#prison thing I forgot what the wall was

[thsc-confessions]

"I remember seeing a post here on Tumblr (or Twitter) where someone zoomed in on the rules of the wall and one of the rules that someone pointed out was 'no swearing'"

"And thanks to that I can't stop imagining Dmitri, Grigori or any guard on the wall saying like: "what the fudge?" Or "holy moly" whenever they are angry and want to swear"

"So, to the person who made that post. THANK YOU AS I LOVE AND HATE YOU, YOU ARE THE BEST" submitted by anon

[lucid-loves]

Reader getting kidnapped and tortured for information, when Simon and the team save the reader and take them back to base and Simon helps her recover mentally and physically, Simon swears to protect her at all costs? And they fall in love?! ❤️❤️

Thank you for waiting! 🤍

What a Time To Be Alive

Pairing: Ghost x POW!reader (fem!reader, 141!reader, callsign “Spite”)

Word Count: 13.7k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, angst, violence, scars, blood, wounds, killing, fluff, attraction, one-shot, reader POV and Ghost POV, minors DNI, EXPLICIT SMUT, P in V, passionate kisses, fingering, hickeys, mirror sex, passionate sex, gentleness, compliments, praise

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: You were caught by the enemy during a crucial mission. The 141 team had no choice but to leave you, thinking you were dead already. For a year and a half, you were held prisoner and tortured for information. When the 141 finally gets you back, Ghost volunteers to take care of you during your recovery, having felt responsible for your capture. Both of your feelings blossom into something more as you both realize how much you care about one another. 

You were dead. At least, that’s what everyone thought when they watched you get shot in the head. You didn’t blame them for leaving. You would have probably thought the same thing if it was one of them.

No, you were still alive. The metal plate that doctors put in your head after a bad car accident as a teenager saved your life. You were knocked out cold upon bullet impact, but still very much alive. Not that you were doing well, though. 

With a headache and tired eyes, you looked at your cold, stone wall marked with tally marks for the passing days. 547 days were marked, give or take. There were days where you didn’t wake up so you forgot to mark them. You didn’t wake up until some time after you were captured too. Those days weren’t marked.

Your stomach grumbled, making your body’s ache amplify all over. You couldn’t remember the last time your body didn’t hurt. What was once lean military muscle was now skin and bones. You were constantly hungry for food, a combination of you refusing to eat out of spite and being underserved overcooked rice to the point that it was just mush. 

They kept you weak. Underfed and dehydrated. It was probably a good thing they did because otherwise you would rip your warden apart with your bare hands. 

When you first came to after being captured, you had the honor to meet your warden right away. A man that was on the hit list for the 141, Bill Porakov. but made a surprise appearance at the mission. He was the one that lifted his gun just as everyone was boarding the helicopter to go home. 

It was one of the memories you still remembered so vividly. The dirt kicking up from the ground, the blades whipping around the wind, the look back you happened to give by chance before the gun went off. You saw the aim. You traced it back. And before the bullet could hit him, you had pushed Ghost hard. The last sight you saw of them was Ghost falling forward towards the chopper, the rest of the team that was already grabbing his arms to pull him in. 

You saw the brief expressions he gave you when he looked back. At first, he was annoyed, but it didn’t take long for his annoyance to morph into pure horror as the bullet meant for him hit your skull.

When you awoke, you were strapped to a chair. Your head pounded, you were in your underwear, and you were meeting your warden. 

No matter what he did, you never talked. Even when he cut your skin with knives. Even when he dislocated your jaw with a hammer. Even when he took your pinkie finger and a few of your teeth, you never talked. All you did was give a human snarl, angry firecrackers in your eyes.  

It wasn’t until the third month when he realized that nothing was going to make you talk that he switched tactics to solitary confinement. He came by every now and then to try physical torture again. Waterboarding, electric shock. 

It felt like he did it more so for fun than to fish information out of you after a certain point. 

You snapped to attention when you heard whispers down the hall. A few guards were whispering to each other. Trying to ignore the pain of your body, you attempted to eavesdrop. 

“-said to be extra careful today. Maintenance work will have the cameras down for a little bit.”

“Like anything is gonna happen. Her brain is too scrambled to do anything. You know what she did last week?”

“What?”

“She threw her food out. Managed to sling the bowl through the bars and shattered the thing. Then, she just sat in the corner. Didn’t even realize that the food she got was actually good that day. The bitch is paranoid and out of it. One too many things to that thick skull of hers.”

“Damn, really? When do think the warden is gonna let her go now that she’s fucked in the head?”

“Probably never. After that incident was reported, he just shrugged. Said she was still a prize, even starving.”

As the guards approached your cell, you pretended that you were asleep. It wasn’t hard to do since you often found yourself pretending to be asleep to avoid guard confrontation. When you heard the sound of your cell door unlocking and opening, you stirred as if just becoming awake. 

“Dinner. Don’t make me clean your mess like last week.”

You slowly got up and limped towards the silver tray, your porcelain dishware exchanged for silver since last week. 

You threw the food against the wall last week because it looked good. Too good. You did get paranoid and thought it was poisoned. A last meal. You didn’t care if it made you look crazy. In fact, you liked how they thought you went crazy. They would underestimate you, especially now that the time was right for your plan. 

On your tray was the usual mush of rice mixed together with cut deli meat. The smallest amount of protein and carbs that would make the grumbling stop, but your body still weak. 

Slowly, you ate, trying to ignore the fact that you had to eat with your fingers that were covered in sweat and dirt. They only let you take a cold shower once a month. One that only lasted thirty seconds. 

God, you hoped that today really would be the day you could start your plans of escape. 

“Prison Fight in Cell Block D! Personnel in Cell Block E and F report to Cell Block D immediately!” a strong voice announced over the speakers just as one of the guards was relocking your cell. They both sighed, but then hurried out to see what the commotion was. 

Except, they forgot to lock your door properly. You’ve gotten used to all the sounds of the prison like a pattern. The sound of your cell door locking was a familiar that never missed, until today. Waiting a few minutes, you made sure that the guards were gone and busy. If this was going to work, you had to be careful. Play your cards right.

You were lucky that you were Cell Block F’s only prisoner. 

Slowly, you pushed the door to avoid the whining creak it always gave. Slipping through, you could feel your hands shake and your head spin. Jesus, you were in bad shape. This was the most amount of moving you had done in a while. 

Carefully, you headed down the hall toward the front desk of the block. Luck really was on your side today. As you peeked through the door window, you noticed that there was no one manning the desk. All that was left was a radio, a cell phone, a transmitter, a computer, and walkie talkies on chargers. You pushed the door open, the task taking more effort than it should have, and you picked up the phone. 

Dialing the secret number you knew by heart, you prayed that it would go through. It rang several times before you reached a voicemail prompt. You nearly wept when you heard Kate’s voice asking you to leave a message. You missed her.

Your voice cracked as you tried to summon it. It’s been a long time since you’ve used it for talking. Nowadays you’ve only used it for screaming. It was hoarse and broken. It hurt to speak. “Th-This is Spite. 5286. I’ve been a prisoner all this time. I-I don’t know where. I haven’t seen the light of day. . .”

“Please, bring me home. If that can’t happen. . .”

You swallowed hard and thought about your next words carefully. “I will hold out for two weeks. If no one comes for me, then I will take my own life by taking Bill Porakov’s life. I won’t go to the other side empty handed.”

Leaving the message at that, you hung up, erased the call history, and cautiously retreated back to your cell. Crawling into your concrete slab of a bed, you curled up and closed your eyes. You felt your cheeks become wet as you now waited for someone or no one to help you. 

Just before you began to drift off. You heard sounds coming down your hallway again. Heavy footsteps that identified your visitor. The warden. 

You felt his eyes on you, sizing you up in the corner of your cell. When he attempted to unlock the door, he noticed that it was unlocked already. Instead of becoming angry at his employees, he simply began to laugh. The other guards nervously began to join in. “Unlocked door and still a stationary prisoner. Have you lost hope finally? Good. It’ll make taming you a lot easier.”

~

The 141 team was getting out of a meeting. A boring one. One that went over statistics and facts about their own work that nearly put them to sleep. They never really cared about their accomplishments or results from a numbers perspective. Besides that, all the accomplishments they made nowadays felt tasteless. Ever since you died, all of their success never felt as good as before. 

The team was quiet, walking through base together under a bright afternoon sun. Soap was the first to speak in that thick Scottish accent of his. “How about the bar tonight, lads? I could go for a drink.”

There was no answer for a moment, everyone hesitant to accept the offer. The last time they went out to the usual bar, they did have a good time. Until Ghost glanced over at what used to be your chair. He always did that when he went out to the bar. When he noticed the absence, everybody else did too. 

Ghost took your death the hardest. You gave your life to save his. It was a debt that he could never repay. Besides that, you were one of the best of them. The wittiest sense of humor, the most encouraging and supportive in and outside the battlefield. The best cook too when you were sick of the base’s cafeteria food. 

Drinking only made him forget about you for a short while, but it was always an offer he took up when he was invited out to the bar. “Sure, Johnny.”

“Count me in then too.” Gaz chimed in. Price nodded as well, the both of them having had formulated a plan for the next bar outing. Something that would hopefully bring all of them a little more closure, especially Ghost. 

They were going to propose a memorial. They held one a week after you died, yet it didn’t feel quite right. It was too formal. Too stiff. It was organized by the military. Ghost didn’t even go. They needed to organize one themselves. One that you would approve of better.

They just had to make sure Ghost would attend. A discussion that would be saved for the bar tonight.

Just before Soap could open his mouth to say something, Price spotted Kate running full speed towards them, tears streaming down her face. She was shaking and breathing so hard that it looked like she was close to a panic attack. 

“Kate?! What’s wrong? What happened?” Price already began to ask, the team ready to spring into action. 

She took a few deep breaths, working up the courage to reveal the truth that almost had her faint when she first heard it. “S-Spite. . . She’s alive. . . She’s alive!”

Ghost felt his heart drop. His blood ran contradictory temperatures. Hot and cold. His breath was stuck in his lungs. He lost color under his mask. Then, he clenched his teeth. No, this couldn’t be true. You got shot in the head. There was no way you could have survived that.

“Are you sure Kate? How do you know?” Price calmly tried to reason, not wanting to hold out for false hope either.

Laswell just nodded and opened her phone. In a single tap, your voice came out broken but alive. 

The team was frozen as they listened to your cry for help followed by your fearless determination. If they had any doubts before that it was really you, those doubts no longer existed as you said something only you would say. That you wouldn’t die empty handed. 

“Spite. . . you spiteful bastard. . .” Soap choked, not afraid to shed a tear. 

Kate put her phone back in her pocket and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I’ll have my people trace the call back to the location.”

Price nodded before turning to his men. “Gear up! We got a soldier to save!”

As soon as the order was given, Ghost left the group to go to his room in the barracks. He had to pack. His mind was racing as he began taking a few extra socks from his dresser. He could hardly believe it. You were alive. You, the person always on his mind even after all this time had passed, was still living. 

He couldn’t imagine the shit you were going through. And he felt like it was his fault.

No matter what, he promised himself, he would bring you back home. Even if it cost him his life this time. 

~

You didn’t know how many days had passed. Porakov took you out of your solitary cell to keep in a new prison located in his office. It was a beautiful office with fresh flowers, polished furniture, and a white carpet. In your new cell, a modern door that needed keycard access locked you in the room. The room was all white except for one wall made out of bullet-proof glass for Porakov’s viewing pleasure. 

Somehow, you missed your old cell. 

As you sat in the corner of your new room, you watched Porakov through the glass. He was chatting with someone new. Someone that looked out of place with their white coat and round glasses. A doctor perhaps?

Your captor finally looked at you, making your skin crawl. He gave a malicious grin like a wolf that trapped its prey. The stranger looked at you too, a curious quirk in his brow.

They approached your door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. You kept to the corner, shrinking yourself as much as you could. “Well? What do you think? Can you do it?”

The doctor examined you further, adjusting his glasses on his face. “I think so. It’s going to take some time, though. Can you have this room ready for me within two hours with everything I need?”

“We actually have everything ready to roll out.” The warden smirked before leaning into his walkie talkie and summoning workers to bring out rolling tables of medical equipment into the room. 

You watched with steel eyes as they set the room up with all the medical equipment. A metal slab as if it came from a vet’s room took up the center. Microchips, a bonesaw, scalpels, and tweezers decorated the various trays. It took nearly no time at all to get whatever torture method Porakov planned set up. 

The doctor began to sanitize his hands. “Such diligence isn’t even demonstrated in regular hospitals.”

“This is a special day.” Your captor responded before leaving the room only to watch behind the glass. As the doctor approached, you braced yourself like a cornered wild animal. 

The doctor eased back, treating you as such. “It’s alright. I’m going to fix you up. Make you feel better. You want that, don’t you? I know you’ve been in pain for a long time.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You simply warned, refusing to believe a single word he said. If he was working for Porakov, that was enough of a reason not to trust him. No self-respecting doctor would even entertain the idea of working for a vile man like him. 

The doctor frowned at your disobedience. “If you fight this, it’s going to hurt way more.”

As his hand inched closer to you, you sprung forward and attempted to bite. He pulled back just in time before you could bite a finger off. He cursed and turned to the glass. “You said she was broken!”

“Seems like she still has a little fight left in her. Apologies, doctor. It’s okay if you have to be rough with her. Teach her who’s boss.” The warden simply encouraged.

With a sigh, he revealed a small gun strapped to his belt. It wasn’t a regular gun. It was a tranquilizer gun. Realizing what was about to happen, you tried to get to your feet as quickly as you could, but it was too late. Your lack of proper body care made you lose your balance. A sharp pain hit your shoulder, a dart sticking out of you. Your vision already began to haze over, your body feeling heavier than ever before. Whatever was in the tranquilizer was enough to make you ragdoll, but not enough to put you to sleep. 

They wanted you awake for this.

Your limp body was lifted onto the table, giving Porakov a clear view of the show that was about to begin. 

It felt like you were beginning to disassociate. Tears escaped as you wished that you were dead instead of being here. Being treated like a rabid animal and a personal show made you sick. Dying alone in your cell would be better than this. 

Something caught Porakov’s attention for a moment. He seemed to be yelling at someone. It looked urgent. Before he left to handle business, he told the doctor to continue his work.

The doctor simply shrugged and focused back on you. He took a scalpel and began to make an incision along the palm of your hand. You felt the chill of the blade meet your hot blood, nerves going off as if you were touching a hot stove. You hissed and groaned at the pain, refusing to give him anymore than this if you could help it. 

But then, he began to dig around under your skin using the tweezers, shredding nerves and muscles like pulling apart thread. As he pinched your nerves directly, you screamed. A bloodcurdling scream that ripped apart your vocal chords. 

Ignoring your cries, he took a microchip and settled it between your flesh. It suddenly clicked for you. He was rewiring you. Finding your nerves like hidden wires to connect to microchips that were programmed to do god knows what to your body. 

Your mind went berserk, screaming at you to get out of there. To fight back. Adrenaline fought tranquilizer for control as your hand was being ripped apart from the inside. Your heart beated within your ears as you find the energy to grab a spare scalpel from the tray and swipe it along the doctor’s neck, letting gravity and momentum carry out your attack.

You heard the sound of him choking on blood, his tools clattering to the floor as he struggled to get his bleeding under control. Rolling off the table, you hit the ground hard with your hip. The breath that was knocked out of you made your head spin. You used to take most pain like a champ. Now, everything felt like your were getting hit by a truck. 

It didn’t stop you from trying to reorientate yourself, your bleeding, open hand clutching your head. When you finally managed to stand back up, the doctor was staggering to get out of the room. Taking advantage of his state of weakness, you took the bonesaw and prepared to ruin his hand like he tried to do to yours.

The doctor stumbled onto the pristine carpet of Porakov, staining it with his blood. As you got closer with the saw, his gurgles became more strained. Begging for mercy. Adrenaline was kicking in full swing now as you became engulfed in rageful flames. You took a flower vase to your left and threw it, hitting him square in the knees. While he was knocked down, you stepped on one of his wrists.

He had no choice but to take it unless he wanted to bleed out, his other hand still holding the wound. Without remorse, you began sawing off his left hand. Within a few seconds, you didn’t even hear the strained mixture of gurgles and screams anymore. You didn’t hear anything anymore as you just sawed away, taking out your time of suffering out on someone you thought deserved to die.

By the time the hand was detached, the doctor was already long gone. Your hands were shaking and you were exhausted. Everything was still mute, the sound of your heavy breath taking over your ears. 

It was the smell of gunpowder that snapped your attention to the exit. It was an undeniable scent. Something big was going on. Perhaps you were finally getting rescued.

You took a step towards the door before stopping altogether, the door suddenly slammed open to reveal a bloody, panicked Porakov. He clutched his side that was staining his uniform in blood. The strap he usually carried was missing. 

Adrenaline came rushing back as you were presented with your chance for revenge. Your step forward brought his attention to you. His eyes widened in fear. The animal was out of her cage. 

Behind him, heavy footsteps approached. The door slammed open again, this time revealing a face that you never thought you’d get to see again. Blue eyes behind a dark skull. Your heart almost collapsed in on itself as you took him in. Even with the black paint around his eyes, you could tell that he was tired despite the rage. 

Most of his anger melted away as Ghost saw you. Dehydrated and malnourished beyond belief. Bloody and sunken in. Eyes full of a mix of emotions that he wished he could ask about.

You looked back at your warden, shaking in his boots like a coward. This pathetic man that tortured you to the point of such weakness was now silently praying for mercy. 

“Hold him down for me.” You ordered Ghost, your voice darker than the depths of the ocean. 

He didn’t think you should be exerting yourself over anything, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny your order. You needed this. He wanted to give it to you.

A bullet hit Porakov’s knee, making sure he wouldn’t struggle too much for what you were about to do. As he screamed, Ghost settled himself in his office chair, tying him down with some spare duct tape he always kept on him. 

You approached the desk, steadying yourself with your hands. Your left hand was beginning to feel numb by the second, nerves shredded like old newspaper after using both hands to work the saw. Your right hand was missing your pinkie finger. 

“I’m going to make you wish you’ve never been born.” You simply stated, taking back up the bonesaw. Ghost silently watched you bring the serrated blades down on Porakov’s fingers, amazed that your desire for revenge was enough to give your body energy. He supposed that that was one of the things he missed about you. Your unwavering determination to see something through. 

For this, you made sure to tune in in order to hear all the cries your warden had as you took all of his fingers. It was a sound you dreamed of hearing. This moment was what you’ve been waiting for. 

Yet, your heart seemed to remain empty as you watched his fingers fall to the rug. You didn’t stop until all of his fingers were gone, but it all still felt so hollow. You thought if you could get your revenge, you would get your closure. So why wasn’t this as enjoyable as you thought it would be?

Sobs filled the space when you were done. The man you resented shriveled in his seat as he wept for his lost body parts. You clenched your jaw, feeling yourself fill with a cold, angry flame. “Lock him in the cell over there.”

“Wh-What?! Y-You can’t! What about food and water?!” He began to shout, squirming in his chair as Ghost rolled him into the cell. You were lucky that he couldn’t care less about doing the military-right thing. To both of you, this was the right thing to do.

“You are going to die cold, sad, and alone in that cell. I’ll guarantee it.” You promised, watching Ghost situate him in the far corner. He noticed the medical tools scattered around along with the metal medical table. The thought of you strapped down, screaming and losing pieces of your life with each cut made him want to beat the shit out of Porakov. But, it wasn’t what you wanted for him. 

He left and closed the room before giving you space to lock it. As the both of you looked through the glass, taking one last sight of Porkav, you said your final goodbye. “Fuck you, Warden.”

Ghost followed behind as you began to leave, your adrenaline dying back down much faster than you expected. You were downright lethargic when you closed the door to the office, locking it behind you. “Break that shit. Make sure it will be locked for good.”

“Spi-”

“Now, Simon!” You snapped, not meaning to take your pain out on him. In response, he bit his tongue and followed your order. He just wished he could hear you call his name without so much hurt behind it.

As you heard him break the locking mechanism, you leaned against the wall, your vision swirling. Everything began to get hazy and dark, something pulling you into either death or sleep. You couldn’t fight it this time, your body exhausted from all the fighting you’ve spent months doing. 

Ghost turned around as soon as he heard your body hit the floor, out cold. “Spite? Y/n?!”

He took you up in his arms and felt your pulse. Slow, but alive. He didn’t know where your blood began and enemy blood ended. You were so much lighter than what he remembered too.

It should’ve been him to get caught.

Carrying you in his arms, he radioed for evac. This time, you would get on that helicopter and be taken home, safe and sound. He would make sure of it.

~

You didn’t wake up for a while. A long while. By the time you did, you were a fraction into recovering from surgeries already. They fixed up your hand as best the doctors could, they got you on IVs and nourishment. They even had a dentist come in to replace any missing teeth. 

The only thing they couldn’t fix or replace was your pinkie finger. That was something you had to live with for the rest of your life now. A constant reminder of what happened. At least you could wear certain clothes to cover up your numerous scars. It was impossible to comfortably hide a missing finger. 

Ghost never left your room. Everyone took turns visiting you, even in your unconscious state. He stayed, though, the entire time. 

He did everything for you that the nurses couldn’t. Making sure you were comfortable with blankets and pillow changes, making sure you had fresh flowers in your hospital room. He even played music he knew you liked, just in case you could somehow hear the world around you. 

Anything to make up for being the one to take his bullet, he would do.

It was a sight for sore eyes when you finally opened them and saw him. Your throat was parched and sore, but you still spoke out to get his attention from a book he was reading. “Ghost?”

“Spite.” He immediately looked up. Jesus, you could cry. In fact, you did start to cry. 

Tears began to travel down your cheeks. “I. . . I thought I’d never see you again. . .”

He took your right hand in his, a gesture that he has never done before, but not unwelcome. His hand was large, warm, and. . . perfect. “Me too, dove. We thought we lost you.”

“I did get shot in the head.” You justified, already trying to bring some easiness back with some dark humor. 

Ghost missed your humor so much. It was easy to match. “You’ll have to show me how to do that party trick.”

You gave a short snicker. “You just gotta get a metal plate installed in your head. Wouldn’t recommend it, though. Hurts like hell.”

He finally gave a laugh, the first time since he lost you. Squeezing your hand tighter, he prepared the words that he actually wanted to say for when you woke up. “You took that bullet for me. It should have been me, but you took it. I-”

You interrupted him, already knowing where this was going. “Stop. You would’ve done the same for any of us. That’s what it means to trust each other with our lives. You don’t owe me shit for it, okay?”

Before Ghost could reply, the door to your hospital room opened. Your nurse stepped in with some new IV bags and blankets. She was taken aback as she noticed that you were awake. It didn’t take long for the doctor to rush in and for Ghost to get kicked out. 

While he waited, he contacted the team to let them know that you were finally awake. They wasted no time in rushing over to see how you were doing, eager to see who they thought was dead. As soon as the doctor gave them the all clear, you were bombarded with the affection of your team. 

For a moment, it made you forget about the horrors of your capture. 

The fun was spoiled when the doctor came back into the room. The immediate question on everyone’s mind was regarding your stay.

“How long until I can get discharged?” You asked, eager to go back home without thinking too much about it. After the words left your mouth though, you realized that you probably didn’t have a home to go back to. Shit, all of your stuff was probably gone since you were declared dead. . . 

“If everything goes smoothly, we can send you out tomorrow. However, you’ll need a lot of time to recover. We’re going to recommend physical therapy, some new medications, and a therapy recommendation. What you went through is something you should process with time. Do you have anyone that could help take care of you at home?”

You became silent and bit your lip. Before you were assumed to be dead, you didn’t really get along with your family. Knowing your family, they probably rejoiced over your death before immediately going over your will. You would’ve loved to be a fly on that wall. 

And now that you were apparently still alive, you wondered how they would respond to asking for your stuff back. That was going to be something.

With no family, no home, and a list of things to do now that you were back, you began to get a headache. Just as you were about to explain the situation, though, Ghost chimed up.

“I’ll take care of her.”

Your eyes widened at the idea of Ghost being by your side for essentially twenty-four hours a day. “I already told you that you don’t owe me shit.”

He shook his head. “I’m not volunteering because of guilt.”

Now Price was the one to speak up. “It won’t have to be all on Ghost. We can take turns visiting and keeping an eye on you. Hell, we’ll take care of the hard tasks too while you recover.”

Feeling your headache become stronger triggered by new stress, you give up quickly. You were too tired to argue. “Fine.”

“Great! We’ll continue to monitor you and ensure you’ll be ready for discharge soon.”

