuck right now.”

“Order up,” the genie said, laughing, and snapped his fingers.

On the street outside, Larsen was looking for his friend Pete. They had been good school friends, both being little nerds, but Pete had suddenly stopped answering his messages a few days ago, and then seemed to have been scrubbed from existence. No one else remembered him, and people kept mentioning someone named Mr. Peters instead!

Just as Larsen was about to ask one of the building’s valet parking attendants if she knew a Pete living at this address, he felt a tug, as if someone had grabbed him around his belly, and he was suddenly in a dimly lit room. Outside the window was an exquisite view of the city, while inside of the room was a stern-looking man in a suit alongside a dark-skinned man dressed like a slutty himbo.

As the genie continued his work, Larsen became surrounded by a cloud of pink smoke. His muscles grew, his skin became porcelain smooth, and everything about him became classically handsome, like a perfect statue of a man. He grew to a respectable height, still shorter than Mr. Peters, and his dick swelled up, but not quite as large either. Instead, his ass grew into a pair of fuckable, jiggly globes that would be visible no matter what he wore.

The last of the pink smoke shot up Larsen’s nose and into his brain, rewiring him into a dumb himbo slut. Lars had been a German model until Mr. Peters had approached him after a show and offered to give him a luxurious life as his arm candy husband. They had a good enough relationship, and Mr. Peters—Sir—was a good, dominant Daddy, which Lars liked. What made their marriage really special, though, was that while Sir was at work, Lars went and picked up boys for the two of them to share. It was the only way he could get enough fucking during the day to keep up with his unbelievable sex drive.

“Guten Abend, Daddy,” Lars said, as the genie released him. “The boys are waiting in the second bedroom for us.” He stepped up in front of Mr. Peters and undid his tie and top button before Mr. Peters grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him forcefully. A moment later, Lars led Mr. Peters out of the room and to the designated sex den, his bared dick leading the way.

The genie watched them leave. If he stayed any longer, the former Pete was likely to ask for something boring and unsexy like world domination, so it was probably time for him to put his lamp in the gym bag of one of the horny himbos Lars and Mr. Peters were fucking.

Idea with assistance from a bot of my creation.

Click here to see the genie’s next master.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

[parkerslatte]

Deals With Our Devils || Chapter One

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: none

Part Summary: Y/N gets a task from the Queen of Vassuryn and ends up in the one place she has avoided for two centuries.

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•••

200 Years Later

Y/N stood guard outside Prince Floris’s bed chambers. It was typically how she spent her evenings until it was time for dinner. For most others, standing around in front of a door would be a taxing activity, but for Y/N it was the complete opposite. The door opened and there was a tap on Y/N’s shoulder and she tried to fight the smile forming on her face. 

“You know I’m working,” said Y/N, adjusting the sword at her hip.

“But I’m bored,” Floris said dramatically. “And you can guard me much better from within my bedroom."

Sapphire rolled her eyes. “You know what happened last time.”

“My mother won’t even come to check on everything today, she’s too busy planning a trip,” Floris replied, stepping further out of his room. “And besides, she loves you, she wouldn't care if you were doing your job or not.”

“I still like to please,” Y/N said, looking up and down the corridor. 

The Prince’s bed chambers were situated in the most beautiful part of the palace, in Y/N’s opinion. The ceiling was made from glass and was clear enough to see the evening sky. Shades of pink, purple and orange mixed together to make the most perfect sunset. There had always been something about a sunset that relaxed Y/N. It made her feet at ease. 

“Well you would please me if you dropped the guard act for a moment and shared a bottle of wine with me,” Floris said. “And it just happens to be the wine you like.”

“Oh, the enchanted one?” Y/N asked, lowering her defensive position. 

Floris snapped his fingers. “That’s the one.”

Y/N looked down the hallway and back to Floris, who stood leaning against the door smirking. “Oh, fine. But only for ten minutes.”

“That’s what you said the last time,” Floris laughed before allowing Y/N to step into his room. 

Floris’s bed chambers seemed to be a small palace within itself. The large floor to ceiling windows at the opposite end of the room opened to reveal a balcony overlooking a flowing waterfall. Y/N could hear the sound of the rushing water from where she stood. The rest of the chambers were fit for a prince. A large canopy bed resided toward the right side of the room, currently messed up from Floris’s adamant refusal to tidy it up. His excuse was always that he would sleep there again so there was no point in tidying his carefully arranged pillows only to mess it up again. 