~

You awkwardly waited in Ghost’s car as he prepared your wheelchair. Your legs were weak, but not unusable. For a brief moment, you argued with him about using a cane to help you walk. He was pretty insistent that you still took it very easy to the point that it was hard to say no.

Once he opened your car door, you got into the chair and looked up at the tall apartment complex. You wondered which floor was Ghost’s as he wheeled you in. 

“You’ll be using my room while I sleep on the pullout couch. If you need help getting around anywhere, just ask. Price and Kate will visit later to discuss some options.” He explained as if he was going through a checklist. 

“Options?”

He shrugged. “Job options. Living options.”

As he pushed you into the elevator, you began to panic. Job options? Did they intend on letting you go? Yeah, you were pretty fucked at the moment, but you just needed some time to get back in shape. You really don’t want to lose your job. Despite everything that happened, you still wanted to be part of the team. 

With each ding of the elevator indicating a passing floor, you got more and more nervous. Ghost looked down at you, noticing how hard you were gripping your seat. His eyes couldn’t help but notice your missing finger on one hand and limp strength for the other. A sting in his chest had him look away.

He wasn’t letting you live with him out of guilt, but he was still sorry that this happened to you.

The elevator doors finally opened on the highest floor, revealing a long hallway leading to only a few doors. At the farthest end of the corridor, Ghost reached the apartment. A blast of refreshing A/C hit your senses first. The further he wheeled you in, the more you began to notice more.

His whole place was tidy and organized, a fact that contradicted what you remember about him. From what you remember, the guy was a mess. His desk at work was always crowded with paperwork, empty mugs of tea, and sticky notes meant to remind him on what to do next. 

The sweet smell of pipe tobacco and vanilla spread across the environment, a few plug-in air fresheners scattered around. It made your anxiety melt as you became more familiar with the scent you used to smell everyday on Ghost. 

He parked you near his polished dining table and placed a laptop in front of you. Your old laptop. “I’m gonna get some lunch started. I figure that you want some time to see what you missed?”

You nodded and booted up the laptop with your better hand. Your hand with damaged nerves needed some therapy focus before it could be fully functional again. “Thanks, Ghost. I appreciate this.”

“Of course.” He responded as he wandered off into his kitchen. A little window viewing the dining room allowed him to monitor you while he cooked. As we figured out what to make, he stared at you from a distance.

Color was returning back to your face. You were still light, but he would put some meat back on those bones soon. There was a shine back in your eyes that brought him back to those fun nights at the bar with you. He remembered your smile, your laugh, your gaze.

He remembered how you used to talk about cooking, one of your favorite things to do, whenever he had a moment alone with you. It was one of the things that made you light up. Ghost would sit there for hours, listening to you talk about what you’ve made, what you want to make, a new technique you want to try, how you should be in charge of the mess hall.

Deciding lunch, he shifted his focus on cooking, already predicting that it wasn’t going to be half as good as your cooking.

While you heard the sound of pots and pans clanging together, your hands ached. There was a phantom knife in your hand, waiting to start chopping vegetables that didn’t exist. For a moment, you willed your hands to move like you were entering prep-mode. 

Your wrist quickly gave out within a few motions of pretend chopping. Not to mention that your left hand refused to curl your fingers in right. 

When will you be able to cook like you did again?

When will everything feel normal again?

The knock on the door snapped you out of your pity party. Ghost answered it and directed Price and Kate to you, as promised. Kate gave you a pearly smile and Price gave you a warm pat on the shoulder. 

They took their seats and then immediately dived into the grit. Ghost eavesdropped from the kitchen. “We don’t want to bullshit you, Spite. There are a lot of things that need to happen before you can return to your job. We can’t even give you desk duty until you do a few things first.”

You crossed your arms over her chest, not liking where this was going. “Like what?”

Kate passed over a manilla folder containing various paperwork sheets and tests. “First, we would need to interview you. Ask you about what happened while you were imprisoned.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “You wanna know if I opened my mouth about anything.”

“We know you didn’t and you never would. A team sent with us when we came to rescue you collected whatever evidence and intel they could get their hands on. They found recordings of your interrogations. We’re going through them now to make sure you kept certain things confidential.” Price reassured, already sensing that you were beginning to stress out.

You understood why it had to be done. It just made you sick to your stomach that your torture was being looked at solely for the purpose of checking to see if you were a good soldier. “Who’s reviewing the recordings?”

“Professionals. But they want your testimony too.” Kate vaguely elaborated, trying to move past this already.

You didn’t let up, though. Instead, you asked for something that shocked the both of them. Even Ghost who was chopping onions paused mid-cut. “Can I choose someone from the team to review them instead?”

“Why would you want that?”

“I don’t want a couple of strangers viewing something as intimate as my torture. I would rather have someone I know I can trust see those recordings.” You justified, not thinking much about the weight of that request. 

Kate and Price looked between each other, silently debating on if they should honor your request. There was a concern of conflict of interest, but then again, the 141 got a few special privileges. Price cleared his throat. “Who would you want to see the recordings?”

The obvious answer should have been Kate, but it wasn’t. In fact, you really didn’t want Kate to look at any part of your torture. You didn’t even think she could stomach it. She was capable and tough like the rest of you, but she worked more from the shadows to save her from horrendous bloodshed. 

There were only three people that you felt like could handle it. Price, Ghost, and yourself. Like hell they were going to let you see your own footage though. “Would you and Ghost mind?”

Price gave it some deep thought before nodding. “I can do it if that’s what you want. Ghost?”

Ghost wasn’t surprised that Price knew he was eavesdropping. “I’ll do it.”

Kate immediately closed that part of the conversation. “Well that’s that. Next, we have to retest you in multiple areas. Physical, mental, shooting range, the whole works. Some of the intelligence based tests can be done sooner, but the rest will have to wait until you are physically fit again.”

“That could take weeks.” You grumbled, already getting impatient with your recovery process. 

“We have time. Outside of work tasks, anything that should take priority in your personal life. Besides the basics, of course.” Price switched topics, hoping that will brighten your mood a little. 

You did like bossing them around when you had the chance. With a smirk, you began rattling off all the things you needed them to do for you. “Contact my lawyer and family. Gotta get that sorted out and hopefully get some stuff back if my folks haven’t tossed anything out yet. And if I don’t have to be the one to do it, the better. That’s probably the first major errand. Most of the other things will have to wait until the basics are done.”

“I do want my favorite brand of coffee here. Sorry, Ghost, but your coffee is shit.” You spoke a little louder, making sure that Ghost could hear you. Doing so made your throat already feel sore, but it was worth it when you got to here a chuckle back.

“Tell me how you really feel.” He smiled beneath the mask as he pushed the diced veggies into a large pot filled with chicken stock. The aroma of chicken soup was making you salivate. 

Kate and Price eased up from your humor too as they added your coffee request to their list. After a few more minutes of chatter, they said goodbye so you could enjoy lunch. It was a good thing too because you were hungry and your voice was getting sore.

Ghost finished up the simple chicken noodle soup. Carrots, onions, celery, leftover shredded chicken melded together in a stock that was sure to be nutritious yet easy on your recovering stomach. When he served you a bowl, you nearly cried at how good it looked. 

With a shaky hand, you lifted your spoon and took a taste. Before you knew it, you began to silently cry. Ghost, who returned to the table with his own bowl, began to panic at your tears. “It doesn’t taste good?”

“This is the best meal I’ve ever had.” You sobbed, recalling all of the shitty, bland food and starvation you had to deal with. To you, this simple chicken soup was heaven on earth. 

Ghost didn’t know what to say, think, or feel for a moment. He didn’t expect such high praise, even if your reasoning was something he could guess. He settled for a proud, simple response. “Thanks. Take your time.”

Silently, you ate, savoring every ounce of flavor that graced your tastebuds. The egg noodles were perfectly al dente, the carrots were tender, and the chicken pieces were easy to swallow. Miraculously, it sparked a deep hunger for more food. But, you still needed to take it easy. If you ate the portion size you did before capture now, you would lose such a delicious lunch. 

“Why did you choose me to review your footage?” Ghost suddenly asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He was content with watching you eat so gratefully, yet the memories of the conversation before lunch still haunted him.

Your hand stopped moving the spoon within the bowl. You didn’t expect him to ask something like that. Normally, he just followed orders. “I think you would handle seeing it better than others. Not gonna lie, there is probably some gnarly stuff on those tapes.”

His stomach twisted into knots at the mention. He would still do this for you, of course, but he probably wasn’t going to be as strong as you thought he was about it.

 It was your torture after all. 

~

Adjustment was going smoothly. There were some hiccups here and there, but you soon got used to Ghost taking care of you. He got used to relinquishing more control over to you as well. You quickly graduated to only needing a walking cane occasionally thanks to your dedication to physical therapy. Your hands needed more work, but at least you could get around the apartment with ease. 

When you earned your achievement of free walking, you got more bossy and impatient. It was something Ghost was able to handle it since you delivered it with humor and hard work, but he soon began to notice dips in your mood here and there. 

He has been adamant about sleeping on the couch while you took his room. Since you began walking, you have tried to change that sleeping arrangement to no avail. Everytime you looked at the couch, a brief flash of guilt went over your face. 

He would catch you looking at your hands a lot, willing them to do more than just twitch and shake. Your brow would furrow in frustration when you practiced holding different movements and weights. Occasionally, you would hiss from pain as you tried to force progress. It became routine for him to end up holding your hands to make sure you gave yourself a break. 

The other issue that was hard to resolve was your night terrors. Ghost thought his nightmares were bad, but they seemed like nothing compared to how you would scream in the middle of the night. It would always startle him awake. He would always rush to the door to calm you down. You would always tremble and cry in his arms. 

You couldn’t go back to sleep unless Ghost was with you, his arms tight around your body and holding you close to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat became a lullaby that always made you regain your breathing.

The more he took care of you, the more he began to notice things about you. He was getting closer to you than ever before as he spent time with you every day. Sure, he was looking out for you, but it didn’t feel like a chore. Having you live with him became such a natural sight to him. It was like you always belonged there. 

So it really unnerved him when he was finally called to review your footage. 

You said goodbye to him when he left for base. For the first time, you were alone. Ghost gave you strict instructions to take it easy, forbidding you from certain activities while he was gone. However, you paid no mind to his warning, eager to normalize your life even more. 

The feeling of the chef’s knife in your palm was a familiar weight that brought back so many memories. You had been wanting to get back into cooking earlier, but Ghost always scolded you and said you weren’t ready yet. 

You planned on proving him wrong by cooking dinner for tonight. Something simple and comforting. Pasta with a homemade sauce. 

Your dreams felt like they were shattering as you struggled to open the tomato can with the opener though. The strength it took made your hands ache almost immediately. Having the strength to push the weight of the blade down into the garlic was agony too. Even with a sharp knife, you were having such a hard time doing what was meant to be easy.

Only thirty minutes had passed after Ghost left when you ended up lying on the kitchen floor, crying for your hands to work again and for a life you lost. 

Meanwhile, Ghost was just arriving on base. He wondered if you were doing alright. He hoped you weren’t pushing yourself while he was gone. Damn, he should’ve asked Gaz or Soap to watch you. He didn’t want to treat you like a child, but he knew you well enough that you were probably doing something you weren’t supposed to. 

That’s how you got your call sign in the first place. 

“Lieutenant Ghost, you ready?” Price ushered him into a secured, private room. Soundproof, dark, and void of any windows. Various tapes sat on a table next to a small TV. Ghost grabbed a chair and settled in, trying to relax as much as he can. 

“Pay attention, try to stay unbiased, and keep this confidential. We can only talk about this with each other, Spite, and the investigation leaders.” Price ordered like a captain. Resolute and sharp. Despite the confidence in his voice, your captain was afraid. He didn’t want to see one of his best sergeants get tortured. 

Ghost was trying to steel himself for it too. “Yes, Captain.”

With that, Price hit play and took the small seat next to Ghost. The footage began with the first day you were captured. You were stirring unconscious, strapped to a chair, and bleeding out of the side of your head where you got shot. The scene already had Ghost simmering with rage and sorrow.

He watched as you woke up, met your warden, and then immediately took a molar from you with swift punches to the jaw. He watched you spit the blood back in his face, growl threats he could never repeat, and then have your knees shattered with a sledgehammer. 

It was clear that it hurt. That it was agony. The way your lungs gasped for air. The way you bit back your screams only to echo within your throat. The way you lost consciousness for a moment only to wake up from immense pain as they cut you. 

And yet, you didn’t say a word. You never mentioned your name. Never revealed who you were with and why. You didn’t let anything get past your locked lips.

Porakov punished your resilience with more torture. Ten minutes in and it was already getting too much for Ghost to handle. How could anyone survive this? How did you? 

His stomach turned as he watched the day you lost your pinkie finger. You were getting noticeably weaker and skinnier with each new day on the tape. Your knee was still healing. Porakov only took advantage of this as he pushed you around. 

None of his questions got answers. Not a single one. Not even when the gardening shears pinched around your delicate finger. 

Ghost almost threw up when he witnessed the final cut. You screamed, but you didn’t cry. You never did. At least, not in front of Porakov. It wasn’t until everyone left you in the cell that you let your pain turn into tears. And it absolutely broke his heart.

Feeling lightheaded, Ghost began to reach for the pause button on the TV. Price beat him to it, though. “I think that’s enough for today. Thought I could sit through what I allotted for this, but this is hard to watch. Even for me. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

After scheduling the next time to watch more footage, Ghost rushed back to his car to drive home. How could he have left you home by yourself after everything that’s been done to you?! You stayed optimistic and humorous most of the time, but there was no way you were really okay. No one would be okay if they went through what you went through.

There was still months of footage left to sift through.

Not caring about the risks of getting pulled over, Ghost sped along the highway leading back home. He began trying to call you, hoping that your new phone that the team got you was working fine. 

When you didn’t answer, he tried again, the pit in his soul becoming darker and bigger. He shouldn’t have left you home alone. 

He stopped trying after the tenth calling attempt. Instead, he focused on speeding faster. He got back to the apartment within record time. When he slammed the door open, he began looking for you.

His terror amplified as he found you on the kitchen floor, knife laying next to you and dinner prep unfinished. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your eyes were staring off into the distance. The light in your eyes was gone. Just like the day you ordered for your warden to be killed.

You didn’t remember when the panic attack started. Somewhere in the middle of your grief perhaps. It completely crippled you. Plunged you into such a horrible memory that you were desperately trying to forget. Your breath was stolen and your heart ached as if you pushed a knife into it. 

Afterwards, you dissociated. You couldn’t register the cold tiles beneath you. You couldn’t remember what you were doing in the first place. You didn’t even hear your phone go off or Ghost rushing into the house. 

Warmth stirred you back to the land of the living, Ghost’s arms wrapping tight around you. An unfamiliar sensation buried into the crook of your neck. The feeling of light stubble and shaky breaths. It was then that you realized that he had taken off his mask to bury his face into you. 

Slowly, you wrapped your sore arms around his broad shoulders. The natural, sweet scent of you just made him feel the need to hold you tighter. Closer. 

He never wanted to leave your side again. 

“Is this hug for me? Or for you?” You half-joked, returning to your usual self with a sore voice. 

His shoulders relaxed as he heard your question. Relief soon morphed into anger as he realized that you tried to do without him there. It was hard for him to keep his voice from rising. “I told you to take it easy. I thought something happened to you.”

You flinched back, not expecting to be scolded so soon. “I just thought-”

“The only thoughts you should be having is about recovering.” He pulled back from the hug, allowing you to really see his face up close. 

You had only seen his face a couple of times before your capture. You had served with the 141 for under a year, so it made sense why you didn’t get to see it often. But now that you could really get a good look, your heart skipped a beat and a blush slowly crept along your cheeks. 

His eyes were much brighter without the mask already. Flecks of black warpaint revealed blond lashes that matched his light locks. His jaw looked like it was carved from quartz and a few scars only gave character to his strong features. 

Fuck, your old, childish crush on him was beginning to resurface at the worst possible moment.

You swallowed hard and averted your gaze. The hammering of your heart made it hard to figure out what to say next. “Sorry. . .”

Ghost gave a deep sigh, raking a large hand through his hair. Seeing the guilt in your eyes made him feel like he fucked up. He shouldn’t be making you feel like this. “No, Spite. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Not only that, but seeing your tapes followed by you not answering the phone and then looking dead on the floor had him think the worst. Though, he wasn’t ready to saddle you with that burden. You needed comfort and stability. 

Gently, he cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back up to his. Your breath hitched as he did, his touch now feeling like electricity. “What were you trying to make?”

“Pasta. . .” 

“You really want to get back into cooking?”

At that, you gave a firm nod. It would be something that would make you feel better. Normal. Even if it was just for a moment. You really needed to create something with your hands. 

Ghost couldn’t deny you. Not when you made such a beautifully, determined expression.  

Carefully, he stood up and helped you get back on your feet. The knife on the floor was put into the sink. A new chef’s knife was placed in your hand. Before you could ask what he was doing, he positioned you in front of the cutting board, stood close behind you to the point where your back was touching his chest, and he held his hands over yours. “Let me know if you start to hurt. You can lean back on me if you need it too.”

Now your heart was really racing. The whirlwind shift of emotions made you lightheaded. How could you switch from a panic attack to feeling lovesick? How could you still have a crush on him after all this time? 

It took you a moment to relax under his touch and allow him to use your hands to cut the garlic. The heat of his chest seeped into your back as he cautiously guided the cooking process with you in the middle. When he spoke up, his voice so close to your ear, you nearly fainted. “You feeling alright?”

“Y-Yeah. . . I’m fine. Thanks, Ghost.” You stuttered out, feeling embarrassed by the proximity. 

“You know, you can call me Simon when it’s just me and you, dove.” He allowed, feeling the heat of your own body rise against his chest. He couldn’t see your face clearly, but he could tell that your ears were turning red. 

It stirred something deep within himself.

Your brain short-circuited when he gave you permission to use his real name. You had only used it when you needed him to understand your serious intentions. It wasn’t something you took lightly. Now, he wanted you to call him that more intimately. 

At first, you didn’t know if you could bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t until you realized that all of the cloves of garlic were minced perfectly, your hands still able to take a little more cooking. “Seriously. Thank you, Simon.”

His heart leapt when you used his name like he wanted. “Of course, dove. Anything for you.” 

Simon didn’t move an inch away from you until everything was ready to get tossed onto the stove. When the prep work was done, you had excused yourself to go rest, allowing him to finish dinner. 

He let you go, but he really didn’t want to. He could never let you go now. Especially not when you were definitely blushing over him. 

It wasn’t that you needed rest from cooking. You needed rest from Simon. A minute to get your heartbeat under control. This wasn’t like you. You were confident, resilient, strong, spiteful. Not gooey and bashful. 

Only Ghost could make you feel this way. 

You had a crush on him when you first met the team. It was the air of mystery that drew you to him first. His sense of humor, confidence, and intelligence that matched yours drew you in deeper. He had said that he was actually quite handsome under the mask, and you believed him during that time. 

That’s all you tried to leave it at, though. A silly little crush. Being in the presence of a strong, muscular, and confident man would make anyone feel weak in the knees. That’s what you told yourself when you were stomping out your feelings for the sake of professionalism. 

It worked too. After snuffing out that crush, you grew to be a friend to him. He trusted you more and you trusted him. There was nothing in the world that would make you trade over the friendship you had with him. With anyone on your team. It was the right thing to do at the time and it still was. 

So why the hell were you falling in love with him all over again?

~

You chalked it up to being locked up for too long. Of course your heart would begin to sway towards Ghost. He’s been taking care of you and you’ve been living with him and he’s the first man you’ve been spending time with. Now that you realize this, snuffing out your feelings again shouldn’t be so hard.

Keyword: Shouldn’t.

Ghost made it really difficult for you to maintain some space from him. You have been adamant about healing through cooking. He’s been adamant about being with you every step of the way. Holding you between his arms in case you feel faint, guiding your hands when you don't have the strength, speaking directly into your ear when he wants to talk to you. 

Everytime he came back from base, his clinginess increased tenfold. You knew that he was coming back from watching your footage. But you didn’t want to be pitied or the center of any guilt he may have. 

“How are you feeling? Are you ready for your interview, dove?” Simon hovered near his bedroom door, watching you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You have been looking a lot better after these couple of months. You gained a wealthy weight, you were getting around much better, and some of your strength returned to your muscles. 

It was still a ways to go before you could go out onto the field again, but it was a good start. Besides the night terrors that still haunted you, you were beginning to look like your old self.

At least, that’s what it looked like to him. You, on the other hand, were beginning to stress about how you looked. It felt good for your body to be getting back on the right track, yet you found imperfections. Things you had to be patient about such as your hair. 

The doctors had to cut it in order to put a new metal plate back in your head. Your hair was growing back decently fast, but not fast enough to your liking. Besides the hair, you were covered in scars that weren’t fading anytime soon. Probably never with how deep they went. 

“Dove?”

Simon snapped you out of your stupor. “H-Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m ready to go.”

“That’s not what I asked. You can talk to me about anything, you know?” Simon stepped forward, hoping to cure your sudden anxiety. 

“Sorry, just a little distracted I guess.” You brushed off. It would be embarrassing to tell him how you felt ugly right now. The last thing you wanted to do was fish for compliments too. 

Simon knew you were lying, but he dropped it. Instead, he followed you out of the apartment and drove you to the interview. On the way there, you let the radio fill the silence between the two of you.

He gripped the steering wheel tight, wondering why the hell you were so distant from him all of a sudden. The two of you were getting along great when you first arrived. Now, you were locking yourself up in his bedroom a lot more, speaking to him less, and had your head in the clouds when he was trying to talk to you. 

Did he do something wrong? Make you feel bad about something? He thought you liked him.

The car pulled up onto the base, a place you haven’t seen for a long time. Everything looked like how you remembered. Military grays, greens, and browns. Recruits jogging around. The smell of cigarette smoke in the air. It almost seemed like nothing had changed.

Price greeted you halfway to the interview and then escorted you to it. It was the same room they used to examine your footage, the tapes finally over. You sat in a seat across from a woman in a business suit. 

Price and Simon were ordered to stay out in the hall and wait. As they waited for you, Simon thought about getting back in your good graces. 

“She alright? She seemed more quiet than usual on the walk.” Price suddenly spoke up, also curious about the trouble in paradise. 

“Don’t know. She hasn’t told me anything about what’s been bothering her.” He confessed, an annoyed tone lacing with his words. 

The captain hummed in thought. “Has she taken that offer to see a therapist?”

“Nope. Only the physical therapist. You think she needs it?” 

“It wouldn’t hurt. I think it would be good for her to really unpackage everything that went down before we put a gun back in her hands. Someone that’s a professional.”

Simon gave it some thought. As much as he wanted to be the one you turned to to talk about your feelings, he agreed that you would most likely feel better talking to a professional. He wasn’t necessarily equipped to provide both comfort and trauma solving. 

Hell, he probably needs therapy too.

He figured that he would suggest the idea when the two of you return home. Let you sleep on it. 

You exited the room after about an hour. The interview took much longer than you expected, but they were thorough. No detail was to be left unspoken. It was a wonder how you managed to talk about everything that happened without breaking down. Perhaps it was because you did really want your job back. The more capable you seemed, the more likely they would give it to you.

After a quick stop visiting Gaz and Soap, Simon took you back to the apartment. You entered the space so naturally that it felt like it was your home. Simon even let you buy some decor to make the place more comfortable for you that you could take to your new apartment, whenever that would be available. 

Before Simon could invite you to sit on the couch with him for a moment to talk, you had already closed the door to the bedroom. The interview left you tired. It was still taking a while to get your voice used to talking again. 

As you crossed the space, you noticed your reflection in the mirror. You looked the same from when you left. Maybe a little bit more exhausted, but still the same, unflattering body you wished was completely back to normal already.

There was a soft knock on the door. You didn’t register it as you just sat on the floor, looking at your reflection and wondering what you could do to make yourself feel pretty again. Since you didn’t answer, Simon slowly opened the door. 

“Dove? What’s wrong?” He cautiously asked, not wanting to startle you. 

You gave a deep sigh that even he felt in his soul. “Just. . . missing the me from before.”

His shoulders felt lighter in relief. He was so glad that you were talking to him again. However, It was souring quickly now that your words were settling in. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. . . I guess. . . I thought that I was decently pretty before. I was happy with how I looked. . . I don’t really see that anymore.” You tried to explain, feeling your throat begin to choke on each word. God, you felt stupid.

Simon could hardly believe it. To him, you were still the prettiest lady he’s ever met. Your smile made his day brighter. Your hands felt warm and perfect in his. Your eyes were works of art he could stare into all day. 

He was in love with you.

“W-What?” Your face grew red, not understanding why he was staring so intensely at you. So seriously. It’s been a while since you’ve faced him this close. Did he think you were being dumb too? 

He took a seat behind you on the floor and pulled you into his lap. An arm snaked across your stomach before you could escape. His other hand guided your chin to look back into the mirror. “Take a good look at yourself again, dove. Don’t tell me that you’re not pretty anymore because it’s not true.”

Your heart was going to burst from your chest. If you stay like this with him for much longer, it would be impossible to destroy your feelings for him. “Si-”

“Your cheeks are turning pink. Are you getting embarrassed?” He tightened his hold and deepened his voice. He would do anything to make you feel attractive again. Including revealing that he was attracted to you.

As he pointed out your blush, you only reddened deeper. “T-This is because you surprised me!”

“Oh? It’s not because you like me?” He teased, not being able to help himself. Before everything, you were so confident and enthusiastic at work. He never got to see your bashful side. It was incredibly cute. 

You froze in his lap as he revealed your secret. How long has he known?! Was he just toying with you right now?! This was not how you imagined a confession going at all, not that you ever really planned on confessing. 

Turning your head to face him directly, you attempted to dig out of the hole you were in. “Simon-”

“You’re too cute.” He suddenly admitted before pressing his lips firmly against yours. He lost control as soon as he saw your expression up close within his lap. The way your brows furrowed, how your ears turned more pink by the second, how you called him by his name. 

There was no way in hell he was going to make you feel unattractive right now. 

Startled by the kiss, it took you a moment to realize what was happening. When your brain did kick back into gear, you could hardly believe it. Simon was kissing you. Not just that, but he was kissing you so deeply that it made you melt.

You couldn’t possibly fight back your feelings for him now. 

Eventually, you began kissing him back. When he felt your effort, he took that as a good sign to keep going. Your lips were so soft and warm against his. Your weight in his embrace felt perfect. His tongue swiped at your lips and then plunged into your mouth to taste even more of you.

You softly moaned into his mouth, electricity firing all along your nerves. His muscular, strong chest against your back made you feel hot all over. His tongue that aimed to taste every inch of you did just that. A sensation you haven’t felt for what felt like decades began to spread throughout your pelvis. 

His hand guided your gaze back to the mirror in front of you, your own expression making your breath hitch. Cheeks pink, lips swollen, chest rising and falling rapidly. The bottom of your shirt was a little hiked up, exposing just an inch of waist that drove Simon wild. “See, dove? You’re perfect.”

He held your chin in place, forcing you to watch as he trailed kisses along the side of your neck. His free hand slipped under your shirt, feeling skin that now matched his. You gasped and shivered as he felt you up, feeling his hand travel further up until he reached the bottom wire of your bra. The kisses mixed with tongue and teeth against your neck made you whimper in excitement.

“You’re still soft to the touch. Still warm and living. How I see you hasn’t changed. You are still the same pretty woman I grew to like so much.” He sweetly confessed into your ear as he stripped off your shirt. 

Simon liked you too? Since when? Mental questions faded away as you noticed him unsnap your bra to reveal your breasts. Your hands instinctively went to cover them up, but he caught your wrists in his hand.

“No, dove. I gotta show you just how attractive you are. Keep looking at your pretty little face in the mirror.” He playfully smirked, loving this new side of you more than he imagined. His cock was already pressing against the fabric of his pants, getting bigger by the second. 

With your wrists still held together, he began to massage your breasts. The other side of your neck was shown some love through feverish kisses, making you squirm in his lap. You could feel his growing erection pressed behind you, making your pussy tingle with need. When he pinched a nipple tight, you let a moan slip.

As he dragged his tongue along your neck, he watched the pleasure on your face through the mirror. His pants felt tighter by the second, eager to really show you just how attractive you were to him. 

Limbs felt like jelly as he continued to tease you. When your wrists felt more slack in his grip, he let go to use both hands. You sat in his lap, melted and shivering as he played with both of your nipples. “You’re so sensitive. It’s really turning me on, dove.”

You pressed your legs tighter together, feeling your wetness slowly stain your panties. Simon’s strong chest rose with his labored breath, cock now aching with pain from the restriction of his clothes. He wanted more. He wanted to see every inch of you.

He guided your legs to spread for him, making sure that your pussy would be clear as day through the mirror. You debated fighting back before things went too far, but his hands on you felt incredible. You were so turned on too, despite feeling embarrassed about how weak and bashful you looked. 

In one move, your pants and panties were gone, revealing your slick cunt for both you and Simon to see. Instinctively, you tried to close your legs. However, Simon made sure that you didn’t. He made sure you looked at the mirror too. “Take a good look, dove. So wet for me. . . So pretty. Pink. Soft. Never seen something so delicious before.”

His large fingers began to rub through your folds, spreading your wetness around easily. His eyes grew feverish as he spread you open, feeling the pulse that traveled through you. 

You gasped as he started rubbing your clip in slow, deep circles. Almost two years of abstinence made you sensitive beyond comprehension. “Ah~! Simon~!”

“That’s right, dove. Don’t stop looking at yourself.” He instructed, his voice so deep that it echoed in your head. Lightning zipped through you as he continued to tease your clit, another hand going back to your hard nipples.

God, Simon was so good at this. He was reading you like a book, noticing every flinch, every scrunch, every tremble that flashed across your face. He was getting to know all your sweet spots. Every piece of you that begged for more. 

Your hips bucked as his finger on your cunt slid down close to your entrance. Through the mirror, you saw him smirk, making your heart leap. “Patience. I’ll give my dove what she wants as long as she keeps looking at herself. Promise.”

Gently, he worked his fingers inside of you, feeling just how hot you really were getting for him. He suppressed his own shiver as he felt you tighten up, sucking his fingers in deeper. You clung on to his arms and moaned, throwing your head back against his shoulder in pure bliss.

Grabbing your chin, he made you watch yourself get fingered. “Don’t look away.”

You had no choice but to follow your instructions. Kisses peppered your neck, making sure you didn’t have the space to turn your head away again. You watched his fingers pump in and out of you, more of your natural honey drooling out of you. 

“Ahh! Mnn~!” A loud moan escaped you as you felt his fingers curl to hit that perfect, spongy spot that drove you crazy. Your reaction was instant, your pussy tightening further and tremors traveling through every nerve. Simon could feel and see it. You were getting close to an orgasm. And he really wanted you to reach it.

“That’s it. Watch yourself cum for me, dove.” He praised, moving his fingers more powerfully to make sure you wouldn’t lose that pleasurable high. 

It was beautiful watching you moan and drool and shutter in his lap. It was so sexy how you looked at the mirror with feverish eyes like you wanted more than just his fingers. He wanted to use more too. But not before you came.

Simon put more pressure on your g-spot, not caring that you were making such a huge mess all over his hand. All he wanted to do was go deeper, so deep that his palm was pressing into your throbbing clit. 

That is what made you see stars. With a scream, you were plunged into an orgasm that made you stupid. Simon smirked with pride as he held you during your climax, feeling just how tightly you clung to his fingers. He loved that blissful expression on your face while you came. Corners of your eyes brimming with tears, blush swept across your cheeks, body glowing with excitement. 

“Didn’t I tell you? Absolutely gorgeous.” He complimented, giving you soft kisses on the side of your head as you calmed down. It was still hard to breathe, your heart beating erratically from the climax and from Simon’s husky praises. When he pulled his fingers away, you whimpered from the sensitivity.

Carefully, you were removed from his lap and laid down in front of him. While you took a moment to rest, Simon grabbed a few pillows from his bed, tossed them to the floor, and then stripped. At the sight of his strong build, you swallowed some drool. 

It was strength made to be used. Muscular and soft in all the right places. His own body was covered in old scars, something that made him alluring rather than flawed. And then when your eyes traveled down to his huge, throbbing cock, you felt that familiar tingle take over again.

“Like what you see?” He teased, situating the pillows under you so you could be more comfortable. The head of his dick prodded at your folds, lubing itself up. As he slid along your folds, rubbing your sensitive, red bud, you lost your breath again.

“Simon. . .” You called out in what you hoped sounded like a warning rather than begging. God, you wanted him inside you already. You wanted to feel every inch of him fuck you like you were the most sexy woman on the planet. 

He chuckled a little, your tone a mixture of scolding and impatience. A perfect tone that made him want to fuck you hard already. But, he held back. For now at least. Instead, he turned your head to make you look at your reflection again. Slowly, he entered you, feeling your hot pussy cling to him like it was made for him.

Your expression immediately morphed as he slid his cock inside you deeper. Eyebrows scrunched, vision hazy, plump lips bitten. He was thick. Incredibly thick. You’ve never been so filled up before. It hurt a little, but pain was quickly replaced with pleasure as you got used to it.

Simon gave a satisfied sigh when finally reached the base. It was a sight to behold, your tight pussy stretched to accommodate him. It felt so good inside you. Hot. Slick. His thrusts were slow and deep, watching every reaction you had as you felt every inch of him. It only turned him on even more as he made you watch.

His hands clutching your hips to control the pace had you tremble. You loved how he was careful, yet still wanted to manhandle you. There were moments where you could see him lose his cool for a second. A shuddered breath here, a swallowed groan there. His own expressions as he fucked you deep is what really turned you on the most.

“Fuck, dove. You’re so tight~” He exhaled, picking up the pace with his thrusts. Your toes curled and your back arched as his cock hit every pleasure point within you. It was perfect how he was large and skilled enough to reach every spot you liked. And it was all thanks to how closely he paid attention to you.

His body pressed against yours as he felt the need to be closer to you. He wanted to see your pretty face up close when you cum next. He wanted to feel those beautiful tits pressed flush against his own skin. When he felt you tighten, he knew you were getting close.

You hung onto him tight, wrapping his arms around his neck and digging your nails into his back. It was incredible feeling his muscles flex with each thrust under your hands. Everything felt so good with him. You never thought you would feel pleasure like this again. 

Simon hissed as you clawed his back, a blissful sensation that only left him wanting more. He pistoned harder, hoping that your nails would leave new scars on him. “I can feel you getting close. Look into my eyes when you do.”

Moans gradually turned into screams as he fucked you as deep as he could go, his cock throbbing hard with his own desire to climax. Hearing you scream his name was turning him on more than he thought. So much so that he began calling out yours.

Hearing your own name from his lips with such a desperate tone made the wave crash down. Looking deep into his eyes, you came around him. Every part of you trembled, electricity taking over. It felt like every cell within you was screaming for him. His breath hitched as you tightened and soaked him. And god, the way you looked while cumming. . . 

He held you tight as he felt himself climax too, hot ropes adding to the heat. Your back arched as he gave a few final pumps, milking himself out in you as much as he could. It was hard to control your shutters when he enjoyed the final moments of having you. When he did pull out, it left you feeling empty, yet satisfied. 

Knowing that you were feeling weak, Simon carried you to his bed and laid you down. You were surprised when he crawled into the spot next to you and pulled you into his chest like he was holding a lover. Was that what you two were now? Lovers?

“Like I said before, you’re perfect.” Simon praised and kissed the top of your head.

You two were definitely lovers. All the doubt cleared as you listened to his heartbeat. 

[cultofdixon]

Stress is a silent killer

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Don’t get me wrong, mothers are strong motherfuckers. But that doesn’t mean you can abuse an expecting mother’s abilities. • ANGST/SFW • TW: Pregnancy / Pre-Term Labor Anxieties / Anxiety

Requested by: Anon

Daryl silently returns his home he shares with Y/N who was currently seated in the living room wide awake. She was decked out to go outside the walls and search for him after the news but thankfully he came back in time before she risked herself at the hour it was.

“I’m sorry”

Y/N didn’t say anything, all she did was let the tears that build up roll off her cheeks.

“I’m sorry I walked away when yea first told me” His voice broke as he brought himself to kneel in front of her resting his hands on her thighs watching her tearful expression meet his gaze.

“I’m scared, Dar…”

“I know, me too. Cuz I want this. I want this with yea and I’m afraid of losing you…like Lori…or like…the others. I can’t lose yea to anythin’ or anyone.”

“You can’t…you can’t walk out like the way you did” She choked out through her sobbing as Daryl brought his hands onto her cheeks wiping away them while they fell. “Please…if you do that again, I’m only going to think the worse possible things”

“I’m stayin’ right here, sunshine. I’m never leaving again.” Daryl pushed himself forward and wrapping his arms around her as she did the same gripping onto his vest. “I’m never leaving you and this baby, I promise”

~

7 1/2 months later…

Another cold spring morning comes through causing the somewhat irritable not-a-morning person Y/N to bring herself to sit up the best she could given her “natural” circumference was different compared to the first and second trimester.

“Did you leave the window open?” She tiredly asks her husband who had sat up when she did, given the closer they get to 9 months the more he’ll be up and at it for anything.

“It was stuffy last night, yea asked me too” Daryl yawns stretching out his back hearing his partner hiss when she heard the occasional stretch out crack. “I’m good”

“Working on the wall repair does you no good…and I think I just forgot I asked you to open it” Y/N frowns bringing herself to the edge of the bed causing Daryl to get up in his shirtless glory about to close the window. “What are you doing?”

“I told yea you don’t have to get up and close it”

“I gotta get up and pee cuz a certain someone is stepping on my bladder.”

“So is that a no on me closing it for yea, love?”

“Can you please close it and help me stand up?” Y/N gave him a tired smile as he did exactly what was asked and while Daryl helped her up she couldn’t help but grab his face to bring him to her level to kiss him before separating to do what she needed.

“Are you sure you don’t need me or want me this morning? Rick completely understands why I can stay here” Daryl started to remind Y/N about the run he was asked to go on that involved stopping at the Hilltop to drop off supplies and go pick up more from the Kingdom.

“You pawned it off to somebody for the past two weeks. I’m not going to go into labor the second you leave. I’m not 8 months yet”

“Pre-term shit. You were put on bedrest during the second tri—whatever it’s called because your stress wasn’t helpin’” Daryl states slipping off his sweats to put jeans on when Y/N stepped out of the bathroom. “It’s easy for yea to stress out and back in the prison you passed out once cuz of it. Now you’re pregnant and Siddiq said it could cause more harm than good”

“Are you trying to stress me out now?”

“No, I’m just telling—-“

“It’s only for half the day. Both Maggie and Ezekiel know who you have to come back home to, they won’t hold you up and we also know Carol will shut Ezekiel up if he does start another endless conversation with you. You’ll be back before nightfall and I’ll be here waiting for my husband to come back”

The archer only gave her a worried expression because of how calm she was being, since a month ago she’d scream at him for just leaving the house. He brought himself over kissing her lovingly and holding her for as long as she let him, which could be hours and he’ll not be able to go anymore. But Y/N knew this trick.

“You seriously walking me out to make sure I actually go?” Daryl smiles walking his bike with his pregnant wife on the other side of such still wearing her sweats and one of his shirts.

“Did you forget about the morning and evening walks we do?”

“Nah I did not. Which reminds me to tell yea to wait for me for the night one. Take it easy walking back home and stay away from the new infusions”

Y/N whistled for Daryl to stop given she can’t maneuver fast enough to grab his arm. “Stay away from the new infusions?”

“Rick let in more ex-saviors to help around here. They are staying in the apartment looking houses” Daryl parked his bike a moment bringing himself to rest his hands on her belly. “Two of them are annoying shit stains of humanity. I don’t know the other one’s name but one of’em is Bryan and they’d much rather pawn their work off to somebody else”

“Daryl. I doubt they’d make a pregnant woman do shit”

“Well. I told Aaron to check on yea if he sees you doing anything sketchy”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Rick is at Oceanside, Michonne is watching a sick Judith, and the others are working on the bridge repair. You won’t let me stay to make sure you don’t over exert yourself. Somebody’s gotta check on yea and since he’s takin’ care of a baby girl at the moment? He’s more than happy to check up on you when Gracie is napping”

“You really have everything planned. Even have a radio?” Y/N smiles crossing her arms as he took out said device to show her resulting in a playful eye roll. “I’ll do my best, my love. But I’ve never seen those individuals before…you can’t blame me if something happened”

“Yeah, but I sure as hell can kill a man if he harms my wife and baby” Daryl states, sneaking in a kiss before getting his bike back up and heading toward the gates.

“I promise nothing will happen, Dar”

What was meant to be an easy day, turned into a weird one.

When the gates closed, Y/N held her belly for a moment feeling the shifting baby inside her make it a bit difficult to go immediately back to her home. She decided to take a longer walk around Alexandria, stopping occasionally to talk to her friends and see what they were up to improve their community. Then on her way back there were two Alexandrians carrying a few boxes to the pantry and infirmary. Both looked at her with curious expressions…

“Yo!”

Y/N ignored it at first until she flinched to the sound of the box dropping beside her.

“You’re Y/N right? The other Dixon in this place”

“Yes…? And you are?” She frowns, not liking the feeling the atmosphere gave when the individual didn’t share his name right away.

“I’m new here. Do you mind helping us with something?”

“Uhm I’m not exactly supposed to be…lifting anything heavy” Y/N gestures a bit on the obvious side about her pregnant belly as they both still gave stone cold stares.

“We’ll carry it to the pantry and infirmary. Just could use somebody to put it away while we bring the rest”

“Is Siddiq not her—-“

“Seriously, Dixon. You’re just pregnant not incompetent” one of them stated only for Y/N’s expression to go south as she supported her belly telling them that she’ll meet them in the pantry first to unload the boxes.

Once she stepped far enough, one of them couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips.

“Cant believe that worked”

“Can it Bryan. We still gotta bring the boxes over then we can go fuck off for the rest of the day” The other scoffs picking up and the box carrying it to where it needed to be.

It had been a couple hours of putting supplies away in their perspective areas, thankfully Y/N has worked with Siddiq before so she knows where he likes everything to be. The doctor just didn’t expect to come back from checking on the little ones of Alexandria after lunch time to find Y/N standing on a stool putting away spare gauze in a tub that Siddiq put them in.

“Are you crazy?” Siddiq frowns watching Y/N stumble a bit unexpected as he quickly drop his medical bag to help his friend off the stool. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you in here?”

“Because I have to be useful!”

“Y/N what the hell do you mean?!” Siddiq frowns watching the discomfort grow on her face along with the tears forming. “Okay, come on. Sit down and tell me what happened” he made her sit on the gurney sitting with her.

“My husband—-“

“Did Daryl get hurt?!”

“No! He warned me about some slackers and I just. I didn’t think I was this stupid enough to fall for their shit” Y/N frowns wiping away her tears before wincing and holding her belly instantly. Siddiq pulled away to get the portable machine helping her lay down onto the gurney adjusting it for her to sit up. “It was just one damn conversation and I felt like I was being useless. We won that stupid fucking war. Lost a lot of people. Then this happened and it’s the best thing but all my hormones are all over the place—-“

“And that’s normal! It’s normal for hormones to take over control with all your other emotions.” Siddiq carefully rolled her shirt up to apply a bit of the gel and gently place the wand to check on the heartbeat. “Can you tell me your pain level? And I’m talking from the moment you’ve felt uncomfortable”

“A six…”

“Are you lying?” Siddiq stated watching the tears build up more. “Y/N how long have you been working today?”

“About an hour after Daryl left”

The look on Siddiq’s face only grew even more worried for his friend as he cleaned her up and before she even tried to get up, he carefully helped her back down grabbing a blanket to cover her.

“Siddiq—-“

“You’re having contractions and I don’t want you to force this baby out from your stress because it’s too early and while I think we can…handle that intense situation…I don’t want you to lose this baby if it goes south.” Siddiq frowns covering her more in the blanket and putting the gurney in the trendelenburg position to have gravity help slow the contractions. Before he pulled away to grab a few things that will help, Y/N grabbed his arm. “You stay here and I’ll get someone to radio Daryl to come back a bit early”

“You think he’ll…uh…y-you think he’ll be mad at me?” Her voice broke as Siddiq took her hand into both of his shaking his head.

“No. But when he finds out about who made you overwork, they aren’t going to see the next day”

By the time Siddiq got Daryl on the line, he was already making his way back to Alexandria and when he heard about his wife he was speeding even faster. Daryl parked in front of the infirmary, dropping his bike without another thought as he enters the building bringing himself to her side resting his hand on her belly.

“How are yea feeling?”

“I’m sorry—-“

“Love, please—-“

“I’m really sorry” Y/N broke down in a sob making her husband out of instinct gently wipe away her tears. “I’m really sorry I didn’t take it easy—“

“Y/N. I’m serious when I say this. You don’t have to apologize.” Daryl frowns rubbing circles on her belly watching her bring her hand over his. “Did Siddiq tell yea how long you’d have to be—-“

“She can go back down.” Siddiq interrupts the two coming down from his flat above the infirmary with a filled canteen for Y/N. “You can take her back to your home to be more comfortable in her bed but again, bed rest—-“

“Fuck” Y/N sobbed hating it already and she’s not in her own bed.

“Just for a week until your stress levels and blood pressure go down. Thankfully trendelenburg worked with the contractions but don’t want you, again, to overwork yourself” Siddiq set the canteen down to help Daryl get Y/N on her feet before giving her the filled bottle. “Don’t let her leave the house, then maybe nobody would abuse your hormones” he stated letting them be to finish what Y/N started before he made her rest.

After getting Y/N back home and in their bed, Daryl stuck by her side thinking of the words Siddiq had said before they left. But he wasn’t going to address it when she was still experiencing a bit of discomfort.

“You want another pillow?”

“Then what are you going to sleep on?”

“A mattress? I don’t need a pillow, just need my woman comfortable while she’s a human incubator” He jokes getting a short lived laugh out of her as he moves the extra blankets and his pillows to support her back and belly. When she first started getting uncomfortable, he tried looking for one of those pregnancy pillows that Carol had told him about but it was a lot of work and he didn’t want to leave her at all. Like he promised and is semi-regretting given he left to take care of business and some assholes were pushing her limits with emotional abuse.

“Daryl…?” Y/N tiredly calls out for him as he returns with her canteen filled for a fourth time since being home as he brought himself to sit on the edge of the bed setting her bottle on the nightstand.

“Yes, sunshine?”

“You still love me right…?” Y/N pouted only for Daryl to scoff at such a ridiculous question, leaning over to shower her in kisses making her bring her arms around his neck to keep him close for the moment. “Dar…”

“I’ll always love you. Even when yea risk yourself. But, imma stick by yea for the rest of this.” Daryl states. “No more tellin’ me I gotta go cuz I promised somebody. Someone else will get the work done, doesn’t have to be me and definitely doesn’t have to be you”

“Can you hold me tonight?”

“As long as you don’t kick me out of the bed when it got too hot” he laughs softly, bringing his lips to hers for a few short soft kisses before pulling away to get into comfortable clothing to sleep in and hold her.

The second Y/N fell asleep and was in deep enough sleep for the archer to slip away to check on a familiar hiding spot in Alexandria. Said hiding spot would have those who didn’t want others to notice they were smoking. Knowing damn well he’ll find the right men that have been bothering his partner.

“Ayo the other Dixon has retur—-“ Bryan immediately shut up when Daryl grabbed him by the collar forcing him against the walls of the community.

“You talk to my wife today? Mess with her and had your buddy over here help?”

“Dude I have no idea—-“

“Don’t lie. Don’t even try, or I will fucking end you right here and now” Daryl hissed shoving him harshly against the wall letting go of his shirt. He quickly turned to his buddy who put out his cigarette before holding his hands up defensively. “If I see you and or this son of a bitch near my wife or even hear about it, I’ll feed you both to the walkers after I’ve knocked the living shit out of you both. And don’t yea worry…I’ve got friends to let me know if yea fuck with the love of my life and soon to be mother of my child” and with that he took his leave letting the two regret their decisions and contemplate being moved to a different community to avoid the harsher Dixon. But even then, he’d tear them apart anywhere.

Y/N shifted slightly when the bed moved behind her, she relaxed instantly feeling her husband bring his arm around her pulling her into him.

“Where’d you go?”

“Got yea more water, and heard somethin’ outside”

“Another possum?”

“A pest that’s for sure”

“Mmm…” Y/N snuggles into his embrace getting comfortable as Daryl kissed her temple. “Nothing you can’t handle right?”

Right.