There was a seating area in front of a fireplace large enough to be its own living room, decorated with ornate furniture Y/N could only imagine having in her own chambers.Of course her own bedroom held a sense of regality but it still reminded her that she was only a guard. 

Floris slumped down into an armchair near the balcony doors, the bottle of enchanted wine in his hands. “I don’t see why you need to always stand guard outside of my door, anyone wanting to kill me could easily sneak in through these doors.”

“It’s what your mother requested,” Y/N replied, taking a seat in the chair next to him. “And I abide by those rules.”

Floris rolled his eyes. “It won’t kill you to break a rule one time.”

Y/N poured the wine into two golden goblets. “Your mother has shown me so much kindness since I’ve been here. I wouldn’t wish to break any of her orders.”

Floris took a sip from his wine. “You won’t disappoint her if you take one night off.”

With a gentle hand, Floris held up the goblet of wine. Y/N had poured herself one but she hadn’t moved to pick it up from the table. Her gaze fixated on the goblet in Floris’s hand before slowly travelling up until she met his eyes. There was a hint of mischief in them, there always was. Y/N took the goblet from Floris’s hand and took a sip of it. Immediately when it hit her tongue, Y/N let out a content sigh. It tasted so good. 

Floris sat back in his chair with a small smirk. “Y/N breaking rules? I like it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and took another sip of the wine. “Shut up.”

The more Y/N drank, the more relaxed she began to feel. No longer was she sitting in the chair with a straight back and rigid posture. Now she was simply sitting with Floris on the soft rug that was underneath their feet, her head resting on his shoulder. The bottle of wine was long gone and the remnants of it were in their goblets. Y/N swirled the remaining liquid around while Floris finished his off, placing the now empty goblet beside him. 

“Are you going to finish that?” Floris asked, looking into her goblet at the mouthful of liquid still residing inside. 

Y/N lifted her head from his shoulder. “Yes I am.” She brought the goblet up to her lips and finished off the drink, savouring every last drop. 

Once both goblets were empty, Y/N and Floris slowly made their way out onto the balcony. The now cold night air hitting them. Y/N was glad that she had opted to wear her jacket that morning. Floris wasn’t so lucky as he only wore a thin white shirt, and although he could have easily gone back into his bedroom and retrieved a jacket, he only rested his head on Y/N’s shoulder and stared ahead at the waterfall. 

“What do you think my mothers plans are?” Floris asked after a while of silence.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Y/N confessed.

“She had been planning this trip for months and she had never spent this long for an alliance before,” Floris explained.

Vassuryn wasn’t a well known kingdom, in fact it was rather small and easily glossed over on a map. With minimal allies and a small army, it was rather vulnerable. For the past century, the Queen had been slowly creating alliances and most of them proved to be successful within a couple of months. However, the ally she was seeking out proved rather difficult to contact for a large majority of the time. Y/N didn’t know who the ally was and neither did Floris, the queen had been quiet about the whole thing. 

“She may just be having trouble,” Y/N said, trying to reassure her friend. “We don’t know who she is hoping to ally with, it could be a kingdom three times the size of Vassuryn for all we know.”

Floris sighed. “I only wish I could be of more help.”

Y/N rested her head on top of his. “I know.” She didn’t have too many words of comfort though she knew that her presence was enough of a comfort for him. 

With the sun completely set, Y/N lifted her hand and whispered to Floris. “Watch this.”

Y/N concentrated on her hand before she could feel the power within her come to the surface before finally breaking free. The blue surges of power caressed her arms before falling a ball of light. Y/N simply threw it in the air and it hovered above them, casting the balcony in light. Floris lifted his head from her shoulder and looked up at the small ball of pure power. 

The light cast on his handsome face, illuminating his light brown skin. Y/N had always known that Floris had looked more like his father than his mother from the portraits around the palace. The only features he seemed to have taken from his mother were her deep brown eyes and soft curve of his mouth that was a complete replica of his mothers. 

“I completely forget you can do that,” said Floris.

Y/N smiled at the small ball of power. It didn’t take her much concentration to control her powers anymore, in fact it took minimal effort. Y/N was proud of how far she had come. 

“I sometimes do as well,” Y/N admitted. 

The two continued to sit there in a comfortable silence as the power illuminated them, sheltering them from the shadows. It wasn’t until there was a knock on the door when the power slowly flickered away until nothing remained. 

“Floris,” The Queen’s voice was muffled through the door. “Is Y/N in there with you?”