[scudslut]

18+, mdni

s4!daryl x fem!reader

a/n: this is such a random drabbleish thing, idk. i just have so many feelings about s4 daryl and how angsty but all consuming it would be to be with him at that point, like my fucking god i’ll explode.

sex is all it was — initially.

he didn’t even remember how it started if he was honest; one day finding himself thrusting all his burdens and frustrations into your supple, welcoming body.

it was an escape for the both of you, nothing more. somewhere to get lost for the lingering moments between life and death. leaving as soon as it was done and hardly speaking otherwise, if at all.

he wasn’t blind though. he knew it was more for you… something deeper than just an outlet for anger. solemn eyes tracking him around the prison searching for any sign of reciprocity. And he wasn’t void either. he felt the strings each time you were under him, or against him, whispering his name like a bedtime prayer to bind you two.

but there was a wall within him. one he built so tall and long ago he didn’t even remember the workings of. but any wall has its cracks and weakened points, and he found you knew them all somehow. had them mapped and jotted in your memory, poking them till they crumbled so he worked overtime fortifying. leaving you in the shadows for weeks at a time, with nothing but a glance towards you at most.

he couldn’t care — couldn’t let himself. there was too much on the line for not only him, but you. He didn’t want him for you, that wasn’t how it should be, but it seemed that the harder he pushed you away, the greater the fall was. finding you and slamming you against the nearest counter to be consumed by you. pent up so badly it honestly felt like he’d black out within the passion, the only thing keeping him lucid being the chants you sang softly. the eyes you gave him as he unloaded everything into you.

the longer it went on the worse it got, finding himself noticing the smaller details about you. the way sweat would build across the high points of your cheeks, glowing radiantly and flushed as he thrust slower. the way your hair would fall so perfectly around your shoulders and catch the light seeping in through the windows. and most of all, the way your voice lured him closer like the works of a siren, tone so soft and sultry as you praised him, his hands began to sweat.

he would turn you around, hoping the distant position would keep you unattached, or more so, him unattached. only to later begin tracing his eyes across your profile, over your jaw and neck while you gasped with closed eyes, eyelashes thick and wet from pleasured tears.

he was fucked, and he knew it. ran from it for so long he forgot what direction he was going and somehow circled back. and you were there as always, understanding him so fluently it was useless to hide. giving yourself to him so completely and vulnerably he had no choice but to give up.

he’d whimper as the new feelings washed over him, letting you soothe and pleasure him however you wanted, finally feeling the overwhelming understanding that all you wanted to do was take his pain and absorb it yourself. feel it for him so he could see he wasn’t alone. you’d keep him, and he’d keep you.

you wouldn’t push him. emotional exhaustion was prevalent in you both and finally a night was spent together, close but distant, open arms but lingering remnants of closed-off barricades. it wasn’t simple for him, or you for that matter. it was a new map being drawn and completely new territory he’d never dipped a toe in before.

and the next time it wasn’t uncontrollable passion against any counters. it was shaky fingers unbuttoning his vest while he tried to control his breathing. eyes darting all over your body, unsure but starving and trying to trust. slow and deliberate hands would take him in, all of him, gentle and curious, learning him in a way no one had before. a way he’d never let anyone one.

he never felt like he had been lost until he was with you. you saw him. accepted him without even batting an eye like it was the most natural and obvious thing to do. years he had shut every ounce of sympathy and companionship away, scarred from all the bad he had seen people do, it was jarring to realize there were people who simply loved to love, that you loved him just because he was him. and he knew now he wouldn’t go back. he wouldn’t shut you out anymore because he loved you just the same.

he would always circle back to you.

[itsmeatballworld]

| it ends in heartbreak |

pairing | daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | you both knew he would break your heart. he couldn't help himself.

wc | 1400

warnings | cursing, sadness/heartbreak [aka the title]

a/n | I've had this in my drafts forever lol I forgot about this one! Also this is the first time I've ever written pure angst so go easy on me <3

continue... [ part 2 ] - [ part 3 ]

You always knew this day would come.

There were signs pointing to the downfall of your relationship, signs you chose to ignore to enjoy the moments of happiness.

But the signs couldn’t be any clearer–it would never last. It couldn't.

It was the end of the world, for starters. Life was always in shambles. The group never stayed in one spot long enough. Even the prison wasn’t safe. With everything unstable, it should’ve been obvious this would happen, but you were naive to think you’d would be any different.

Because the reality was: this was always how it was supposed to end.

He was built on a fractured foundation. He set up walls and built his life around a broken base, worn down by his past that he couldn't escape. First, parents had cracked and hardened his outlook on life. Then his brother taught him he meant little to others by leaving him behind. Not once did he ever learn how to fix the ache in his heart.

Yet when he met you, things changed.

It was gradual. Pieces of him started to align and heal. The tough outer shell wasn't as indestructible as he first imagined. After some time he opened up and let you in.

But you both knew he would break your heart.

He couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to push back, to fight and wrangle away from anything that became too real. Too good.

But for the time being, you enjoyed the blissful moments of his affection.

When he kissed you goodnight it was over.

He lingered, almost as if he was allowing his lips to memorize the feeling of your skin on his. His fingers fell against your curves as you pressed into the cellblock’s cool cement wall. It was in these seconds of quiet where you both had a chance to breathe.

Pulling back, Daryl rested one arm above your head. He leaned in close, gazing sweetly down at you. His other hand slowly traveled to your face and Daryl’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

Without hesitating you whispered the words he never imagined hearing from you.

Love you.

There. Right there. You saw the spark in his bright blue eyes dim. The crystalline color washed away into a deep ocean blue. Rocky and turbulent. Daryl’s eyes were no longer filled with love, but rather, fear.

You lost him, right there, pressed against the concrete wall of Cellblock D.

This was destined to fail.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Have to.”

“No…no you don’t have to, Daryl.” Your chest tightened. It was like the air was on fire. No matter how deeply you breathed in and out, pain still resided in your chest. He was crippling you.

“Daryl–”

“Ain’t up for debate.” He stepped back, snatching his crossbow from the watchtower’s metal flooring.

Your hands fumbled to find your shirt, hating how he sprung this on you in the middle of the night. He didn't have patience to wait, apparently. Just break your heart and go, like it was nothing.

“I’m not trying to…I just…” you groaned. “What happened? Was it me? Did I do something?”

His eyes went wide. That scared, fearful expression washed over him once again.

Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut. That was it. That look. It was just like the other night. When those stupid words stumbled out of your mouth, falling to the ground at Daryl’s feet. Just before he crushed them with his silence.

“Was it something I said?”

He didn't answer and his silence (unlike most nights) wasn't good enough. You needed answers.

“So that’s it then. You say ‘I’m done’ and leave before sunrise?”

The broody man fought to glance in your direction. Instead, he focused out towards the tree-line. He grabbed onto the windowsill and squeezed so tightly that the white of his knuckles appeared. But his tactics to avoid the conversation at hand weren’t getting past you tonight.

You shot up from the floor. “Daryl.”

“I ain’t got time for this.”

“You fuck me, say we’re done, and leave? Like this was all nothing? Like we mean nothing to each other?”

Daryl paused. He turned to you with lips curled into a tight frown. Even in the darkness of the watchtower, through the bright white moonlight, his frustration was clear.

“I said ‘I love you’, Daryl.” There was a desperation behind your words. Your voice was so deeply distressing it made your chest ache. It was heavy and exhausting to display your feelings out to him in the middle of the night. But you wanted more–deserved more–than a shitty ending to whatever you had with him.

“You think this is love?”

You gawked, “yes!”

He paced the small room like a caged animal ready to pounce.

You love this man.

“This ain’t love.”

You love this man. This jerk.

“Then what the fuck is this, Daryl? Tell me.” You paused, tears welling in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. “Fucking tell me!”

The shirt in your hands balled up tight around your closed fist. You were hurt. Everything about him was trouble and you let him in.

“I said ‘I love you’. I said it and now you’re pulling away.”

As he watched you, just for a moment, his eyes didn’t fill with fear or confusion. There was something there. Between the declarations, he looked apologetic. His blue eyes softened, letting the emotions he desperately tried to conceal slip past those walls he built back up.

“Well, shit! I’m sorry I said it. I fucked this up, didn’t I?” The gravel in your voice scratched your throat. Everything burned.

The apologetic stare turned pitiful. A deep scowl crossed his face and your heart sank. “Can’t mess it up when there was nothin’ here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It was so condescending as his drawl pulls at the syllables. That tightness in your chest balled into a pit of rage. Fire that burned you before ignited an anger inside.

You moved closer towards him. “You sleep with me every night. You kiss me before leaving on runs. When you think nobody’s looking, you hold my hand. We talk about our past. Our future. This is real, Daryl.”

“Nah.” He grabbed his belt, twisting it through the loops. “This ain’t real.”

Your fingers tightened on the fabric as you tugged the shirt on. “That’s not true—“

He huffed, staring out into the cloudy night sky. “You’re better off without me anyway.”

“Don’t. Don't say that. I’m not better off without you. I’d be worse.”

Daryl paused.

But the hurt and anger fueling your body didn’t stop. “So don’t make me feel crazy for falling in love with you. Like it was a choice? If I was fucking smart, I would’ve ran far away from you the second we met. But I didn’t. Because I saw you for more than the asshole you pretend to be. So excuse me for feeling blindsided by your decision to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He spat. “Get it through your head, girl. You ain’t mine! You’re just some bitch I screwed.”

The frogs croaking down by the creeks ceased to exist. Trees stopped rustling in the breeze. Crickets no longer sang under the stars. The world froze as his words were thrown at you with such haste. Like he didn’t think twice.

Your arms wrapped around your waist, tugging at the fabric clinging to your body.

He didn’t look back at you. His eyes seemed to drift anywhere but you like he couldn't face the fact that he said it out loud.

No, no. He doesn’t really think that…

Your voice cracked as the tears from earlier were not going to wait much longer. “Daryl–”

He turned on his heels and was out the door. Down the ladder, each step was louder than the last. You paused, bawling your fists as the tears finally spilled across your cheeks. Loud and heaving gasps, muddled together with hot tears.

He broke you down within seconds. The tears and sobs continued on for what felt like forever until you finally had a moment of rest. The tightness in your chest subsided, thankfully, but this was the easier part. Tomorrow will be harder when you’ll have to put on a fake smile, wipe away tears in the dark prison hallways, and avoid him.

Forget him. Forget him…right like it would be easy. It’ll be fucking impossible to forget him.

You wished you could hate him. But you don’t.

So for tonight, you let yourself feel the heartbreak and planned to stand taller tomorrow. Because in the end you knew it would never last.

But it didn't matter.

You loved that man.

Yet after everything, he might have been right. You weren't truly with him.

And maybe he never really cared for you at all.

-xx-

-xx-

a/n 2.0 | daryl PLEASEE {as if I didn't write him to act this way}

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Never felt so...

John Egan X Reader

Summary: John's letter to his girlfriend...

Warning: Sad/ talk about death/ kissing./ crying/

Word count: 800 words.

Dear Y/n,

My darling I miss you so much, I’ve been in this camp for so long now, I’ve lost track of time. Recently, I’ve been thinking about my life a lot. That German officer said something that got stuck in my mind. He said that you’re going to remember the last time you’ve never felt so, and he got cut off by a gun shot. I’ve been thinking about the time I never felt so loved in my life. A moment comes to my mind, it was the night before I got shipped away. We danced together all night and the way you looked at me is still stuck in my mind. I think about it constantly. That’s the night I knew that all the love songs were about you. It’s true what they say: Distance makes you love harder. Because I love you so much. You will forever be my always. When I think about that night, I know that I’ve never felt so loved.

Yours, Bucky.

-

His cheeks were hurting from smiling this much. Dancing with her was the best thing in the hole world. She was beautiful, like art. Her laugh filled his ears, it was the best sound he ever heard. ‘’I’ll miss you so much’’ she whispered in his ear. He trapped her in a hug as they looked around the room, they were the last one, the band were the only people left in the room. ‘’Why are you whispering, darling?’’ he asked her. ‘’Because I’m afraid that if I speak too loudly, you’ll forget what I said. You tend to listen more when I whisper’’ she smiles. John smiled even more. ‘’John, like breathing, loving you is the most natural feeling I’ve ever known. You’re my person’’ she said against his lips. When their lips touched, it felt like home. Their soul found their home. John Egan never loved anyone more than he loved her, and he’d never felt so loved before.

Dear Y/n,

I just had another moment thinking about the quote from the German prick. It was when I learned that Buck ‘died’ in that moment, in that red cabin in London, I’ve never felt so low. You know what he means to me, but to learn that he went down was a punch to the stomach. We thought we were invincible, so to know that he went down was like watching the superhero lose a fight. So that’s the moment where, I’ve never felt so low. I love you my dear.

Yours, Bucky.

-

All alone in that telephone box, breathing the pain away. His brain couldn’t understand what just happened. How could Gale Cleven go down? It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. It was a trick to get him back on the base. Buck was alive, he was going to be waiting for him at the base. His brain couldn’t function properly, John didn’t want to believe the fact that his best friend was dead. He was in pure denial, he can’t die. Bucky felt like he was being punched in the stomach, he was out of breath. All of his happy thoughts with his friend went through his mind. He couldn’t be dead, but is he was the Germans were going to regret it. He never felt so low before.

Dear Y/n,

I’m sorry that this paper is filled with tears. I’m so alone. I never felt so alone. I don’t even know if this letter will come to you. I’m currently in a German prison, I got captured and I’m alone in my cell. I’m alone. I’m going crazy, I’ve been gone for far too long, I forgot the sound of your voice. I’m crying because I’m tired, because I miss you, because my best friend is dead and I’m crying because I’m alone. I don’t know who I’m going to be when I come home, but I’m not going to be the man you knew. All alone, in this cell, I don’t know how long I can hold on, I’ll fight for you; to get back to you. But it’s so hard… I’ve never felt so alone…

-

He’d been crying for a while. The letter was in his coat pocket, he wanted to send it to her, but he didn’t know when. Looking around, he noticed the drawings on the walls. All the men that were there before him had draw on the wall, so he decided to do the same, he took out his pocketknife and started to draw on the wall. He drew two people hugging each other, he drew inside one of the people. For him, it was Y/n and him. When he finished, he looked at his art, crying again. He’d never felt so…

[cybiirz]

ೃ⁀➷ DOCUMENTS

Wriothesley x Gn!Reader

Sypnosis : Seems like a certain Warden had tired himself out. Being the kind person you were, you chose to help, but you forgot how deceiving an inmate can be. He was no different…But at least he pays?

WC : 829

“Wriothesleyyy! I brought you something from Sigewinne. She says it’s for like, helping you stay awake or whatever,” You groaned out as you treaded up the stairs. Currently, you were holding a large box of medicine that you were supposed to be delivering to other inmates.

That was your punishment for getting involved in a little experiment that was supposedly forbidden in the fortress…Either way, it was tiring and you just wanted it to be done with.

Your footsteps echoed against the walls as you stomped onto the metal stairwell. Finally, you reached the top, and with a lack of breath might you add. Who the hell needed so much medicine anyway? Nevertheless, you kept your head low as you observed the different bottles inside.

“There’s a lot here, let me just find yours and…got it. Huh, this thing has way too many side effects! How the hell do you even—” You lifted up your head to look at Wriothesley, only to find him practically passed out on his desk. You paused and cocked your head to the side.

Suddenly, you had an idea and with a smile and a slight skip in your step, you closed in on the desk. Outstretching your arms, you held the box over the table before dropping the heavy equipment, creating a loud slam against the wood.

No reaction.

“Huh? So he’s really knocked out then,” You murmured quietly to yourself. You opted to walk around the table and slowly approached his unconscious form. You began poking his head, and to no surprise, no reaction.

“Jeez. You overwork yourself too much you idiot,” You whispered next to him. Glancing at all of his papers, it took less than a second to see how messed up everything was. You sighed deeply and decided to help out this son of a gun.

It had been about an hour or so, with you going over the different documents and having to dig deep into his shelves to pair up each page to its designated folder. Covering your mouth, you let out a loud yawn before looking back over at the warden. Still fast asleep.

A small chuckle left your lips as you walked back over to him. Resting yourself against the table, you lifted your left hand and gently stroked his head.

“Well I organised each and every document for you. And since I went over each word written, I've seen you’re doing a good job for this prison. Even for inmates like me, you treat us well…But you are definitely paying me back one way or another once you’re awake,” After partially scolding him but mainly complimenting him, you began to get lost in a daze as you stared softly at the man in front of you.

Once you finished speaking, his head turned slightly, eyes opening with a small smirk splayed on his lips. You swiftly retracted your hand and looked away, trying to avoid his stare.

“Thanks for that (name). I appreciate you doing that but, you know I could’ve done all of it that whole time. I wasn’t actually asleep you know?,” He replied, his voice slightly condescending.

“Yeah well I expect payment back and—” Your arms crossed over your chest before you paused. What did he just say? “Hang on, you were pretending?! You little liar! You’re so lazy that you had to fake sleeping to get someone else to do your work for you?! Now I better get that payment before I rip your—”

You were quickly cut off as a pair of lips landed directly onto yours. Your eyes instantly widened in shock as Wriothesley lifted his hand and cupped your face. Slowly but surely, you melted into the kiss and held your arm up before resting your hand onto his shoulder.

After parting, the light sounds of heavy breathing could be heard from you. You tried to look everywhere apart from him, but he moved his hand to grip your chin, causing you to face him.

“That was, unnecessary warden,” You mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“That was your payment,” He responded smugly. Looking at him with your blood rushing to your cheeks, you noticed the slight crease in the corners of his eyes. He was smiling at you, and not one of mockery or a fake smile, it was genuine.

“Well then…I have to get going and deliver these to the other inmates. Thank you for paying me back,” You cleared your throat before moving away from him and picking up the box. You left his medicine on the table as you made sure to secure the lid of the box. He crossed his arms over his torso as you began to descend down the stairs.

“(Name). Come back again and I'll be sure to repay you for whatever documents you organise for me,” Wriothesley’s voice had a somewhat teasing lilt to it, but it was evident he was serious. You rolled your eyes and simply scoffed at him before taking your leave.

But who were you to deny such a special treat?

A/N : Love me a little overworked man. But anyway, it’s finally my half term so i’ll hopefully be posting small drabbles that appear my head. Series work is becoming boring so oneshots and drabbles will probs be my thing. I might finish off the Gepard series but we’ll see. Also i’m thinking of doing a revamp to this blog buttt idk. Anyways, hope you enjoyed, feel free to leave requests!

[rafescvmdumpster]

daryl dixon - it’s you.

warnings: walkers, violence, daryl being an asshole, sixty-nine, daryl being an absolute munch, swearing, spitting, biting, smacking, fingering, choking, degrading, unprotected rough angry sex. prison era s4.

3.3k words

“oh i’m the brat? you’re the one thats complaining.” you stormed out of your cell, following daryl. rick had told you and daryl that y’all had to go on a run together.

you and daryl never got along. there is always this tension between you two that you can’t pinpoint. when rick had told you, you were just as mad as daryl but you didn’t complain. daryl on the other hand had complained to rick about how annoying you were and that you were a complete brat.

“ya always fussin’ bout somethin’. don’t ya know when to shut ya trap.” he takes a drag from whatever he had in his mouth before looking up at you. just like in the gif. he was good looking beyond belief. would you ever say it out loud? hell no.

i looked back at him to notice he never took his eyes off of me. you broke the eye contact. mumbling a “fuck you” as i walked back into the prison to start getting ready for the run. you loaded your gun and slipped it into your waistband and put your knife in its little holder on your thigh.

you looked over your shoulder as carol came into your cell. “be safe out there, sweetie and try not to kill daryl.” you rolled your eyes and huffed out. “ill be safe but i can’t guarantee that last part, maybe ill feed him to the walkers.”

you hear a knock on the concrete wall and you looked up. “let’s go.” daryl huffed out and then turned on his heel and walked out. “ill see you later, carol” you threw your bag over your shoulder and headed out.

you stopped as soon as you got out. “no fucking way.” daryl was on his bike, not in a car, on his fucking bike. where i would have to physically touch him, breathe him in.

“come on, y/n cant ya just cooperate.” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “can’t you be fuckin’ normal and get in a car?” you grabbed the keys off of the door. he gave you a look that only meant that he wasn’t gonna budge.

“please just this once.”

he rolled his eyes and killed the engine to the bike. “fuckin’ bitch” he muttered under his breath. “i heard you asshole.” i walked to the grey suv. daryl following my tracks, just as i was about to open the door daryl pins me to the car.

“what’s your problem with me.” our faces inches away from each other. “let me go, daryl.” his face got closer. “answer my question first.” his eyes dropped to your lips before it came back up to your eyes.

a moment of silence passed before carl came running out. “y/n, you forgot..” daryl pushed off of the car. “sorry, if i interrupted.” daryl walked around and got in the passenger side. “no you didn’t interrupt. what’d you need?”

he handed you a gun. “you forgot it.” he ran back inside. you opened the door to the car and sighed. this was gonna be a long, long drive.

daryl had bitched the entire ride to the rundown store and now he was bitching for some unknown reason. “you bitch a whole lot for someone who said i was always fussing about something.”

“ ‘m not bitchin’ bout anything.” he grumbled. you looked over at him and sighed. “you asked what my problem is, whats yours? you always give me shit for every little thing.”

he pushed me against the side of the store we just left. putting his hands on both sides of my head so i was trapped. “ya wanna know what my problem is?” you throat moved as you very visibly gulped.

“it’s you.” he looked back at my lips, just like earlier but this time he looked linger. when his eyes came back up they were filled with something. lust. “you’re always bitching about something. always pushin’ my buttons. making me want ‘t bend you over a table and fuck ya’ dumb.”

you hated what he did to you. he turned you on when he shouldn’t at times he shouldn’t have. when he was killing walkers and his muscles flexed just the right way in the right lighting. when he was doing something to his bike and he was all greasy and sweaty. it shouldn’t turn you on but it does.

“do it.” you said in a whisper barely audible, but he heard you. his lips crashed onto yours. a rough, hot steamy kiss. all of y’alls built up anger and frustration put into a kiss.

his hands came up and picked you up by your thighs. one arm holding you up and the other groping your ass. you moaned into the kiss. his mouth leaving yours and traveling down your neck, leaving very prominent hickeys.

you didn’t want this moment to end. no matter how much you two fought, or screamed at each other, you knew how you felt about him. he was misunderstood, he felt like he didn’t belong anywhere. you knew that because thats how you felt too. you two “hated” each other because y’all were so alike.

daryl gently put you down. he took off your knife holder that was placed around your thigh, next was your shorts. you stopped his hand as they came around your waist.

“wait.” he opened his mouth to talk before you out your hand flew to his mouth shutting him up. “do you hear that?” faint snarls coming from around the store y’all we at.

he stood up taking your hand from his mouth and huffed out. “damn, walkers ruinin’ all ma fun” he picked up his bow and handed you your knife holder.

“we have to go” you tapped him, signaling walkers in the distance. we walked to the car. daryl got in the drivers seat this time. i got into the passenger seat and closed the door. only to be pulled over the console and into daryls lap.

“what’re you doing?”

he kissed me and locked the doors to make sure no walkers tried getting in. his hands were everywhere. everything he touched it felt like my skin was on fire. i loved his touch. no matter how much he said he hated me, i knew deep down it wasn’t true.

he let the seat back. his hands resting on your ass. “your pretty for a brat y’know tha” he pushed you towards him so know y’all were chest to chest. kissing you hard once again. he pushed your hips down into his. your mouth falling open as a moan slips out.

taking this opportunity to stick his tongue in your mouth, making your mouth his. “so sexy.” he grumbled out. his hands moving upwards taking off my tank top pushing over my head and throwing it into the passenger seat.

“ya have a nice pair of tits” i laughed and rolled my eyes. i placed my hands at the base of his vest and shirt and slipped it off of him, throwing it over in the passenger seat with my shirt.

i grinned down at him before grinding down on him, earning a groan from him. his body was god like i ran my hands up and down his chest.

“i wanna try something.” i broke the silence. he looked at me with a look that said ‘what’re you up to’. i lifted my hips and took of my shorts leaving a shocked expression on daryl’s face when he saw that i wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“what? its the end of the world. i don’t have lots of underwear.” he shook his head not protesting. my hands going to the button of his jeans unbuttoning them. pulling them and his boxers down to pool around his feet.

sitting back on his thigh trying to figure out how i’m gonna do this. “stay laying down” i pushed at his chest trying to turn myself around. sighing in defeat. “a-little help?”

daryl laughed and helped turn me around. minutes later we finally did it. i got up on my hands and knees trying to scoot back but instead hit my head on the wheel honking the horn. “fuck.”

daryl taking my hips and guiding them to his face. “ya have a nice pussy too.” before bringing it down on his mouth. he teased my hole with his tongue before moving up and sucking my clit. all the sudden pressure on my clit made me forget what i was supposed to be doing, making me a mess.

“ya gon’ do somethin’ or ya jus’ gonna look at it” he stopped his motion and slapped my ass. i took his shaft in my hand and started to pump it. his mouth went back to my heat.

i took his tip into my mouth, sucking it before i took the rest of him in my mouth. he was making it really hard to focus on sucking him off when he was making me feel the best i’ve felt in years.

i moaned around his length causing him to buck his hips, making me gag. "mm, i've got ya" his voice getting deeper, rumbling deep into his chest as he allows two thick fingers to slide into your slick hole.

"oh.." you moan as you toss your head back, legs twitching as they threaten to close around his head. daryl only grunts before his fingers are moving, hooking them everytime they slide out to target your spot, thumb brushing against your throbbing clit. his pace is slow and tedious, dragging out the sensation until you forget your name.

your orgasm moving in closer than you thought, his teasing actions having more of an effect on your body than the rushed ones you've endured, this felt stronger and harder to hold back.

i took his cock farther down my throat, eager to get him to get his release. occasionally sucking his length, your hands doing most of the work but his tongue was driving you to a fast release and it felt amazing. your head flew up, your moans and panting traveled in the little car space.

your hips bucked and daryl’s hand smacked your ass cheek hard before he pulled you down to him as if he was trying to suffocate on your slick while you came.

“think ya can finish me off, brat?” he said smacking your already sore and red ass. you nod your head and go back to sucking him off. bobbing your head up and down, spit dribbling dow your chin and making a mess of daryl’s cock.

his hands kneading your soft, sore red flesh. his groans getting louder and he starts to buck up into your throat. grunts, groans, and gagging all to be heard throughout the car.

you could tell he was getting close by the way he was thrusting into your mouth and his groans. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum.” he starts to use your throat making you gag and moan around him.

he threw his head back and his motions stilled as he shot his load of hot sticky cum in my mouth. he pulls out and i swallow it.

the car ride was silent, nothing could be heard except our breathing and the wind as we drove down the roads. daryl slowed the car as we pulled up to the prison and we were met by carl and carol.

when the car came to a complete stop you were first to hop out. walking to your cell, not sparing daryl another glance. you pulled out the milk crate that had your clothes in it. pulling out some underwear, a brush and clothes before going to the showers.

you caught rick on the way out of your cell. “hey rick, do you have any towels and rags left? i’m out.” he nodded and led the way to where his things were. when you got there he handed you a clean rag and towel.

“thanks” you were about to leave before rick spoke up. “what took you and daryl so long on that run?” your face got got heated and you tried to speak but no words came out.

he laughed and shook his head. “have anything to do with these?” he moved your hair and touched the dark purple mark on your neck.

you pushed past rick saying you had to shower. you entered the showering room and heard a shower on already but that didn’t bother you it was normal, until you heard him.

“ya following me or somethin’?” you turn around and are met with daryl. “no, i just came to shower.” your eyes raked over his body, taking it all in. his wet hair clung to his face and a towel that hung dangerously low on his waist.

when your eyes traveled back up they met his. “i’m just gonna, y’know” you pointed towards the shower and turned around to get in. he was still standing there, watching you.

“do you mind?” you set your stuff down and turned the shower on. he still stood there saying nothing and staring at you. you turned around and took off your clothes stepping into the water.

you didn’t even care that he was there, he seen you earlier it’s no different now. you ran your hands through your hair, feeling the water hit your face. you turned around to see if daryl was still there only to find out he left.

you washed the walker blood, sweat and the activities from earlier off of you. after a few minutes, i turned off the water and wrapped myself in a towel and wringing out my hair.

i threw on a shirt and knew it wasn’t mine with how big it was. i slipped on a pair of panties and some shorts before walking back to my cell. you closed the cell door and got laid in your bed, hoping you could get some sleep.

you closed your eyes and tried to sleep, but all you could think about was daryl, about earlier. the loud sound of metal screeching made you shoot up. “m’sorry for wakin’ you.” he came in and shut the cell door. “i wasn’t sleeping. i couldn’t.” he sat on your makeshift — the two thin mattresses from the prison beds on the floor — bed.

he looked at you, the same look from earlier. lust. he pulled you over onto his lap. “y’know i fuckin’ hate you” he said before he closed the space between us, kissing me hard.

i needed him everywhere. i was grinding down on his lap. his lips connected with my neck, leaving love bites all over.

i quietly moaned out. his hands traveled down to my shorts, slipping one hand under the waistband. he brought his lips back to mine giving me another rough kiss.

his hand pushing past my thong. teasing my clit as he worked his way to my slippery hole. he slipped his thick fingers into my heat, almost immediately starting to fuck yourself on his fingers

his finger’s matching your pace. he pulled back from our kiss and smirked. “you’re so eager.” he took his hands out of your shorts and laid you down on your bed.

“lift your hips” he tugged at your shorts. you did as he said and lifted your hips for him. “such an obedient whore for someone who hates me so much.” he tossed your shorts somewhere beside you.

“fuck you” you gasped out. he came back up kissing you, biting your lip. moving his way down your body. he lifted your shirt over your head, throwing it wherever he threw your shorts.

he took a nipple into his mouth, his hand going down to rub my clit through my underwear. “fuck” i moaned. i bit my lip to suppress all the noise i was making, seeing as though there were people trying to sleep in the rooms next to mine.

a harsh slap got delivered to my face. “i want to hear your moans.” i shook my head, disobeying what he said. he stopped everything he was doing. another harsh slap. i still didn’t budge.

“now you don’t want to fuckin’ listen.” he wrapped his hand around your neck squeezing, not to much so he didn’t hurt you. no matter how much he claimed to hate you, he never wanted to hurt you.

gasping for air you open your mouth. “i don’t want them to hear.” his hand unwrapped from your throat. “i don’t give a shit.” he went back down and yanked your lacy thongs down and took no time putting his head between your thighs.

licking and sucking on your clit as your hands tangled in his messy hair. your back arching off of the mattress. “oh fuck daryl.”

his fingers collected the slick from your heat as he pushed his thick digits into you. all the pleasure you were getting was overwhelming because this is the first time in years since you’ve done this.

“i- fuck. daryl im gonna..” he pulled his fingers out and stopped sucking. you whimpered from the loss of contact. “daryl” you whimpered. he unbuttoned his pants and pulled them and his boxers down, kicking them off.

he was big. i looked up at him and he smirked. “you like what you see?” he grabbed me by my hips and pulled me closer to him. “shut up and fuck me.”

he lined himself up with my entrance and pushed in. we both hissed as he sunk into me. “you’re so damn tight” he huffed out. he started to pound mercilessly into me.

“oh, fuck.” i squealed out. daryl came down and bit my shoulder to keep his groans contained. i tried to keep my moans contained but it was all too much and i couldn’t keep them in.

“daryl” i moaned probably loud enough for the entire cell block to hear me. he was biting down so hard i think he drew blood. i tear slipped down my cheek. “what’re you cryin’ for” he continued to mercilessly pound into you.

“i- oh god.” he was hitting the perfect spot. “right there, fuck.” he put your leg on his shoulder, your mouth hanging open. no words came out, only pure sounds of pleasure.

“i’m gonna cum.” daryl’s hand came up to your mouth. “open.” he demanded and you did. he spit into your mouth. his finger tracing your jaw. “swallow it.”

you did as he said. his trusts were getting sloppy and you could tell he was close as-well by the way he was groaning and breathing.

“you gon’ cum with me? hmm? you gonna cum on my cock?” he pounded harder. i was practically screaming at this point. “yes, please make me cum. please daryl.” this is the first and the last time he will ever hear you beg.

the familiar knot in my stomach building up. daryl hitting the same spot over and over again until the tension in my stomach finally released. daryl following right behind me as he let his seed spill into me and rolled off of me.

we laid there for a couple minutes in silence, just listening to each others breaths. “you still hate me?” i turned my head to look at him. he was smiling like an idiot. “shut up, daryl.”

after a moment of silence, i huffed out. “i never hated you.” i smiled and climbed on top of him. he smiled back. “s’that so” i nodded my head with a mhm before closing the gap between us.

this kiss wasn’t angry, it wasn’t rough, it was sweet and gentle. “daryl dixon, i’ve done nothing but love you since i laid eyes on you.”

his hands resting on your hips tracing circles. “ya love me?” he looked into your eyes. you nod and smile a bit. “i wanna hear you say it again.” he smiled.

“i love you, daryl dixon.” he kissed me after i finished my sentence. “i love ya, too, y/n.” he pulled me closer to him. kissing me all over my face.

“wanna go for round two?” i laughed and dropped my head to his chest. “anything for you, mr. dixon.”

in the morning, you woke up with his arms around you and his face buried in your neck. you look to your side and grab your shirt and shorts and sit up. being careful to not wake daryl up. you slip on the shirt and you wiggle the shorts on getting up.

you walk out of the cell and make your way to the cafeteria, where you were met with the rest of the group. “morning” rick says. “good morning” the group was all looking at you while you made your food. “i’m surprised she can still stand.” carl said making the group laugh and rick to hit the back of his head.

you sat down at the table. “how’d you sleep” carol asked. “if she did get any sleep.” glenn said. your eyes shot up from your food. “what did you say?” she looked at glenn who’s hands shot up and he acted as if he hadn’t said anything.

daryl walked into the room causing everyone to look his way. “wha, i got somethin’ on my face or sum?” he made his way over to where i was sitting and sat next to me.

maggie walked in and came behind glenn. “you two think you could keep it down at night? some people actually try to get sleep.”

my face became red and daryl laughed. “m’bad i tried to shut ‘er up but she don’ listen.” i put my hands on my face and shake my head.

“so i’m taking this as you two are alrigh’ now, no more fightin?” rick said. me and daryl both nodded our heads. “yea, no more fightin’ for now.” daryl looked over at me and pulled me closer to him by my waist and he kissed my forehead.

this is..idk. lmk your opinion. im gonna try to figure out a schedule to post on but yeah. you should def. checkout my stories on wattpad (darylscvmdumpster) im not as active on there tho!

[ckret2]

The latest installment of "literally nobody is happy about Bill being the Mystery Shack's prisoner," chapter 8:

Bill attempts to manipulate the humans with the only weapon he still has at his disposal: using his own body and their own species's hygiene taboos to gross them out.

Also featuring: dramatic arguments with Ford, a surprise bath, and me trying my level best to convince you all that hair is the most disgusting substance in the universe, let me know how I do at that.

Masterpost here! August 31 2024: edited for TBOB compatibility!

A few days into summer vacation, just before dawn, Dipper and Mabel were woken by a series of thunderous crashes and pained screams, followed by Bill's piercing, maniacal laughter. They were armed and out the bedroom door in seconds.

Mabel said, "Who did he kill?!"

"I think he blew up a wall to escape—"

They skidded to a stop at the top of the attic stairs. Bill had tumbled halfway down, crashed into the wall where the stairs made a ninety degree turn, and was now sprawled upside-down on the landing, giggling.

Dipper lowered his weapon. "What."

"I ff—" Bill was interrupted by a wheeze of laughter. "I forgot how stairs work."

He spotted the kids—Dipper holding a metal claw hammer, Mabel holding a kitchen knife longer than her forearm—and abruptly stopped laughing. "Wow, you kids came ready to commit murder! Just waiting for the first excuse, huh?"

"Shut up." Dipper looked at Mabel. "Wanna go back to bed?"

"I think my blood is all adrenaline now."

Dipper sighed. "Yeah. Let's get breakfast, I guess."

They trudged down the stairs, shoulders pressed to the wall to stay as far from Bill as possible. As they passed Bill, Dipper muttered, "You could at least get out of the way."

Bill—who'd been about to gingerly sit up—lay back down and spread out across the landing. "Think I'd rather mildly inconvenience you!"

Mabel threw in, "And take a shower! You smell like an outhouse."

"That's my human-repellant forcefield."

The twins headed to the kitchen for a snack they could take out of the shack, but were blocked at the doorway by Stan. "Hold on. Don't go in there. You smell that?"

Dipper and Mabel sniffed the air and grimaced. Mabel stuck out her tongue. Dipper said, "Ugh. We thought that was Bill, but it's worse down here."

"One of two things happened," Stan said. "Either a squirrel and a raccoon fought to death under the fridge and started rotting; or the space demon cast some kind of stink curse. Personally, I'm hoping for dead wildlife. But until I find out, you two stay out of the kitchen."

There were several more crashes as Bill tumbled down the second half of the stairs, a groan, and a muttered, "What am I getting wrong?"

Stan rounded on Bill. "Hey! Demon. Don't suppose you happen to know why the kitchen smells..." He gestured vaguely, "like that."

Seated on the floor, Bill had been absorbed in prodding his limp left arm; but at the question, he looked up with a worryingly bright smile. "It just so happens I do!"

"Explain."

He twisted his left arm with his right, jammed it back into its proper position with a pop, and straightened himself up. "Funny thing—you know how I can't open doors? Because of the curse your brother put on me? Of course you do. Well—it's the darnedest little quirk of human architecture—I don't know if you noticed, but it just so happens that all of the toilets in this house are behind doors!"

Stan's face blanched. "Oh no."

"At any given time, this body I'm in is freely secreting about half a dozen different bodily fluids—snot, spit, sweat, I could go on—and you humans are perfectly comfortable with that. But you think one bodily fluid is special and can only go in the special white bowl. Me, on the other hand—usually, I'm an energy being that doesn't leak all day! So your fluids are all equal to me! I don't care about your special white bowls!"

Hotly, Stan said, "You're in my house—"

Suddenly twice as angry and twice as loud as Stan, Bill said, "So if you think I'm going to lower myself to asking three times a day for permission to use a STUPID TOILET for YOUR COMFORT—"

And that was when they started screaming.

Dipper looked at Mabel. "Let's eat out."

Mabel nodded. "You know that burger place where Wendy gets breakfast—?"

"If we hurry, we can probably meet her there."

By the time they'd changed and come back downstairs, Ford had joined in the argument, Abuelita had set up a folding chair to watch it like a wrestling match, and the volume had doubled. (Bill: "BE GRATEFUL I USED THE SINK INSTEAD OF YOUR CEREAL BOXES! NEXT TIME I WON'T BE SO MERCIFUL!" Stan: "I'M GONNA INSTALL A DOOR KNOB ON THE KITCHEN FAUCET AND THEN YOU'LL NEED MY PERMISSION TO DRINK, YOU LITTLE—") Dipper and Mabel squeezed around the crowd, slid out the door, and biked into town.

They decided they'd just stay out the rest of the day.

They'd been doing that a lot lately.

####

When they made it home that evening, the first person they ran into was Soos, relocating a detached door. "Oh, hey dudes! Okay so, update on the Bill situation." Soos leaned the door against the wall. "We removed the door on the downstairs half bath and nailed up a curtain instead, so, now it's curse-accessible, but Bill can't lock himself in and do—" he wiggled his fingers, "secret Bill things. So. If you wanna use a bathroom with a real door, you've gotta go upstairs now."

Mabel considered that. "The bathroom with the tub still has a real door, right?"

"Yeah dudes, it's fine!"

Dipper said, "So... do we have a way to get him to shower...?"

Mabel said, "Yeah, whatever Bill's been doing in the kitchen sink—"

(Soos said, "And the trash can, it turns out.")

"—it definitely hasn't included sponge baths."

"And I'm not really comforted by his 'human-repellant forcefield' comment," Dipper added.

Mabel nodded. "I'd kinda like Bill to clean up before he gets as bad as Dipper last July."

"Hey."

Soos pointed toward the attic. "Ford's working on that right now." He whispered, "He's got a theory that Bill's just just too proud to ask for permission to use the facilities? So maybe if we ask him to take a shower, he'll go, 'oh, okay, I'm doing you guys a favor,' and then he'll agree to be let in and out of the bathroom."

Dipper grimaced. "I don't like the idea of begging him to shower. I know he'll be smug about it."

"Uh... I'm fine with it." Soos shrugged. "Better smug than smelly."

####

"All right, Cipher."

Every time Ford came upstairs, Bill was curled up in the window seat, one side pressed against the glass. If it weren't for the crumpled jerky and granola bags and the empty energy drinks scattered beneath Bill's window seat—or the occasional downstairs argument—Ford would have suspected Bill hadn't budged in days. It made him nervous. There was an ice pack on Bill's left shoulder that had sat there so long it was completely melted.

"You got the bathroom you wanted. Now, would you take a shower?" Ford mustered up all his willpower as he prepared to mortify himself, and added, "Please."

It was important to note that Ford had spent his youth as the golden child; Stan had been disowned before his desire to please his parents had a chance to wilt and die; and Ford had barely seen Shermie's teen years. He'd spent his own adolescence isolated from his peers, and hadn't gotten to know any youths except Dipper and Mabel since then.

All of which was to say, the look Bill Cipher gave Ford, shocking in its ferocity, was utterly alien to him; but would have been familiar to millions of humans around the world. It was the same look received by authoritarian parents whose tyranny had squeezed a little too tight, and whose offspring had realized they were grounded so severely they no longer had anything left to lose.

It was the wrath of the defiant teenager.

And then the most pleasant smile snapped on Bill's face, quick as flicking a light switch. "What's in it for me?"

Ford blinked in disbelief. What needed to be in it for Bill? It was a shower. "Being... clean?"

"Eh."

"You can't enjoy being dirty."

"Not a bit! I feel filthy and it's horrible," Bill said cheerily. "Every inch of me feels tainted and corrupted. The touch of my own flesh is nauseating. But, ya know what? I felt exactly the same when this body was 'clean'." He put exaggerated air quotes around the word. "So why would I waste my time scrubbing the top layer of filth off the second layer of filth."

Ford's shoulders sagged. "At least use deodorant?" he pled. "Change clothes? Brush your hair? Something?"

"No, no, absolutely not, aaand no. What's the matter, Stanford? I've been staying out of your way! You don't even see me up here. The stench can't be getting to you that much—after all, you've gone waaay longer than this without showering, stinky!"

(The back of Ford's neck heated up as he realized at times he had, in fact, gone without showering for far longer than Bill had even existed in this body. Science is more important! Bill had no excuse.)

"You smell like burnt hair, by the way," Bill added.

Ford grumbled, "It's faster than shaving."

"And it has got to overpower the smell of a little stale sweat. So what do you care how this body smells?" Bill's grin widened. "Awww, is the guilt starting to set in? Must be hard to pretend you're a hospitable host rather than a kidnapper when your 'guest' is living in squalor—"

"Enough," Ford snapped. "So this is what, your way of protesting your own captivity? This isn't something we're doing to you, you're doing it to yourself! You have to realize how stupid this is!"

"Buuut it's wooork-iiing," Bill said, a singsong lilt to his voice. "It's getting on your neee-eeerves."

"You're going to cause yourself problems in the long run! Diseases, infections—don't tell me I have to explain germ theory to you, you're smarter than that."

"Course I am! When the plague was running rampant, I was the one mocking your species's failure to pick up bathing." Bill scoffed. "I'm flattered you're so concerned about my health, but you can relax. I've been washing my hands and brushing my teeth like a good little potential disease vector. But you humans are so safe inside your modern fortresses with minimal carnivorous bugs and flesh-eating fungi—most of your modern hygiene expectations are cosmetic, because your culture's trained itself to be disgusted by humans' own natural scent. I'm more willing to put up with itchy dandruff than you are to put up with the smell."

"Are you listening to yourself? This is—" Ford paused. "You've been brushing your teeth? Where did you get a toothbrush?"

"I've been using the dish brush and liquid dish soap in the kitchen." Bill laughed. "Wow, look at you—lecturing your prisoner on poor hygiene when you didn't give him any way to clean up! That's not a good look, pal."

Ford made a mental note to find a spare toothbrush for Bill. He flung his hands out in exasperation. "But—why put up with itchy dandruff at all? Why refuse to shower, of all things? And don't say to be annoying—you're cutting off your nose to spite your face!"

"Because cutting off my nose is the only bargaining chip I've got, and you know it."

Seeing expressions on Bill's face—smiles and scowls and smirks and sneers, mouth and tongue and cheeks and eyebrows—still felt wrong. No matter what expression Bill put on, it always felt to Ford like he was using his face to tell some sort of lie. But his eyes—Ford was familiar with Bill's eye, and doubling it didn't banish that familiarity. He knew this heavy, hard, distant look. It was the same look he'd seen just before Bill had shown him, through his own eye, the sight of his home dimension burning. The same look he'd seen when Bill told Ford that the monster that had destroyed his dimension would eat him alive. Of all the looks he'd seen in Bill's eye—curved crescent with sadistic glee, literally red hot with fury—something about this heavy look chilled Ford the most. It was, somehow, the cruelest he'd ever seen Bill: not because the look was malicious (it wasn't); but because it was so detached.

Bill got to his feet, wincing as he uncurled his hunched back. He stretched, spine cracking, as he sauntered lazily toward Ford. "Can I speak frankly with you, Sixer? I can't do a lot of tricks in this body. Heck, I'd try to tell you I don't have any tricks right now—but you'd accuse me of lying, blah blah blah; so let's at least agree I can't escape or kill you all, or I would have! As far as I'm concerned, this body—" he gestured grandly at himself, "—is a dirty sticker stuck on the bottom of my shoe. It's worth less than nothing to me. But it's all I've got at my disposal. So I'm going to be disgusting, until you start doing me favors."

"Favors," Ford said. "And if we don't?"

Bill shrugged, hands raised. "Then I guess I'll keep being gross! But I cannot overemphasize just how little I care about your culture's hygiene preferences, or how far I'm willing to go to irritate you. This morning's hazmat crisis in the kitchen was just a warning shot. You will cave first."

As unnerving as that heavy look in Bill's eyes was, simply seeing it wasn't what rattled Ford. It was knowing that Bill could wear that cruel, detached look when the victim he was committing quiet, passive violence on was himself.

Bill stared Ford down for a moment; then apparently took Ford's silence for victory. "I want a drink strong enough to rot a bootlegger's guts, a hot meal that hasn't been cooked by Grandma Guilia Tofana down there, or—" Bill pointed toward the attic window that his curse prevented him from opening, "a breeze and some fresh air. I'm flexible. Let me know when you're ready to negotiate." He returned to his seat in the window. "I won't be far."

Giving Bill "a breeze" would obviously give him an escape route. Bill was no doubt angling to accumulate tiny, "harmless" favors until he tricked the humans into doing something that would let him escape; but... Ford eyed the empty junk food bags on the floor. He tried to remember whether he'd seen Bill eat anything except for unrefrigerated factory-sealed snacks he could forage from the open kitchen shelves—or if the last fresh food Bill had tasted had been Abuelita's cyanide cooking.

Bill wanted Ford to pity him. That was what this whole charade was about. Ford hated that it was working. Not because of Bill's performative filthiness—but because Ford knew, too well, what it was like to be trapped, powerless, and hungry in an alien dimension; and because even when Bill was all but confessing he was trying to exploit Ford's pity, he was still trying so hard to pretend he wasn't afraid. 

"I'll let you know what Stanley says."

Bill didn't turn away quite fast enough to hide his smile of triumph. "I'll be waiting." He settled back down into the same position he'd held for half a day and stared out at the night sky.

####

After several days in this body, Bill could definitively conclude that sleep was the worst part of being human.

In other circumstances, repeatedly blacking out and coming to, only to realize he couldn't remember anything for the past several hours, might just mean he'd been to a great party. He was no stranger to dissociating for a few billion years—you couldn't outlive the births and deaths of whole realities without getting really good at meditating to pass the empty time—but the difference was at least he could see what was happening around him! And sometimes he did cool things while he was dissociating! At any rate, he didn't need to worry about anything bad happening to him, because he was awake, able to defend himself, and—oh yeah—immortal.

But sleep was different. Sleep left him helpless. Sleep made him dream.

Usually he didn't remember dreaming, even though he knew he must have dreamt for at least a couple hours. He hated not knowing what had been happening around his physical body for all that time, and he hated not knowing what he'd been doing in his dreams. Anything could have happened to him during those missing hours in the mindscape.

The few dreams he remembered were little comfort. Nightmares about dying, about screams and screams and screams, about faces and places he was frankly galled to find still haunted him... things he'd spent his entire imprisonment in the Theraprism fighting to keep safely buried in his subconscious, only for this infuriating human brain to let them crawl from their graves like zombies.

But the subject matter wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that, while he was dreaming, he didn't know he was dreaming.

He didn't understand how that was possible. He couldn't remember how the dreams started, what trick they must have pulled to persuade him that this was reality even though he couldn't remember what had happened five minutes earlier, or how they hypnotized him into unquestioningly playing along with their bizarre impossible Wonderland plot lines. Waking up was more terrifying than his nightmares, as he reoriented himself to reality and had to grapple with how helplessly delusional he'd just been—and the knowledge that it would happen again, and again, and again.

Bill knew how human minds worked. He knew how humans dreamed. He'd been swimming through their dreams for millennia. This was normal for humans, and the knowledge that it was normal was the only thing keeping him from going mad with terror.