Both Y/N and Floris got to their feet and entered the bedroom. Warmth immediately encased the two of them as Y/N simply waved her hand and a roaring fire grew in the fireplace. Floris opened the door and the Queen stepped inside. She was wearing a simple gown and she was void of any jewellery, except her wedding band that Y/N had never seen her without. 

“Y/N,” The Queen said, thrusting a piece of parchment into her hands. “I have a task for you.”

“What task?” Y/N questioned as she slowly unfolded the parchment. 

“A task which will help us gain more allies,” The Queen responded. 

Y/N shared a look with Floris before she looked down at the letter in her hands. As soon as her eyes landed on the familiar writing, her heart sank. 

***

Azriel’s back hit the mat as Cassian stood above him, a triumphant grin on his face. “Are you even trying?”

With a roll of his eyes, Azriel stood to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “Of course I’m trying.”

“Is that why you have that distant look in your eye?” Cassian remarked. 

Azriel glared. “I am focused.”

Cassian’s only response came from him sweeping his leg and knocking Azriel back down onto the mat. He huffed as he laid limp, not even trying to throw up his facade. Cassian looked down at Azriel with sympathy as he held out his hand, helping the shadowsinger to his feet. 

“I know what you are feeling,” Cassian said, clapping Azriel on the shoulder. “I miss her too.”

Azriel didn’t respond as he shrugged off Cassian’s hand and stepped over to the side of the training room. It wasn’t as if Azriel felt this way all the time, he barely ever thought about her anymore. The only reason she was on his mind was because it was the two hundred year anniversary of her disappearance. The last time Azriel had felt this was exactly one hundred years ago. 

Out of his family, Azriel was the one who held onto the most hope of her returning. For the days following her disappearance, he would scour all over the Night Court simply looking for any trace of her. He couldn’t focus on anything else except her, he needed to know where she was. He needed her to be safe. 

However, over the years, that hope he carried in his heart gradually diminished and soon after that, Azriel stopped looking for her. Then he slowly moved on and never particularly thought about her. 

“It’s been two hundred years,” Azriel said. “It shouldn’t matter anymore.”

Cassian sat down next to him. “She was still part of our family, Az. And it doesn’t help that we never knew what happened to her.”

Azriel sighed. “I still hope that nothing bad happened to her.”

“Me too,” Cassian agreed.

There was a small tap against Azriel’s mental shields and he lowered them, allowing Rhys into his mind. 

“You and Cassian are needed in my office now,” Rhys spoke into his mind. 

After relaying the message to Cassian, the two changed into more practical clothing and left the training room. If Rhys were to send him on a mission, Azriel would be thankful. Anything to get her off his mind today would be a blessing. 

When they entered Rhys’s office, Rhys and Feyre were sitting behind his desk and there was someone sitting in the chair opposite him. While Feyre looked at Rhys with a somewhat confused expression on her face, Rhys looked as if he had seen a ghost. His body was still and his eyes hadn’t moved from the figure sitting in the chair opposite. 

Cassian stepped in the room first and Azriel trailed behind him. “What did you need us for?” the shadowsinger asked.

As the figure in the chair moved their head to the two new presences in the room, time seemed to slow down. Azriel would recognise that very specific shade of hair anywhere. As the figured face turned to him, Azriel felt his heartbeat increase. His mouth was dry and he struggled to form any words the moment their eyes met. Beside him, Cassian was staring wide-eyed and, much like Azriel, was unable to form any words. 

It had been two-hundred years since Azriel had last seen that face yet now looking at her, it felt like it had only been a series of months. His mouth opened and closed to try and find the words he desperately wanted to say but nothing came out. He was in a state of shock. 

The door to Rhys’s office was opened once more as Mor and Amren piled in. Mor seemed out of breath as her eyes fixated on the female sitting in the chair. 

“Y/N?” Mor said, the first one out of the group to speak. “Is that really you?”

Y/N rose from her chair and faced everyone. Azriel’s gaze was still fixated on her as she surveyed everyone. As soon as her eyes met Azriel’s, Y/N lingered on him for a brief moment longer, her eyes flickering down to his torso and back to his face before moving along the line to look at Cassian. Azriel folded his arms across his chest as he looked down to the floor, unable to keep looking at Y/N. 

“Yes,” she finally spoke.

Her voice was the same as Azriel remembered it. It still held the melodic tone that he had spent many nights falling asleep to. Azriel didn’t even know how much he had missed that voice until this very moment. 

“It’s really me.” 

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