But the fact that it was normal for humans didn't make any of this okay. Because he was not human, and he should not be vulnerable to the same subconscious blindspots he'd been exploiting for thousands of years. He was the Magister Mentium, the master of minds! He hated losing control of which realities he chose to believe were real. He hated blacking out for hours at a time. He hated being so foggy-minded and vulnerable in the mindscape.

Most of his diet of the past few days consisted of energy drinks. His throat constantly blazed with heartburn. He needed a better solution—and maybe he could think of one once he got a decent meal, or a drink that could help him sleep without dreaming.

He was hungry, he was tired, and he was weak.

####

But in spite of the caffeine, at some point Bill must have fallen asleep—because he woke up. 

For once, he didn't wake from the searing heat of psychic fires.

He woke from the deadly chill of ice cold bath water.

"HELP!" Bill flailed, bashed both elbows and a heel against porcelain, and went under. He came up spluttering. "Mayday! Charybdis! Carpathia!"

The bathroom door slammed shut. From the other side, Stan shouted, "We considered your terms, and uh—we decided we're rejecting your demands, you get nothing, aaand you've gotta bathe."

Bill heaved himself out of the tub, flopped on the floor, and lay there wetly. Like a fish out of water, if the fish had given up the will to live. "Texq exmmbkba?" What happened?

"We dropped you in the tub," Ford said. "And we're going to do that every time your stench becomes intolerable, unless you bathe voluntarily. Is that clear?"

("What the heck language is he speaking now?" "Not a language. Caesar cipher." "You're tellin' me Cipher was Caesar, too?")

Bill coughed out a mouthful of water. "I'll drown myself."

"No you won't."

"It'd be fun. I'll enjoy it."

Ford hesitated. "Knowing you, you probably would. But you could only do it once."

"I'll slaughter you both."

Stan laughed. "Sure, if you ever reach us!" He jiggled the doorknob tauntingly.

Bill dragged himself across the floor and pounded on the door. He hollered, "I'll make meat linguine out of your skins with an orange peeler! I'll cook it in bone broth made by boiling your teeth!"

There was an awkward pause. Stan said, "I don't have teeth."

"The two of you are a loser who was only ever likable when you were pretending to be your brother and a puffed-up self-pitying nerd who never learned that no one's impressed by a child prodigy after age twenty-two! The biggest impact you'll ever have on each other is derailing each other's life dreams, and all your friends are worse off for knowing you! Your father died ashamed of you both and if he knew the truth about your lives he'd have been even more ashamed! Sherman has no positive memories of you, your obituaries will spell both your names wrong, and I'm going to feed your souls to an ouroboros that will repeatedly digest and defecate you for ten thousand years!"

After a couple more minutes of threats, insults, and beating his fists bloody on the door, Bill had to stop to catch his breath. Ford calmly said, "Have you got that out of your system?"

A pause. "Think I'm good now." Bill slumped to the floor again, his cheek pressed to the cool, damp floorboards. "Okay. Name your terms."

"You're not coming out of there until you've bathed," Ford said. "We'll let you out when you tell us you're clean. If you're not clean, we close the door again. If you want to sit there and sulk, then we'll leave, and once you're clean you'll just have to wait until somebody feels like checking on you. Is that clear."

Locked in and abandoned to wait and wait and wait for nothing at all... He shivered.  "Clear as crystal." He pushed himself to his hands and knees and tried not to look at the walls.

"Good. On the cabinet by the tub, you'll find a towel, washcloth, brush, comb, bar of soap, and shampoo. Are you familiar with how to use all of them."

"Sure! Of course I am!" Bill picked up the bar of soap, dipped it in the water, and experimentally rubbed it on his forearm. "For half a year, I bathed your body more often than you did."

Ford yelped, "You what?!" Stan spluttered as he tried not to laugh.

"Didn't you notice how much more the humans in town avoided you when you stopped letting me take your body overnight?" The soap wasn't soaping like it should. Why wasn't the soap soaping? In a flash of inspiration, he peeled the cardboard box off the soap bar. It had been a while since he'd needed to use bar soap; thirty years ago, Ford had kept the bathroom stocked with Dr. Scrubber's 28-In-1 Body Wash.

"I... thought that... I was sweating more from stress." Ford sounded like he was being forced to reevaluate his entire life. Waiting thirty years to dump that revelation on Ford had been a great idea. "Why were you bathing my body."

"Your odor was offending your pet bumpkin! I didn't want him to stage a mental health intervention!" That, plus Bill had needed to wash away the evidence that sometimes he took Ford's body on midnight joyrides to Portland when he'd finished his portion of the portal calculations.

"Okay, great," Stan cut in, "so you know how to shower. You freak." (Bill decided not to point out that calling him a freak had about as much impact as calling him a triangle.) "Clean clothes next to the shower supplies. Got it?"

He glanced at them. "Yeah, yeah."

"Good."

Ford said, "If you get this over with in a timely manner, without wrecking the bathroom or wasting the toiletries, we can talk about letting you choose a shampoo brand for next time."

Bill considered pointing out that that was a pretty stupid bribe to offer a creature who didn't have the slightest emotional attachment to organic toiletries; but then he remembered one of the cults he was affiliated with in New England made a shampoo line using its traumatized worshippers' tears, and he grudgingly decided he'd like to support them if he could. "You're enjoying this, aren't you."

"No." Ford was enjoying this. And after the mortifying reveal that Bill had scrubbed down Ford's naked body, he'd just angrily decided to enjoy it even harder.

"Gimme an hour. Been a while since I've done this start to finish, I'm outta practice."

"Fine. We'll be back in sixty minutes."

Bill could hear the creak of the floorboards as the Pines left, and the fading sound of Stan's voice as he quietly asked, "Do you think what he said about Shermie..."

Yeah, Bill hoped that haunted him. He reached for the towel, and then jerked back his hand, startled, at the sight of another person in the bathroom.

"Oh." Bill experimentally waved a hand at the human, confirming that the strange alien looking at him was a mirror. There used to be more mirrors in Ford's shack, but he hadn't seen any since he arrived—they were among the "potential weapons" the Pines had hidden away—but apparently they'd overlooked this bathroom. "Hey, there." He stared glumly at the face he was trapped inside.

He'd never seen it before.

He'd seen glimpses of his new body from his temporal peripheral vision—looking into the kitchen and seeing himself examining the junk food on the counters a couple of minutes in the future; looking at the stairs and seeing himself walk up them a few minutes ago. But he'd just taken in the perimeter of the uninteresting puppet and ignored the details. He'd never looked at the face.

Up until now, he'd kept imagining himself as a triangle. Some half-dead shape fraying golden curls around the edges, fused atop the rib cage of a humanoid puppet. Seeing the reality felt wrong, disorienting, like staring at an optical illusion but not being able to pick out how it worked.

He tore his eyes away from his own face. Forget it. He didn't have time to feel bad for himself. He had access to a mirror in the middle of the night and no one supervising, and that meant he could send an SOS to the mirror realm. He had friends in the mirror realm! Well—"friends." He had people whose arms he could twist into helping out, leave it at that.

He flipped the lights off, stared in the mirror—trying to focus only on his own eyeballs—and whispered, "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary." Maybe she wouldn't recognize him in a human body and take his call?

But nothing. "Come on, pleeease," he whined. "Bloodymary-bloodymary-bloodymary please! I'll owe you my life!" Nothing. Why were all of Bill's exes petty psychos who'd excommunicated him or gotten restraining orders against him for no good reason?

He sighed, flipped the lights back on, and morosely searched for any sign of himself in the reflected face staring back at him. It was like trying to find something reminiscent of Chopin's piano Nocturnes in the shape of a lawnmower: a task so impossible it was unintelligible. 

The only thing at all familiar was the color of the hair; not quite as bright as the dazzling electric gold of his true form, but still achingly similar.

Gold splintered into long, needle-thin splinters—splinters with the flexibility of a contortionist, splinters that had been twisted out of shape, splinters that curled like the legs of a dead bug.

"Well, whaddaya know," Bill sighed. "It only took a few dozen eons—but you finally grew up to look like your mother. Ha. Ha ha." The joke left a bitter taste behind his eye. (Eyes.)

Hopefully, he asked, "Oihpromsyd, uoy taht si?" It would be a relief on multiple levels to find he felt so grotesque because he was being haunted by Mr. "Guy Who Lives In Your Mirror And Makes Your Reflection Look Grotesque" Dysmorphio. "Suoedih leef yllaeeer I—krow tseb ruoy fo emos eb attog sah siht!" He waited for his own reflected face to twist in pleasant surprise—either at a human that could speak Rorrim or at the rare compliment to Dysmorphio's work—revealing that the reflection was actually the demon in disguise; but nothing. There went another potential rescuer. Bill already knew the Eye Stealer didn't haunt any mirrors in this shack, no point trying to call him. He didn't stand a chance of reaching anyone else in the mirror realm unless they just happened to pass through this mirror—and unless they were friends, they'd be no more eager to help out thwarted dimensional tyrant Bill Cipher than any of the humans in town would be.

He'd had enough of staring at this face he was stuck in to last him a lifetime. He broke eye contact with himself, tossed the clean shirt over the mirror, discovered the bathroom had a second mirror, and took off the shirt he'd been wearing for most of a week to cover that one, too. He unpeeled the rest of his clothes, trying to avoid looking too close at the human body as he did—it seemed worse now than it had when he'd first gotten this body, with the image of that alien face seared into his memory, knowing he wasn't on this body but dissolved inside it.

Once he'd cleaned this body and perfumed it up to the humans' persnickety standards and gotten out of here, he could handle future hygiene issues by scrubbing off in the sink in his curtained bathroom downstairs. He'd only have to go through this indignity once.

So let's go, Billy, just get it over with—and use the time to think up new ways to irritate the humans into doing what you want.

####

He tried first bathing in the filled tub, until the cold water had him shivering so hard he couldn't properly coordinate his hands; then drained it and tried showering; and then filled it with warm water and attempted bathing again. After the fifth scrub-down he even gave up on soap and tried clawing off layers of skin with his fingernails. No matter what he did, he still felt filthy.

But he'd be dead from blood loss long before he scraped off enough skin to feel clean. He didn't have to actually get clean; he only had to be clean enough to satisfy his captors.

Most of him, he supposed, was clean enough for a human's tastes—any signs of peeling dead skin scrubbed off, no visible dirt, no noticeable scent but the smell of soap—but he doubted the hair would pass muster. It still had asphalt dust in it from almost a week ago, not to mention whatever his scalp had been shedding since then.

But, unfortunately, the hair was the worst part. He could scrub skin with no trouble; but when he was bathing, sunk down to his chin, trying to feel weightless again, the hair floated around him like a grotesque ghost, closing in. When he was showering, it dangled on his face, clinging to his skin, like it was trying to creep under his eyelid and down his throat and choke him. Just knowing it was there turned his stomach; touching it made his throat burn as energy drink bile tried to escape his stomach.

Maybe if Bill brushed the tangles out first. That would knock out some of the dirt without him having to touch it himself. He sat on the edge of the tub, letting the growing tingling pain in his legs as his circulation was cut off distract him from the feeling of hair sticking to his cheeks and shoulders.

He tried to brush it out with his eyes shut, and his knuckles accidentally dragged across the filaments, wet, clammy, clingy. He yanked the brush free and felt hundreds of hairs jerking against their follicles. He forced himself to try again with his eyes open, holding the brush by the very tip of the handle. The bristles sank into the lumpen tangled mass of dead curling skin, and, as he tugged it down, slowly peeled the soggy strands of flesh apart—

His stomach hurt with the force of his retch. He clapped a hand over his mouth, dropped to his knees, and barely managed to get his dinner on the floor instead of on himself.

Voice a shaky, plaintive whine, he said, "Stop doing that to me." He shut his eyes, pressing his sweaty forehead to the cool rim of the bath tub. (Should he have aimed for the tub? Maybe the toilet? Would the humans get on his case for getting sick?) He jabbed a finger into his abdomen around the area where he'd decided the anthropomorphized spirit of indigestion lived in humans' guts. "Chumbo. Buddy. You're not helping," he hissed. "If I'm already neauseous, purging a load of bile does not help. It makes—it—worse. Why are humans built like this."

The Pines were tyrants. If he begged to be let out with his hair still grimy, the best he could hope for was mockery. Any pleas for mercy would cost him dearly. He wasn't getting out of here until he'd dealt with the hair.

He stood shakily and pulled the makeshift curtain aside on one of the mirrors. His vision was bleary from soap; the soggy hair draped in a loose, disheveled triangle shape around his head, like a mangled corpse. He shuddered and let the fabric drop. 

A knock on the door. "It's been an hour, Cipher."

Ford. Bill rubbed his throat and hoped he didn't sound like he'd just been sick. "Gimme another hour."

"That's ridiculous. It takes less than ten minutes to shower, how could you possibly need two hours?"

"So I'm out of practice at scrubbing skin folds! Give me a break! How many hundreds of showers have you taken since the last time I did this? Do you know how hard it is to hold a bar of soap for more than half a second with a mere five fingers?"

There was a pause. "You can't hold soap."

"My hands are small, Stanford."

"Fine. One more hour, but that's all you get."

"Fine, I don't care! If I'm not done in an hour, kick down the door and call the hygiene police on me." Bill was pretty sure you couldn't even get a call through to the hygiene police from this dimension. "Go away. I'm focusing."

If the Theraprism's stupid reincarnation machine was supposed to—ahem-hem, snooty director voice—"divinely designthe body most well-suited to the soul about to inhabit it," then why had it given Bill hair. Sure, he liked human hair, but he liked hair the same way he liked humiliating misspelled tattoos: on other people's bodies, not his. Why hadn't the machine dumped him on Earth bald and balloon-smooth, let the patchy human fur patterns grow in over time? Why hadn't it at least given Bill less hair—why did it need to be so long—

But his hair didn't need to be long, did it? Bill didn't need to have hair at all. Hair was the easiest human body part to self-amputate, easier even than fingernails or ears. Inspired, Bill started searching the bathroom cabinet drawers—et voila. The Pines had no doubt removed any razors or scissors before leaving Bill in this bathroom, but he managed to find a bottle of hair removal cream. Probably courtesy of Question Mark's girlfriend. Cosmetic acid: one of humanity's many endearing little quirks. This would liquefy the roots of the hair, and Bill could get out of here.

He considered whether to melt the hair off the rest of the body. Honestly, he hardly noticed the faint fuzz on his arms and legs, it could stay. The thicker patches extruding from the soft crevasses of the human body triggered that same rotting corpse feeling the scalp hair did, but to a much lesser extent: they were smaller and he could actually see with his eyes that the hairs were growing from the skin rather than spilling out of some dark wet wound. Head first; then he'd annihilate the other three patches if he had enough cream left.

It was easier to touch the hair when he was powered by rage, sliding his cream-coated fingers through the clingy filaments in service of burning it all away. The tingle on his scalp was a welcome distraction from the feeling of the hair itself, and feeling the tingle gradually blossom into a full agonizing blaze was a relief. Chemical burn. That was a luxurious pain—it tightened his lungs and squeezed tears of bliss from his eyes, so good he almost forgot there was another goal to this pain. 

Maybe it would damage some of his follicles enough to prevent the hair from regrowing. Maybe he could wring some pity out of his captors—see this damage, isn't it hideous, look what you made me do—how long could he milk that? A few weeks?

He tolerated the burn as long as he thought he could get away with it without requiring hospitalization, then turned the shower on again. The ice cold water didn't wash the dead hair off fast enough. Some of it stuck to his skin; some was brittle, but not quite fully dissolved.

And that one, last, tiny inconvenience was more than he could stand. 

The hair stuck to his chest, his arms, his hands as he ripped it off. Dead flesh, peeling apart and rotting, dead flesh all over him. He ran his hands over his head, fingers trembling with disgust, and tore out clumps of hair to fling to the ground. His eardrums boomed with his heartbeat. If there had been anyone else in the room he would have murdered them with his bare hands just to purge some rage. Over and over, desperate, obsessed, get it off get it off—

Until his head was so smooth that the pain of the chemical burns masked what few fibers were left. Until the icy shower left his skin so cold it hurt. He stepped out of the shower, triumphantly tore the shirt down from the mirror to see the results—and froze in horror.

When a cloud of gold hair had dangled down from his scalp, he'd looked like a triangle rotting apart—the corpse of Bill Cipher.

Now, he looked at his face, and he didn't see Bill Cipher at all. He'd destroyed the last of himself.

At his feet was a murder scene, all mangled golden gore.

####

(if you enjoyed—and/or were horrified—let me know what y'all think!!)

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

wash it first

Pairing: Han Jisung x f.reader

genre: smut

word count: ~2.5k

synopsis: you ordered yourself a little something to help you when jisung was away on tour, but he saw it before you could hide it.

warnings: established relationship- toys- phone sex- masturbation- pet names- squirting

masterlist

You picked the box up off of your welcome mat and carried it inside. You had never ordered anything like this before, so you were nervous how it would come. But the box is just blank, unmarked in any way and that made you happy. The post man doesn’t need to know what you’re up to. You placed the box on the counter and very carefully cut the tape with a pair of scissors. You removed the bubble wrapped item from its cardboard prison and slowly unwrapped it, examining your purchase. It was pink, which you loved. Made of silicone, so it was bendy. It had a suction cup at the base of it, and a few veins that run up and down the length. It seemed like the perfect size, about the size of your boyfriends cock, which is what you wanted. Since it was specifically purchased to help keep you company while Jisung was away, you tried to get it as close as possible to the real thing. Of course, nothing can compare to him, but you wanted something. Anything to get you through the lonely nights without him.

You stuck it to the kitchen counter, making sure the suction cup was attached. You just stared at it, standing straight up amidst the dish soap and the coffee machine. You gave it a good slap, and then giggled at yourself when it sprung back to its original position, still firmly suctioned to the counter. You wanted to try it out. You decided to shower first and get ready for bed before you tested it. You left it on the counter and headed to the bathroom. Placing your phone next to the sink, you turned on the newest stray kids album to listen to while you showered. It helped you miss him less if his voice filled the room. Steam surrounds you as you scrub shampoo into your scalp, singing along. After a dangerously slippery dance break, you shut the water off and stepped out.

Wrapped in a towel, you started your skin care when your music suddenly cut off. The phone vibrated against the counter. You looked down to see your boyfriends picture filling the screen, the FaceTime call from him ringing. You gasped, excitedly picking the phone up and hitting the accept button. "Hi baby!" You squealed at him, so happy to be talking to him.

He laughed. "Hi, honey. You’re just as excited to see me as I am you."

You nodded. "Tell me everything. How are you? How are the boys? Are your shows going good? I bet you’re exhausted." You’re rambling as you walk through the house, shutting off the lights before heading to bed.

"The guys are good, shows have been amazing. I am pretty ti—." He paused as you turned off the kitchen light. "Baby, turn that light back on."

Oh shit. In all the excitement of seeing him on your screen, you forgot about your recent purchase, still standing at attention on the counter. Your cheeks turned a deep shade of red.

"I was just getting ready for bed, Ji. I want to lay down and talk to you." You said, trying to play it off.

"Y/n I said turn the light back on." He was stern. Embarrassed, and with your back to the wall so he couldn’t see what was on the counter, you flipped the light back on.

"There. It’s back on. Can I go to bed now?" You asked, not making eye contact with him.

"Show me the counter."

"Why? It’s the same counter that was here when you left. I’m really tired." You started walking out of the kitchen toward your bedroom.

"Don’t you dare. Baby, show me the counter or I’m hanging up the phone right now."

You sighed, defeated. You slowly turned around, cheeks bright red, your new dildo suctioned to the counter behind you. You covered your face with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. He was quiet. Too quiet. You were scared that you were in trouble. "Han I’m sorry, I just really miss you when you’re gone and I thought it might help me at night when I get lonely without you and you’re busy at a show- I’ll get rid of it. It was a stupid idea- please don’t be mad. I’m sor—"

"Baby, baby." He cut you off. "I’m not mad."

You looked at him from above your fingertips. "You’re not?"

"Not at all. Actually.. that’s so hot." He said, his cheeks flushing a light pink. "You don’t have to keep something like that from me. I don’t mind if you have a little alone time when I’m not there to help you."

"That’s exactly why I bought it." You tell him. "I tried to get it as close to the real thing as possible."

"Show me." He says. "Get closer so I can see if you did a good job." He laughs.

You flip the camera around and bring it close to the toy, showing him as best as you could.

"You did good, sweetheart. It looks pretty similar. Though I don’t think it will compare." He laughed again.

You flipped the camera back to your face. "Oh, I know it won’t. But I wanted to try. I need something. I miss you so much."

"Aw I miss you too baby." He smiled at you, his eyes sparkling with love, and… mischief? He had something happening in his mind right now, you knew it. "Have you tried it yet?" He asked. Ahh there it is.

"Uh, no. I just got it today and I took a shower before I was going to try it. But you called and I forgot about it."

"So you were getting ready to try it and I interrupted?" He asked.

You nodded. "But I’d rather talk to you, I’ll try it another time."

"Or.." he looked a little nervous now, his hand pulling at the back of his neck. "You could still try it now."

"But- I’m talking to you right now. This is more important. I don’t know when I’ll get to talk to you again." You tell him.

"Baby, you’re the sweetest. I really love you." You smiled at his words. "But what I mean is, you could try it now.. with me on the phone."

Those words made your cheeks heat, and wetness to pool between your legs. You weren’t sure what to say. Were you brave enough to do that? You’ve always been so shy, especially when it comes to sex. But Han always made you feel so comfortable, you knew it would be okay.

"If you don’t want to, that’s not a big deal." He said, sensing your apprehension.

"No, I want to." You say, nervously. And then you just stand there, unsure of what to do next.

"Are you sure, baby? You really don’t have to if you don’t want to."

"I promise I want to, hannie. Want you so bad." You say quietly, looking at the ground. He groans on his end of the line. He could feel his erection pressing against his pants.

"Okay, honey. Wash it first, and then take it into the bedroom, yeah?" His voice was soft. He always got like this during sex and you loved that about him. You knew that he sometimes wanted to be the one on the receiving end of the soft tone and gentle commands but you haven’t been able to provide that for him yet. You would though, you were determined to, and he was being very patient. You pulled the toy off of the counter and washed it briefly before bringing it to the bedroom, finally shutting off the kitchen light as you left. Once in the bedroom, you stilled, unsure of what to do next, waiting for his instruction.

"Now prop the phone up on the floor against the wall, facing the bed." You did as he said. "Good, now sit on the floor next to the bed and look at me, baby."

You knelt on the ground next to your bed, dildo in hand, and looked at him.

"You going to take that towel off and show me your pretty body?" He asked. You pulled at the towel and let it pool on the floor around you. "There you go, baby. You’re so beautiful. You can put the toy down for now and just show me how you play with yourself, yeah? Play with your nipples baby, show me."

You slowly ran your hands up your body until you reached your breasts. You palmed them, lightly squeezing. You brought one hand to your mouth, and sucked on a couple of your fingers.

"Fuck baby, you’re so hot." Han breathes through the phone. You smile and bring your wet fingers down to your nipple, circling it until it peaks. You tug on it gently and close your eyes at the sensation.

"I miss you so much, hannie. Wish you were here touching me." You whine.

"Me too, my love."

You bring your wet fingers to your other nipple giving it the same treatment. You tug on them both and let out a soft moan.

"Show me your little pussy, baby." He says. You sit down on your butt, and spread your legs for him. He groans at the sight of you. "I can see you glistening." He bites his lip. "Show me how wet you are, use your fingers and get yourself ready, just like I would." You bring your hand down to your core, and dip your middle finger slightly into your entrance. You pull it back out again and swirl your finger around in your juices, making a wet sound for him. "That’s it baby, you’re so perfect. Rub your little clitty for me too, yeah?"

You nod and bring your wet fingers to your swollen bud. You rub slow circles, your eyes closing, your head falling back as soft moans escape your lips.

"Baby use your other hand and grab that toy." He tells you. You do as he says, and when you look back at him, he’s got his cock out. He’s slowly fucking his fist, his tip red and swollen and leaking precum onto his fingers. "Use your mouth, get it nice and wet." You bring the toy to your lips and lick the tip. You slowly lick from the base to the head, feeling the veins bulge on your tongue. You slip it into your mouth now, lightly sucking. "Make sure to get it all baby." He says, pumping his cock a little faster. You push the dildo into your mouth as far as you could, choking when it hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, yes baby. Do you think it’s ready to go in your tight little pussy now?"

You pull it from your mouth and nod at him.

"Suction it to the hardwood floor and squat above it, okay?" He instructs. You stick it to the floor and make sure it is firmly attached before squatting above it and lining yourself up with the tip. "Lean back against the bed to support yourself, baby. Grab on to the edge." You spread your arms out across the edge of the bed and grip the sheets in your hands. "Now ease down on it, go slow."

You lower yourself onto the toy, slowly pushing it inside of you. You could feel it stretching you. "Hannie.." you moaned.

"I know, baby. You’re doing so good. Does it feel good?"

"So good." You moan, fitting as much of it inside as you could in this position. "Feel so full."

"Shit, you’re so sexy, angel. So perfect. Fuck your little pussy for me." He groans as he fucks his fist faster.

You slowly bounce up and down on the toy, the sound of your moans mixing with the wet sound of your arousal as it slides in and out. It did feel pretty similar to the real thing, but nothing would ever compare to having Jisung above you, his muscles flexing, panting as he pumped into you. The thought of it made you clench around the toy. "Hannie.." you whimpered. You opened your eyes and looked at him. He had his eyes locked on your pussy, groaning as he pumped up and down on his cock. You watched him, feeling that familiar feeling in your tummy.

"You like watching me too, baby?" He asked. "I love watching you. You’re so beautiful. So sexy. So- ugh- fucking perfect." He moaned.

You tightened more at the praise. "Hannie.. gonna cum." You tell him.

"Me too, angel." He moaned. "Cum for me. Please, baby. You going to squirt, like last time? Please? Close your eyes and picture me." You did as he said, conjuring the same image as before. Him above you, covered in a light sheen of sweat as he fucked into you. "I can practically feel you around me, baby. So tight and warm. I love your little cunt. Such a good good girl, letting me watch you like this. You going to cum for me angel? Please cum for me."

His words pushed you over the edge. You pushed down on the toy one last time before lifting up until it was completely out of you as your orgasm hit. Your cum came flooding out of you, a few drops shooting toward your phone, the rest pooling on the floor. You legs were trembling as you moaned his name over and over. Your vision was blurry, your arms giving out. You slumped to the floor, your butt in the mess you made, your back against the bed. You panted and mumbled incoherent ‘thank you’s as you recovered from your high.

"Shit, baby girl."

You opened your eyes to see that he had finished also. He had pulled his shirt up, and his cum now covered his muscled abdomen. He leaned out of frame for a moment and returned with a tissue in his hand, cleaning himself up. "Are you okay, baby?" He asked. "You came really hard. Made such a mess." He was grinning like an idiot as he looked at your fucked out frame slumped against the bed. "I was worried you were going to fall over and I wouldn’t be there to help you. Maybe next time, we try a less dangerous position." He chuckled.

"I’m good. So so good." You tell him. You move to stand, grabbing for the towel.

"Careful baby. Don’t slip." Han watches you as you use the towel to clean up your mess, your cheeks red.

"I’m still embarrassed that I do that sometimes." You confess.

"Embarrassed about what? That you squirt sometimes?" He asks. You nod, unable to look at him. You pick up the phone and head to the bathroom. "There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, honey. I think it’s so sexy."

"Really?" You ask.

"I promise. I wish I was there to have felt it around my cock and on my legs." You blushed even further. He laughed. "You’re so sweet. I wish I could hug you and make sure you know how amazing you are."

You used the restroom quickly and headed to bed. "I love you, hannie." You said quietly into the phone, sliding under the covers.

"I love you too." He replies, kissing the phone a few times in quick succession.

You giggled at him and said, "Now tell me how tour is going."

🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕

[srgntjamesbuckybarnes]

The List (4)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: Metaphorical addiction

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Not Beta’d. Thank you all so much for all of your sweet comments.

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 4

Blue skies turned gray; her nights filled with pain. The walls would never tell, Y/N was under a spell. She had spent too much time in the sun, fading the tan line on her left hand. Too much time drying her eyes. Too much time mourning the loss of someone who never really existed. Mrs. Barnes was dead, but with two little words-

Clear!

Clear!

Clear!

She was brought back to life.

The first time they married, Y/N didn’t read the warning label that came with James Buchannan Barnes. She swallowed too many pills way too fast. He was a stimulant, leaving her body feeling euphoric for short periods of time. Divorcing him was like getting her stomach pumped, but it was too late. The drug had already entered her bloodstream, her heart working overtime to pump the blood throughout her body. Like an addict, one small dose of Bucky had her scraping her hands and knees, crawling back for more. This time, she was older, wiser, and more importantly, she tasted the drug and knew the symptoms.

The crisp air nipped at Y/N’s skin. Her fingers tightened around her sweater wrapping herself like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Warm hues decorated the sky, the leaves of the trees their most colorful. The end of summer was near. Bucky’s men patrolled the perimeter as she strolled outside. Steve was away leaving Sam to accompany her.

Bumping his shoulder against hers, Sam laughed, “Keep turning that thing and your finger will fall off.”

Her eyes fell on the ring adorning her ring finger. The right hand halted, hovering over the left. After being married to Bucky and engaged to Loki, she forgot she was wearing a ring. It was an extension of her identity, trading one ring for another. Choosing the lesser of two evils, she had accepted Bucky’s proposal. A few days later a ring arrived in the mail. It wasn’t the most romantic proposal, but they had already been down that road the first time.

Y/N sent him a dull smile, “I’m still getting used to it.”

Sam paused, his hand wrapping around her bicep pulling her to a stop. Squinting down at her, he asked, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Glancing around, she sighed. Her head and shoulders drooped. “What am I doing here, Sam?” Subconsciously, she began twisting the ring again. “I’m engaged to a man trapped in prison for god knows how long.” She should be in prison beside him. He told her to go. He gave her a second chance. Bucky deserved one too, didn’t he? “I don’t want to marry Bucky just to end up divorced again. It was awful enough the first time. I can’t do it again.” She shook her head, her voice just above a whisper, “Not with him.”

The man hummed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Sam might not have known Bucky as long as Steve, but he had known Bucky with and without Y/N. He knew enough to know Bucky had never loved a woman more than he loved Y/N. It was the reason he kept her separated from his work in the first place. “Y/N, Bucky loves you. Probably more than he should.” Sam smirked. “But if you two go through with this and it ends in a disaster, it won’t end in a divorce again. You understand that right?”

Y/N glanced up at Sam, his eyes filled with sympathy. The only reason the marriage ended in a divorce was because Bucky kept her at arm's length. If he lets her in and the marriage runs its course, it will end in body bags this time. Biting her bottom lip, she nodded, “I know, Sam.”

Sensing there was more, Sam asked, “But?”

Squinting one eye, she sealed her lips. It wasn’t a secret that she loved Bucky too. Their love had never been an issue. “Loki already wants me dead. People die every day in this world, your world. I just wanted to be a part of Bucky’s. Most plants die without sunlight. I can’t grow with him if he keeps me in the dark.”

Sam pressed a hand between her shoulder blades, encouraging her to continue walking. “Well, little flower, I’d hate to see you get plucked from this world but if you are, let me know what flowers you want on your tombstone.”

“Catskills.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That was quick, have you thought about this before?”

Ignoring Sam, Y/N continued walking. “Well, assuming I’ll probably be dumped in a body of water, Catskills grow near water. They also require a lot of sun and well, the word cat is a play on the phrase “curiosity killed the cat.” She pointed at herself. “I’m the cat.”

Sam snorted, “You’re sick, Y/N, but catskills it is.”

Y/N clasped her hands behind her back, heading toward the house, her home. The sun was drowning in the trees. Another day wasted, another day Bucky was behind bars and Loki was loose. Tires screeched up the driveway catching everyone’s attention. Steve was back.

Y/N began to step toward Steve, following as he extended a leg from his small black car. “Y/N, hold up a minute,” Sam called, jogging to reach her. “It’s getting late, why don’t you head inside. Give Steve a minute to get settled in before you start asking him questions.” Y/N hesitated before nodding. Her feet carried her toward Bucky’s bedroom.

Steve never said where he was going but she was hoping he had visited Bucky. She didn’t like the idea of Bucky sitting alone in a cell. She felt guilty sleeping in his bed, their bed, alone. Opening his closet, she snatched a plain t-shirt from a hanger pressing it to her nose. It still smelled like him, well, his detergent anyway. Regardless, it was a scent Y/N was familiar with.

A knock on the door had her breathing in the scent one more time. It was only a matter of time before Steve came to check on her. Before she could pull the fabric from her nose, the door opened. Y/N jumped, throwing the t-shirt back in the closet.

“S-sorry, I didn’t see anything,” an anxious Peter held his hands up.

Y/N huffed, her back pressed against the closet doors. With her hand clutching her chest she asked, “Peter, what are you doing here? Does Bucky know you’re in his bedroom?”

Peter scratched the back of his neck, his eyes darting around the room, taking it in. To Peter’s surprise, his boss’s bedroom was normal. Having been off limits, Peter always assumed there was some big secret locked away but maybe the secret was that the mobster was just like everyone else. Clearing his throat Peter answered, “Steve sent me. I have some news.”

“Oh,” Y/N breathed. Crossing the room, she carefully sat on the edge of the bed. Good or bad news, she wasn’t sure she should stand. With a friendly smile, Y/N patted the silk sheets, an invitation for Peter to sit.

A panicked look crossed Peter’s face, a blush tinting his cheeks as he pulled at the collar beneath his suit jacket. Peter shook his head, opting to stand in the doorway. He had already overstepped his boundaries by being in Bucky’s room, he wouldn’t chance sitting on his bed with his fiancée too. “I’m fine here.”

Y/N shrugged, folding her hands in her lap.

“Mr. Stark pulled some strings. Bucky is getting out soon, for good behavior and um-” Peter peeked at an index card in his pocket. “Steve wants you to come to him the next time Loki calls.” He glanced back up at her to gauge her reaction. It was blank. “He wants you to answer so he can trace the call.”

“I-is that all?” she rasped, struggling to find her voice. Y/N was glad she decided to sit. She would have been jumping for joy at the news that Bucky was being released, but the reality of their situation would have knocked her off her feet. Loki was still lingering. Bucky’s release means he won’t be surrounded by law enforcement. He would be an open target.

Peter peeked down at his note card once more. A shadow cast over the card causing Peter to jump further into the room. Peter shoved himself between Y/N and the six-foot mobster looming in the doorway. His hand hovering over the gun on his hip.

Steve held up a hand dismissing the young man. “I’ll take it from here Parker.”

With one last survey of the room, Peter disappeared down the hall. Steve entered the room, closing the door behind him. Unlike Peter, Steve didn’t hesitate to claim the spot beside Y/N on the bed. He had spent many nights inside Bucky’s room consoling his friend after the divorce. The bedroom alone had become a second home to Steve.

The blonde ran his hands down his thighs, “Loki’s in hiding. Nobody has seen or heard from him. No one except you, that is.” He pointed at Y/N. “You’re our only lead on Loki. I’m sure he’ll drop his number once you answer his call. He has to know you’re here, but he doesn’t know about the engagement. The wedding should be enough to draw him out of hiding once he gets wind of it-”

“What?” Y/N interrupted, her eyes wide. “You are not using my wedding as bait. This is my marriage-”

Steve snarled, “One that you already ruined. If you would’ve kept your nose out of our business, none of this would be happening right now.”

Y/N flinched, nearly missing one of Steve’s hands waving. “Is that what you think, Steve? That I caused all of this?”

He could hear the heartbreak in her voice. Steve ran his hands through his hair. He meant it but he hadn’t meant to say it. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. He was frustrated. Everyone in the house was on the hit list and his best friend was behind bars. The last thing he needed was Y/N not cooperating to put an end to the hitlist. Resting his head in his hands, Steve replied, “You didn’t see him after you left. I was there. I saw how you broke his heart. He’s finally back on his feet and you come waltzing in and suddenly you're engaged again.”

Y/N frowned, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. Sure, Bucky and Y/N were affected by the divorce, but she didn’t think about how it would affect everyone around them. She had no one after the divorce. All of Bucky’s friends, all of his men, chose him. How could they not, they were his friends first, his men first. She swallowed a lump in her throat, “Was it too much to ask to be involved when Bucky came home covered in blood? He never came home like that Steve, ever. Bucky didn’t respect me as his wife. He treated me like a child, like a princess. He chewed me out that night. I thought he was going to kill me.”

Steve shook his head, “He was scared. He was trying to push you away, so you’d stop asking about the business. If someone else didn’t kill you, he might have had to. He never wanted to lose you.”

Y/N smiled sadly, “I know. That’s why there won't be any more secrets. No more double lives. I think he gets it now.”

The blonde nodded, placing his hand over hers on his shoulder. “Bucky will want to marry as soon as he’s out. The sooner the better. His court date isn’t set yet but they’re starting to gather testimonies. They can’t make you testify against Bucky if he is your husband.”

Y/N flinched again, yanking her hand away. Steve’s head snapped toward her. “Is that why he asked me to marry him? So, I won’t snitch on him?”

Steve huffed a laugh, “Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. Bucky loves you.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m in a trap?” Y/N whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Standing Steve began to pace around the room, spiking Y/N’s anxiety. Was Bucky really using her? Had he used her desires against her? Had all of those moments between them been a lie?

Steve stopped in front of her, a hand on his hip, the other carding through his beard. Exhaling through his nose he said, “Look, there is no life with Bucky if Loki gets to either of you first. Bucky left me in charge, this is the only way.”

Y/N turned her head hiding the tears spilling down her face. Her fingers bled trying to play a guitar that was out of tune. Bucky and Y/N would never work. He would never fully let her in. They were destined to dance on their toes around one another, never comfortable enough to put their heels down.

“I won’t marry him. Not like this,” Y/N croaked, slipping the ring from her finger.

Steve growled, falling to his knees in front of her. Snatching the ring, Steve jammed it back on her finger. Y/N yelped at his hostility.

“Quit being such a child, Y/N. If you want to be in on the plans and treated like an adult, then you need to act like an adult,” Steve snapped.

Bucky’s words echoed in her head, If you wanna be a big girl then you have to make big girl sacrifices. Surely, this wasn’t what he meant.

“This wasn��t Bucky’s idea, it was mine. He doesn’t know anything about it.”

“What,” Y/N hissed, glaring at the blonde.

Steve stood, running a hand down his face. Y/N continued to glare up at him, feeling no less smaller than him even while he towered over her. The corner of Steve’s lips twitched upward. This was the reaction he wanted. Steve licked his lips, trying to hide his smirk, “I am merely advising you.”

Y/N cocked her head, “Advising me?”

Steve slowly nodded his head, “That little training session the other day wasn’t just for your safety. If you’re going to lead a mob, you’re gonna have to know how to use a gun without closing your eyes. It also helps if you can keep your emotions in check and learn when someone is trying to get under your skin.”

Before Steve could finish his last sentence, Y/N was kneeling on the bed, shoving Steve as hard as she could. The six-foot man stumbled rubbing his chest. “You better explain yourself right now Rogers, no more games,” Y/N yelled.

When Steve was steady, he grinned, “My first visit with Bucky, he asked me to get you ready. He wants you to take his place until he gets out. Think of it as a trial run.”

“With Loki out there?” Y/N asked in disbelief, pointing to the window.

“Who better to take down Loki than the person he was closest with?” Steve mused.

Y/N jumped off the bed nearly slipping on the silk, “I don’t know, literally anyone else?”

Steve rolled his eyes, his hand on the bedroom door, “In chess, the queen is most powerful. She can move across the board. The king can only move one space at a time. There’s no room on the board for a princess. You have more power than you think. Think about my advice Y/N. You only get one shot at this.”

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@vicmc624 @winterslove1917 @hangmanscoming @globetrotter28 @athenabarnes @shara-ne @mal-adaptive-dreams @jvanilly @d3m0n8ch1ld @ppbhquinn @alysianc @firstcashheroathlete @malum-forev @missvelvetsstuff @animegirlgeeky @blue786sworld @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @alessandraavengers @ozwriterchick @nerdgirljen @emily-roberts @pandabearrrrrrr @venting402 @barewithme02 @introverbatim @buckybarnessimpp @mega-kittyglitter-1 @a-poor-gryffindork @toriluvsfics @samahenoyrhye @motivation-idontknowher @pics-and-fanfics @po55um @devil1112 @keeperofsecrets6411 @natasha-died-4-our-sins @marvel-marauder16 @sugamilkteaxkookiesxcream @mcu21lover19 @imgaybutimstraight @buckysbarne @playboystark @sarge-and-caps-princess @eviltinkerbell14 @quethekillerqueen @barewithme02 @buuuuuuucky @reader-without-a-story @5lutty5arah @queerqueenlynn

[oleander-nin]

Horrortober Day 11- Mind Games(Yandere Rise Leo x Reader)

A/N, not important: Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: mention of alcohol and drugs, manipulation, hinted emotional abuse, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 1693

Summary: You broke up with Leo, but he's not ready to give you up.

Your eyes drift across the sea of bodies, stepping back and to the side to avoid touching any of them. Coming here was a mistake, you felt. Sure, you wanted to get your mind off your recent breakup, but this was not the way to go. It was too loud, too bright, and everyone was already high or drunk and the many masks and faces of monsters and witches wasn’t helping. You grimace at the strong smell of the fruit punch in your hand, knowing it had been spiked at some point. If you found a garbage can, you’d throw it away before mistakenly taking a sip. You didn’t want to risk anything. You still had to drive home after all.

You search through the costumed college students for the friends that had insisted you come, promising it would be worth it and you’d have fun. You snort at the thought. It had barely been twenty minutes, and you already had a headache.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, catching your attention. Slipping away from the mass of bodies and giving up on the search, you pull out the vibrating device. Text after text was rolling though, different numbers flashing on your screen. You frown as you read the name rolling though, Leo’s pleading and angry texts blowing up your phone.

You unlock it and go to the conversation between the two of you, blocking his number once more. You were getting your number changed tomorrow, so dealing with him would only be another day. You were free of him, free of the pain and stress he caused, the sense of paranoia and fear he brought on. No more fights, no more of his obsession, no more being a prisoner to your own boyfriend.

You turn off your phone and slip it back into your pocket, doubt and guilt bubbling in your stomach. Part of you felt like you were over reacting. You knew he loved you, it was clear. But that love had gotten too much and you were starting to feel the danger brewing under his skin. The way he looked at you was once filled with love, his dark eyes swimming in happiness and hope for the future, but now they only carried the cold touch of possession and want. He still made his jokes, still treated you like you were his favorite thing in the world, but now it was… Dangerous. Like if you said the wrong thing or did something he didn’t like he would explode. He was a ticking time bomb you forgot how to defuse, and you didn’t want to be there when it finally set off.

You still loved him, the pang in your heart reminding you with every thought that flooded your brain, but being with him has gotten to be too dangerous, your mental health draining. He had started to cost you your friends, started to make you paranoid. You didn’t know how long it would go on before either of you snapped.

You gaze back into the crowd, bright lights attacking your view and making your vision swim. A group of ghosts floated by, the sheets over their heads billowing as they walked. It entertained you to see such a thing, your own costume having about the same effort as theirs. With the party so last minute, you hadn’t had time for a complex costume. You simply woke up this morning and put on a black shirt and sweats, topping the look off with a cat eared headband and three lines on either cheek with a sharpie.

Green skin in the crowd catches your eyes, your heart rate jumping as you tense. You search through the mass of people until you find what you thought you had seen. The ogre’s costume was a duller green than the one that caught your eyes, but you assumed a yellow or green light had been shining rather than the red covering them now. You lean against the wall, swirling your spiked drink. You were really thinking about taking a sip now, at least to get your mind to ease up. This was a party, you were supposed to be having fun, not thinking of Leo.

Pushing off the wall, you merge into the crowd once more to continue looking for your friends. You turn your head as you walk, looking out for the Sesame Street characters your friends said they came as. While scanning faces and masks, your eyes meet familiar ones, the deep onyx oh his eyes shining against the light. Your breath leaves you as you take in the green skin and pink crescents, his mask a stark contrast on his face.

You blink and he’s gone, a costumed student in his wake. You stare at the spot where you saw Leo, your hands shaking slightly. Did you accidentally take a sip of your drink? Were you losing it? In your confused haze, you let the crowd slowly push you back to the edges, your mind still reeling with the sights of your now ex. He couldn’t be here, he wouldn’t even know of this party. You stare at the floor, finally putting your drink down on a small table without a care. It wasn’t like you were going to pick it back up.

The feeling of three-fingered hands drifting over your waist makes your blood run cold and your muscles tense, one settling and the other crossing over to hang onto your wrist. His mouth presses against your ear, his voice a soft whisper full of unsaid fury. “Never thought you’d be in a party like this.”

You stand dumbly in his arms, unable to speak nor move. You gape at the wall in front of you, his strong hands guiding you towards the corner of the room and away from prying eyes. He seemed content with your silence, a smug smile on his face when you glanced back at him. You couldn’t help but feel terrified. Why was he here?

“Dance with me,” He purrs, his eyes flashing dangerously everytime you try to pull away. He never turns you around, keeping your back pressed against his chest. It was surreal, and your brain was stuck in an infinite loop of panic. You couldn’t help but feel unsafe, even in the arms of someone you once, and still do, loved. “It’s the least you could do after the fit you’ve been throwing. I can’t believe you’ve been ignoring me.”

You let him sway you both back and forth with the music, your voice stuck in your throat as you try to not pull away from instinct. His nails dig into your skin, a deadly smile on his lips. He hums along with the music, keeping your body pulled flush with his while he moves. He seemed content despite the circumstances, his hands holding you steady and close.

“Why are you here?” You ask quietly, your heart beating faster than it ever has before. The music was too loud still, the bass drumming the tune in your skull. You felt tired all of a sudden, the safety your brain had found in Leo over the years overriding the clear danger he presented. You wanted to pull away, to run and never look back, but his grip is firm. You weren’t getting out of this one.

“Because I’m your boyfriend, and I got worried when you didn’t answer my texts and calls.” He exaggerates a pout, jutting out his bottom lip as he looks down at you. He had grown over the years you knew him, yet still managed to keep the same jokester personality he claimed was the face of his brothers team. You scowl at his words, finally being knocked out of whatever trance you were in. You try to pull away, thrashing slightly in his grip.

“We broke up.” You remind, glaring at the mutant blending in with the fellow partygoers. Leo drops his pout, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his grip and moves you both closer to the wall.

“No, we didn’t.” He says with the certainty of a monarch sending a traitor to death. “You got upset, and said something you shouldn’t have. But we’re not breaking up.”

"Leonardo Hamato, let me go this instant." You demand, pushing harshly against his chest with your one free hand. His words pushed your brain into overdrive, the fear hitting you like bricks. You needed to leave. Now.

Leo smiles deviously, his eyes flashing as he dares you to do more. "Pulling out my full name now, are we? Looks like someone's getting serious."

His tone is no more than a deep purr, smoothing over the anger and hatred held in his heart. He wanted to slam you against the wall and choke you until you passed out, his steady hands twitching with greed. You were small compared to him now, his size nearly doubling since he was a teen. Not to mention the muscle mass he gained and the reflexes and experience he now had. You were but a lamb to the slaughter, and it was Leo who was the deciding factor on whether you made it out alive. Leo's smile widens. You were so lucky he loved you.

He squeezes your wrist and you can feel the bones start to strain under the pressure, threatening to crack. Your knees buckle at the pain, a small cry leaving your lips. He had never really hurt you before, and especially not while he was grinning. A small kiss is pressed to the back of your head, a quick squeeze being given as a warning.

“Come home with me now, quietly and on your own, or I snap both your legs and kill everyone here.”

He says this lightly, as if it was a small joke between friends. You feel tears well in your eyes. There was no way he wasn’t serious, the glint in his eye showing just how badly he wanted to show you what he was willing to do. You let out a sob, and crumple in his arms. There was nothing you could do but comply.

[aromanticannibal]

hi i haven't seen this yet on tumblr so i'm throwing my crack theory here:

mystery character is Hana.

Everyone is obviously assuming it's Tenko and honestly it's probably going to be Tenko, but Hana seems very interesting and given the current situation with Tenko/Tomura's body (aka it's gone into dust) somehow more likely?

My theory of how this could be Hana is that AFO is simply a bastard and snatched her before she could be killed - he definitely has illusion or cloning quirks that could replace her.

The reason why AFO doesn't use Hana is because she's "too far along"

He wanted someone he could make into whatever he wanted from the start, to control everything about their life entirely. But like... we know AFO has a lot of side plans. Just in case. The orphanages full of replacements like the one Touya was in is proof of that. I think it would make sense to keep Hana just in case because the point of it being Tenko specifically isn't that he's special (he was literally made into what he is - according to AFO). It's not about his individuality.

It's about being a Shimura. A descendant of Nana Shimura, of All Might's mentor. Therefore, Hana would be the second very best potential successor. Also, I feel like mister "little brother <3" AFO would like Hana is only because she's Tenko's older sister.

So perhaps through quirk fuckery and trickery he kept Hana specifically, and then...

Forgot about her. Or maybe, she didn't work out how he wanted her to, maybe she was in fact too old and noticed he was a fucking weirdo and he had to take her by force, which explains why the mystery character/"Hana" is so banged up and panicked and especially in a prison jacket. Alternatively, she escaped and for one reason or another was thrown into jail, or she was forced into villainy by AFO or society, or maybe her quirk is dangerous or AFO gave her a dangerous quirk to make her believe she has to cooperate with him because otherwise she'll hurt others/be arrested - there could be tons of things.

Finally, all I have look wise is LOOK AT THEM.

That is undeniably a Shimura to me. Like jesus.

look at this shit. this is either Tenko before he became Tomura or it's Hana, because just look at them.

The eyes are rounder than Hana's which could indicate that it's Tenko (and again; it probably is, this is just my little crack theory because I love Hana) or it's simply caused by the angle, aging or the clear panic on the character's face.

The hand on the wall is giving hey look they're not decaying the wall lol.

Anyways. Feel free to send your own thoughts on who this is in my inbox I am so incredibly intrigued by this mystery character and I can't wait to know who that is.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whumptember Day 1

"Don't leave me." | chains | failed escape attempt | abandoned building

CW: captivity, torture, superpower whump

As the iron manacles lock tight around whumpee’s wrists and ankles, claiming him once again as a prisoner, his exhausted mind races in time with his pulse.

Shouldn’t have tried…impossible…can’t ever escape…hopeless…

It was a mistake. The whole thing was a mistake. A waste of time and energy and what remained of his life. Because here he was, back again in whumper’s clutches, the way he always would be. Hopeless.

A second pair of manacles click shut around his ankles, chaining him to the wall. Whumper crouches and leans close, staring at whumpee while his gloved hand trails idly down a section of chain.

“I do hate seeing you like this, whumpee,” whumper croons with feigned sympathy. “You could be so useful to me. But you just can’t seem to understand the truth.”

Whumpee flinches back, away from whumper’s sour breath. He should keep his mouth shut, bite back the retort burning on his tongue, but it tumbles out anyway, two words that he immediately regrets.

“The truth?”

And just like that, whumper’s face changes. False sympathy gives way to cold ferocity. His gloved hand flashes upward and closes around whumpee’s throat.

“Yes, whumpee. The truth,” he growls. His hand tightens. Whumpee splutters and chokes, chains clinking together as his own hands scrabble at whumpers’s grip. “You can never escape from me, no matter how hard you try.”

He lets go abruptly and straightens, turning away as whumpee slumps back, gasping.

Hopeless…I can’t escape…I can never escape.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Whumper turns to face whumpee again, a smile pulling at the corner of his thin mouth. “I have a present for you.”

He snaps his fingers, and just like that, pain shoots through whumpee’s body, a thousand miniscule needles piercing the flesh of his wrists and ankles. He can’t breathe, can’t move. A single, desperate plea dies in his mouth as a wave of terrible weakness overcomes him.

…can never escape.

“…my special ability,” comes whumper’s voice. “For every hour of your captivity, these chains will drain a little more life from you until there’s nothing left. Perhaps then, I can finally use you.”

@whumptember

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - First Meeting 1/4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 and end

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Hero stopped on the threshold of the old warehouse. They examined their surroundings, as if to check what was hiding beyond them. Of course they could see nothing. There wasn’t any light. The voice itself seemed slightly deformed with some kind of white noise – it had to be a transmission.

“Why ?” they asked politely.

“Because you won’t see another day again if you step in.”

Hero tilted their head. They grabbed their flashlight, and – what ? They squinted their eyes, but the ray of light bounced on the darkness and went back to them.

Now, that didn’t seem very normal.

“I see what you mean,” they said.

Then they shrugged and entered. A booming laugh resonated as the doors locked themselves brutally behind Hero:

“You’re mine now ! Miiiine ! You belong to the eternal night of everlasting darkness !”

“Uh. Um, okay.”

The laugh stopped and the voice sounded suddenly a bit sulking:

“That’s all ? No witty remark ? No cutting repartee ? I thought you were a Hero. I’m disappointed.”

“Sorry. I’m just trying to do my job. But I have things to say.”

“Let’s hear it, my little prey.”

“Well, there were a bunch of burglaries in this part of the town, and the managers of the stores always complained about the lights that went out no matter what they did before the act. So I’ve investigated a little and I’ve pinpointed this location.”

“How very smart of you, prisoner. You’re the only one who could find the truth and stay alive this long. No doubt you must be special.”

Embarrassed, Hero rubbed the back of their neck.

“Nah, I’m not very high-ranked, actually.”

“I’ve seen you before, though. I remember.”

Hero stroked one of their crochet twists and absentmindedly smiled:

“Yeah, the rainbow beads help, usually. It’s not because I work as hard as I can that I’m very important.”

“Why are you on my trail all by yourself, then ?”

“ As far as I know, you haven’t killed anyone. You just stole the supplies you need, I have the list... so forgive me if I’m not very much intimidated. I mean, you took a lot of Twinkies ?”

“Food’s survivor.”

“It doesn’t even last very long, actually.”

“...You must be the life of the party. Well, it doesn’t matter. I salute you for your efforts, but your time has come to an end.”

“Is that so ?”

“I control shadows, little Hero. My powers are beyond your reach.”

“Yeah, but you use them to steal Twinkies.”

“Would you stop with that ? Very well, I shall make you forget all about them. Behold my lair and despair !”

Pale blue dots weakly illuminated the huge warehouse. A large screen appeared by the ceiling, revealing a hooded figure, but Hero’s attention was somewhere else. There were forms around them that at first they took for furniture – and in a certain sense they were. One of them could certainly be viewed as a chair, if you forgot the huge spikes on the seat, just as the wooden frame in front of it had been made for people to lay down, if the manacles could be taken into account. Hero stared at all this, at the cages on the ground, at the chains on the walls, and stopped walking, their heart suddenly beating way faster. There were traces of red here and there. All of this was separated from them thanks to a glass wall.

“Have I just seen you shudder, Hero ?” simpered the voice. “Or are you still convinced that I’m not so dangerous ?”

Hero did wince. They also took a step back and a deep breath before seeking for an opening.

“I can assure you there’s no way out”, said Villain. “Unless you are strong enough to smash the doors you came from, but then you’d have already broken out by now. Or do you think I’m foolish enough to be around ? Are you so mad for revenge that you have to seek me out?”

“I’m not mad yet. I just want to check something.”

“You should be. I count my victims by the dozens and no one realized that because you heroes are that disastrous. Many disappeared, but no one cared about them. You want to make me think you do? ”

“Yes.”

Hero finally found what looked like a door. After fumbling for a moment, their hand closed on a handle and they could get to the other side. Surrounded by darkness, the torture instruments looked as sinister and impressive as their function implied. Right until the moment when Hero’s fingers brushed against a huge spike and pushed.

Their thumb went into the metal with no problem and left a mark. This time, it was Hero’s laugh that boomed in the room.

“It’s tin, isn’t it ?” they asked to the hooded figure. “Man, it’s impressive. You made me believe it for a minute. The blood is painting, right ?”

“...Maybe.”

“It’s like you’ve made a ghost train ride all by yourself. You’re an artist. I mean it.”

They rubbed their hands together to get rid of the red painting:

“But I have to catch you now.”

The voice growled in answer:

“Then come to find me, nemesis. That’s what you’ve just become.”

“Thank you. I will bring you Twinkies in prison.”

“Oh, I will end you.”

*

(Yes, it's the first time these two dorks have met. Sequel here)

Back to the These Two Dorks masterlist.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[dmitriene]

— shadows of empathy.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ «precious and fragile things»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «need special handling»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «my god, what have we done to you?»

summary: you don’t remember how you ended up in this laboratory, how long you endured pain, but you remember the warmth of his hands and the muffled whisper of promises. content: albert wesker x gn reader tags: lots of hurt x comfort at the end, lot of experiments, suffering from moral and physical pain, mention of needles and sadism, may be presence of stockholm syndrome, presence of william birkin. (let me know if i forgot something!) author's note: my first time of writing for wesker and also including some sensitive topics, hope you'll enjoy! enjoy your reading) 💉

The atmosphere of the lab was eerie and oppressive, a place where the lines between humanity and scientific curiosity were blurred, cold fluorescent light cast sharp shadows on sterile metal surfaces, the air was filled with the strong smell of disinfectant mixed with the acrid taste of chemicals, a constant hum of machines, a haunting reminder of the experiments being carried out within these walls.

For you, locked in the walls of the laboratory, the environment became a real nightmare, your memory was a fragmented puzzle the pieces of which were missing like scattered pieces of glass, you clung to the fragments that you had, for flashes of life before the laboratory, which seemed far away and out of reach, your confusion was a constant companion, a gnawing emptiness that made you yearn for answers.

In moments of introspection, you were often lost, looking through the small window of your cell at a world that seemed both familiar and alien, the darkness outside seemed to reflect the darkness in your own mind, a vast expanse of uncertainty that stretched to infinity.

The screams that echoed down the corridor, both yours and those of other unfortunate souls, were a symphony of anguish that haunted your every waking moment.

Over time, despair grew, the desire for freedom and truth intensified, the laboratory became a tangled prison, every cell a cage for lost memories and broken dreams, you longed for answers, even the smallest piece of your past, something for which you could survive the chaos and uncertainty.

Among the same snow white walls it was harsh and frightening, the sterile white surfaces reflected the already familiar harsh fluorescent light, the air was saturated with the smell of antiseptics and chemicals, a constant reminder of the clinical nature of this place, the hum of machines seemed to be reflected through the walls creating an unsettling symphony of technology, cold metal instruments were neatly laid out on the tables next to your vulnerable body strapped to the examination table.

Everything around was a nightmarish reality from which you could not escape, the environment was alien and unfamiliar, as if you had entered a world that defied logic, the memories were fragmentary, elusive, leaving again and again in deep confusion and fear.

You trembled in the bonds that held you, your eyes darted around the room in search of something recognizable, your heart pounded as you struggled to piece together the mystery of your existence, your inability to remember anything in front of the sterile laboratory walls eventually turned into a gaping mental wound.

Confusion and fear enveloped you like a suffocating shroud, you were a fragile figure among the cold equipment, a mixture of fear and bewilderment was read in your eyes, memories of a former life were just fragments, disparate images that you clung to in vain while your mind was a labyrinth of uncertainty.

The experiments you endured left scars on your body and your spirit broken, pain was a constant companion, each injection and procedure was a brutal attack that seemed to blur the line between life and suffering, you were trapped in a cycle of agony, unable to escape the torment become your new reality.

Your fear of Albert Wesker and Birkin was palpable, Wesker's presence was a mystery — his power and motives are obscure, his calculated gaze and measured words sent shivers down your spine, the unpredictability of his actions heightened your unease.

Birkin, on the other hand, was the epitome of cruelty, his touch was aggressive, and his detachment from your suffering caused waves of terror, making you feel like a pawn in a game you couldn't understand.

When Wesker and Birkin stood together in the lab, their conversations swirled around you like a nightmarish symphony.

— «Progress is being made» Birkin said, his voice devoid of compassion as he treated you as if you were more of an experiment than a person.

Wesker's gaze darted towards you, his expression enigmatic — «She's more than just data, Birkin» he declared, and there was a hint of something in his voice that you couldn't understand.

Birkin chuckled — «Sentimentality has no place here, Wesker, our goals are much more important than the personality»

Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, a mixture of fear and despair flowed through your veins, and as soon as you spoke, suddenly your voice broke out with a strong tremor — «P-please, I need to know… Why am I here? What did I do?»

Wesker's gaze met yours, something like a display of sympathy flickering in his eyes — «You're not here because of what you've done» he said softer than you expected — «But rather because of what others seek to achieve»

Birkin's lips instantly twisted into a cruel smile — «You are a vessel for our experiments, a means to an end, your goal — is to serve science»

His words only allowed your fear and confusion to grow, the heaviness of their words crushed more than anything else, you felt trapped, driven into a nightmare where the answers were elusive and the pain endless, and as their dialogue went on, you became more and more withdrawn into yourself, a frail figure lost in a world that seemed to revel in your suffering.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

The experiment was a frightening mixture of clinical detachment and palpable tension, the cold, sterile walls of the lab echoing with the mechanical hum of the machinery, creating an unsettling symphony, the blindingly bright light overhead casting harsh shadows, making every detail of the lab stand out with unsettling clarity, through the air saturated with the smell of antiseptics and chemicals reminded that this is a place where scientific curiosity got the better of sympathy.

Your body became the canvas for these invasive experiments, each one a brutal assault on your physical and mental well-being, pain was a constant, unrelenting presence — a searing fire that ate from within as needles pierced your skin, delivering viruses and serums, your body convulsed in agony, and the once clear mind turned into a haze of suffering, unable to escape the torment inflicted on you.

Screams, this time your own echoed through the laboratory, a symphony of pain that seemed to go unnoticed by scientists consumed by their own ambitions, the shackles that held you in place seemed like shackles, a cruel reminder of your helplessness, every injection, every cut, every probing tool caused waves of agony that makes you shiver and gasp.

The pain was not only physical but also emotional, the experiments robbed you of your self respect, leaving you feeling like you were just a vessel for their perverted pursuits, loss of control, abuse of your body and inability to understand the purpose of your own suffering created a sense of isolation that was as heartbreaking as the physical pain.

Amidst the agony, there were moments when you clung to fragments of your personality, soapy fleeting memories of your life before the lab, those memories were both a source of comfort and an added layer of anguish as they stood in stark contrast to the nightmare you were now living.

The pain of the experiments was an unrelenting force, a nightmare from which it was impossible to escape, but in this nightmare there was a spark of resilience, determination to survive and a fragile hope that one day the agony would subside and you could regain your identity and your life.

But all this was ruined by the appearance of Birkin, the atmosphere in his presence was suffocating — a toxic mixture of clinical detachment and sadistic curiosity, he moved with an imperious air, his cold, calculating eyes were fixed on you as if you were nothing more than an interesting specimen, laboratory seemed to shrink in his presence, the shadows cast by his body adding to the eerie feeling of being trapped in his gaze.

His gloves, stained with the remnants of countless experiments, contrasted sharply with your pale and delicate skin, his touch was sharp and impersonal, he treated you as if you were an object and not a person, each injection felt like an invasion, his gloved fingers pressed the needle into your flesh with heartless disregard for your pain.

The dialogue was marked by a frightening lack of empathy, Birkin's words were clinical, his tone devoid of compassion as he discussed you as if you were a puzzle to be solved — «You turn out to be very hardy» he thought one day as he narrowed his eyes as he watched you writhe in agony — «It's amazing how the human body reacts to such stressors»

You struggled to find your voice in the pain, your sighs and cries met with cold indifference — «Please.. stop it..» you managed to squeeze out, your voice was barely a whisper, but your plea went unheeded, as if your suffering was nothing more than a necessary component of his experiments.

Birkin's answers were distant and unsettling, his words imbued with a kind of twisted charm — «Pain is just a sensation that needs to be studied and understood» he remarked with a note of superiority — «Your body's response provides valuable data that will drive our research»

Despite your vulnerability, you felt a surge of anger and frustration — «I'm not just data» you retorted in a voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance, but your defiance only seemed to amuse him, his lips curved into a grim smile.

— «Ah, but you are, my dear» he replied, his eyes glittering with alarming intensity — «You — are the embodiment of the progress of science, the sacrifice of one for the good of many»

Your short dialogues were a perverse dance of power dynamics, a clash between your desperation to be accepted as a person and his determination to turn you into a mere object for experimentation, his words left an indelible mark on the soul, a reminder that in the walls of the laboratory you were nothing more than a pawn in their twisted games.

And yet, in the midst of darkness and cruelty, there was an unexpected glimmer of hope, Albert Wesker, the man you once feared, seemed to offer a different perspective — one that hinted at the possibility of redemption, compassion, and a chance to break free from the clutches of Birkin's sadism and the relentless pain of experimentation.

Still in the same dimly lit lab, the air grew even more oppressive with tension as Albert Wesker confronted William Birkin.

Their disagreements contrasted sharply with the clinical setting, Wesker's normally stoic expression taking on a tinge of unexpected tension, and a hint of disapproval in his voice.

— «She's not just a sample, Birkin» Wesker's voice cut through the sterile atmosphere, the words carrying a weight that seemed to challenge the very core of their work.

Birkin, a scientist that always driven by ambition, glanced at Wesker with a raised eyebrow — «And what would you advise, Wesker? That i handle her with care? She's here to experiment, not to babysit»

Wesker's gaze hardened, his stance unshakable — «There is a line between scientific curiosity and cruelty, the data we collect is invaluable, but it does not justify causing unnecessary suffering to it»

Birkin's lips curled into a cynical smile — «You're attached, aren't you? To our little experiment»

Wesker's jaw clenched, but he didn't deny the accusation, instead, there was a rare note of vulnerability in his voice — «She's more than just an experiment, Birkin, there's something about her… a vulnerability i can't ignore»

Birkin's eyes sparkled with amusement — «You let sentimentality overshadow your judgment, Wesker, remember why we're here — to advance our research»

As the argument went on, Wesker's words lingered in his own memory, a discordant note in the symphony of ambition that had guided him for so long, his eyes fixed on you, your fragile frame a stark reminder of the consequences of his and Birkin's actions.

At that moment, a sudden realization hit him with a force that made him reel, he felt something — something he had long suppressed.

Guilt, Regret. And something else he dared not name, your suffering, the fear in your eyes kindled in him a coal of sympathy, a flame that challenged the calculated detachment he had cultivated.

He turned away from Birkin, his gaze was fixed on you, your vulnerability was a mirror reflecting his own, the truth he avoided, you — the one who was once just an object, became in his eyes a person — a person he could not ignore, no matter how hard he tries.

As he dealt with his conflicting emotions, the atmosphere in the lab seemed to fade, the hum of machinery less insistent, the cold walls less cramped, in this moment of introspection Wesker realized he was at a crossroads — between the brutality he had once accepted, and the compassion he now struggled with.

And just when Wesker's inner turmoil intensified, he abruptly turned away, and his steps carried him to the exit, he could no longer see your suffering, emotions seethed inside him in a chaotic whirlpool that threatened to engulf him.

He stopped in the doorway, his back turned to the scene unfolding behind him, he clenched his fists, his heart pounding as he struggled to regain his composure, his emotions a storm he had never encountered before that could destroy the carefully constructed façade he supported for so long.

And so, in a moment of overwhelming emotion, he made a decision that defied his own instincts and left you alone with Birkin, it was an act of self preservation, a desperate attempt to distance himself from the rising emotions that frightened him, he could not afford to become entangled in your suffering, could not allow newfound sympathy to consume him.

With a heavy heart, he left the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he moved away from the scene he could not bear to witness, and in his absence everything around changed the silence was broken only by your soft, strained breathing and mechanical sounds.

Alone with Birkin, your vulnerability was stark against the cold, clinical setting, your eyes were a mixture of fear and despair, the weight of helplessness weighed on you, the atmosphere was a frightening reminder of the brutality you faced, a reality that seemed to loom even more in the absence Wesker.

As the experiments continued, your screams and the mechanical sounds of the laboratory merged into a dissonant symphony, an inexorable reminder of the torment you endured, and as the darkness of the room gathered around you, you were left to confront your fear and pain alone, being a prisoner of a world where cruelty and compassion existed in the fragile, unsteady balance.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Late in the evening, an eerie twilight enveloped the lab, casting elongated shadows on cold surfaces, the air thick with the remnants of the day's experiments mingled with the acrid smell of chemicals, equipment humming softly somewhere in the background, a constant reminder of the clinical nature of this place.

Albert Wesker walked down the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing off the dark walls, his usual air of stoic determination present, his gaze fixed forward as he approached the room where you was being held, but as he entered, his determination faltered to a sudden heaviness in the chest.

There you sat, crouched in the corner of the room, your figure curled up, your once bright eyes now dim and ghostly, and your frail body seemed even smaller in the dim harsh light, your breathing was ragged, each breath was a visible struggle, as if you were struggling — not only with the pain of experimentation, but also with the weight of his broken spirit.

Wesker's steps slowed, his eyes narrowed as he assessed your condition, he came to take you away for further research to continue the experiments that had been his goal for so long, but when he looked at you, something inside him changed — unexpected a pang of guilt, a crack in the façade of indifference he cultivated.

His desire to comfort you was an alien feeling that he buried under layers of ambition and detachment, the desire to lend a helping hand, to offer solace, belied his ingrained sense of control as he hesitated, his gaze met yours and for a moment he saw beyond the pain — the shattered remains a man who has endured too much.

At that moment, the clinical atmosphere of the lab gave way to a rare vulnerability, the hum of machinery seemed quieter, Wesker's internal struggles reflected on his features, the conflict between his cold exterior and the sudden warmth that surged through him.

His presence seemed to fill the room, his tall figure drawing attention even in dimmed light, there was a rare uncertainty in his typically cold gaze, a flash of emotion dancing under the surface, his outstretched hand hung in the air, fingers ready to reach out, eyes remaining chained to you.

You recoiled, your body language tense with a mixture of fear and defiance, your eyes, once dull with pain, now widened with a new sense of unease, you recoiled at his touch, the instinct to push him away was strong inside, and the clinical atmosphere of the laboratory only intensified the intensity of the moment, as if the walls were conspiring against you.

— «No!» you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and despair — «Stay away from me!»

Wesker's expression remained unreadable, his hand hung in the air, but as your words hung between you, his fingers slowly lowered, and his eyes softened slightly — «I don't want to hurt you..» he replied with a rare vulnerability in his voice.

The tension in the room was palpable as you both were here, your figures grappling in a silent battle of wills, your fear fighting the country with a spark of curiosity, a hint of the realization that Wesker was more than the ruthless image he cast.

His usual air of stoic aloofness was replaced by uncharacteristic uncertainty as he took a step closer, extending his hand once more.

Your body tensed, memories of his previous actions and the cruel experiments he witnessed etched deep in your soul as you tried to push him away, a mixture of horror and defiance fueling your actions.

His hands were trembling slightly, which was indicative of the inner struggle he was struggling with.

The closer he came with his arm outstretched, the more often you shuddered and rested against the corner of the wall, fear emanated from you, your eyes were wide open and alert, your muscles contracted as if ready to jump away, you tried to push him away, small hands weakly resisted his approach.

Wesker's expression remained calm, his eyes didn't flinch even as you struggled against his touch — «I won't hurt you, i promise» he said in an amazingly gentle voice — «I know it's hard to trust, but i promise i'm not here to hurt you anymore»

Your breathing was rapid, your chest rising and falling in a chaotic rhythm as your gaze fell on him, the room seemed to close around, the walls choking with a wounding grip, though his presence provided an unexpected reprieve.

The desire for safety fought against your instinctive fear, leaving you torn between the desire to escape and the possibility of finding any semblance of comfort.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Wesker closed the remaining distance between the two of you, his arms wrapped around your feeble body, his embrace firm but careful.

At first you struggled against his grip, your body tense with anticipation, but he held you tenderly, squeezing your wrist gently but relentlessly as your hand touched his chest, offering an anchor amidst the storm of emotion raging within you.

— «I won't let anyone hurt you anymore» he muttered, his voice a different kind of medicine contrasting with the harsh reality of your surroundings, his words a promise, a declaration of his newfound commitment to your well being.

As his words reached your consciousness, your resistance began to weaken, the tension in your body slowly subsided, replaced by fragile vulnerability, tears of their own, as if intuitively welling up in your eyes, flickering in the dim light like unshed diamonds.

You hesitated, your hands hovering over his chest as if not knowing where to put them — «Please..» you whispered in a voice trembling with despair and anguish — «I don't… i don't know who i am anymore, i-i'm scared»

Wesker's embrace intensified, pulling you closer until your head was pressed against his chest, he could feel your tears dampen his shirt, soft sobs echoing through the room — «Everything is alright..» he muttered, pressing his lips against your hair — «You're not alone anymore, i'll be here to protect you»

Your resistance collapsed completely, your fragile self defense shattered like glass, you pressed against him tighter, letting your body shake with sobs as you finally let go of the pain and fear that had built up inside.

In his arms, the environment changed again, turning the cold, sterile room into a haven where vulnerability met compassion and fear met the promise of security.

His embrace was a testament to his newfound commitment, a gesture of comfort that spoke volumes, and as your tears soaked into his shirt, he held you close, offering a rare glimpse of his humanity — a man who despite his past found himself attached to you in this way, that defied reason and ignited a glimmer of connection that none of you could have foreseen.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌   ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌«angels with silver wings»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «shouldn't know suffering»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌«i wish i could take the pain from you»

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© dmitriene - my masterlist please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me. reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