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imagine-darksiders · 4 months

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A little respite...

A short Death/Reader oneshot about birthday presents, mugs, and how a Horseman without a heart isn't necessarily heartless. Enjoy! <3 xxx

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Birthdays, Death supposes, carry far greater significance when one only has a finite number of years in one’s lifespan.

If there’s anything he’s grateful for, it’s that modern humans seem to have tailored their annual celebrations to smaller, intimate gatherings, which, in his opinion, are far more tasteful than the ostentatious and plethoric affairs those pharaohs used to throw. If the Horseman thought he’d have to wade through a veritable ocean of humans just to get to your front door…. Well. He certainly wouldn’t have been best pleased, to say the least.

Nestled within the cup of his palm and safely hidden from prying eyes is a small, unassuming parcel. It doesn’t look like much, deliberately so. The tiny thing is wrapped in some old parchment he had to pilfer from Azrael’s study. It was the first and only thing he could think of after he belatedly recalled how humans like to peel away a layer of paper before they can lay eyes on whatever has been pre-emptively hidden within it.

You became quite prickly once after he pointed out the aimlessness of the custom.

‘Some traditions,’ he begrudgingly yielded after several hours of trying to see past your cold-shoulder, ‘are better left undisputed.’

Trudging along the newly rebuilt street in the direction of your home, Death makes every conceivable effort to avoid the stares and shocked gasps from the few humans who are still milling about in the golden light of the evening.

Even after the Resurrection and the frequent comings and goings of the Horsemen, angels, makers and even the occasional demon, Humanity still hasn’t grown accustomed to seeing the Grim Reaper skulking about on their planet.

In the corner of an eye, he sees a man haul a small girl into his arms and scurry to the opposite side of the street, and it takes everything in the Horseman not to sigh.

It isn’t long before he finds himself turning onto the short, gravel path leading up to your front door. His footfalls make no sound on the loose stones, and the parcel is starting to carry weight in his palm now.

Coming to a halt on the step, his eyes drift down to the faded mat by his boots that reads ‘Welcome.’

The Horseman scoffs, as he does every time he sees it. Sometimes you’re too hospitable for your own good.

Giving his shaggy head of hair a bemused shake, he reaches for the doorknob, only to pause.

Another custom best left undisputed… Humans don’t like it if you enter their home unannounced.

Curling his hand into a fist, he instead gives the wood three, solid raps with his knuckles before letting his arm drop back to his side, briefly giving a thought to what it must seem like for an onlooker to witness the ancient Nephilim ceding to human habits.

With a grunt, he leans back on his haunches to wait, idly counting the cracks that have formed in the plaster surrounding your doorframe, each one betraying the frequency of visits made by his younger sister, Fury. It’s a wonder the entrance is still intact with how often she barges in and out, scuffing the paint and chipping off wooden flakes with her armoured shoulders.

Sometimes she forgets that while she might have the slightest build of the Horseman, she’s still unconventionally large from the average human’s point of view. Regardless, you haven’t said a word to her about the marks, as far as Death is aware, and somehow, he doubts you ever will.

His ears prick towards the sound of shoes trotting hurriedly across linoleum, approaching your front door.

“Coming! Coming!” your voice calls out, instantly shaking loose that little fragment of unease that sits between Death’s ribs every time he comes to your home and waits outside the door. There’s a private part of him, a part he’ll never reveal, that dreads the day he knocks without receiving an answer.

The handle rattles, a lock slides out of place, and once again, he hears you speaking from the other side of the wood.

“You guys are early!” you laugh, “I haven’t changed yet, but I’m-“

Your sentence trails off into silence as the door is tugged open and you poke your head into the light outside, brows scrunching together as your eyes fall upon a pale, cadaverous chest.

Blinking, you dart a look up, only to gasp at the sight of an all too familiar bone-mask tilting down towards you, inclined in acknowledgement.

“Death?” you gape, your expression falling open in shock.

Another oddity of humans, he finds. Even when you can clearly see what’s right in front of your nose, you still feel the need to ask for clarification, as though you can never fully trust what your eyes are seeing.

“In the flesh,” he says, gesturing up and down at his emaciated waist and sinewy chest, “I’m pleased you still recognise me, given our months apart.”

And it has been months. Six and three days, to be exact. Not that he’s counting.

It happens the moment he drops his arm back to his side. Like the sun rising over the peak of a dark mountain, your face bursts open with bright, glimmering warmth.

The corners of your mouth retreat from each other, spreading your lips into a grin so wide that your cheeks round out and squeeze your eyes halfway shut with unbridled delight as a laugh gushes out of you, bouncy and awestricken.

“Death!” Without warning, you bound across the threshold and - showing no hint of a reservation - throw your arms around the Horseman’s lean torso, burying your face into the concave dip below his chest, “Oh my god! I didn’t think I’d be seeing you today!”

And because he still hasn’t grown used to your displays of affection, Death forgets the etiquette and freezes in place, arms hovering rigidly above your own and his chin tucked into his neck, as though he’s mildly alarmed at your sudden proximity.

And because you know he isn’t used to affection, you don’t hold him hostage for long.

Pulling away only seconds later, you sweep a hand through your hair, clutching loosely at the strands as you take a step back and give the Horseman a quick once-over, beaming all the while.

“I can’t believe you actually made it! This is the best birthday ever!”

Well, if that isn’t the most flattering thing he’s heard all year.

“Oh! Would you like to come in?” you ramble on, stepping aside and sweeping your hand into the hallway behind you, “I’ve got people arriving for a party, but not for, like, another hour. So, you can stick around or…”

“Ah, regrettably, I can’t linger for long,” he interrupts, holding up a palm to quiet you. He truly can’t stay. And not just because he’s disinclined to ‘party.’

He’s heard whisperings of a demon uprising stirring in a city across the sea. He and War have made plans to travel there under the cover of darkness to investigate, and he’s already behind schedule. He notices that you make a considerable effort not to let your expression droop, though he can tell by the pinch of your lips that you’re disappointed.

He… hopes he can make it up to you with the tiny package hidden safely within his palm.

Clearing his throat, Death flexes his fingers, wrestling with doubts for a moment before he gives himself a mental kick and forces his hand out from behind his back, thrusting the parcel under your nose.

“Here,” he grunts as he gives it a gentle shake, willing you to take the damn thing rather than continue to blink down at it in surprise, “I understand gifts are customary on one’s… birthday, hm?”

… For a long time, you don’t say a word. You merely look at the Horseman’s palm as though he��s holding a live grenade, your eyes round and wide and uncertain. In fact, you remain silent for so long, that for once, Death is the one who feels compelled to explain himself.

“I… wrapped it,” he ventures, frowning behind his mask at the parcel, “… Although, I suppose it isn’t very good, is it.” Now that he's presented it to you, he's only just noticing how shoddy and rushed the job must look. In fact, he realises he must have stolen parchment that Azrael was in the middle of writing on, judging by the ink smudges that are only half hidden beneath the thin twine he used to bundle the whole thing together.

Mind racing, he scans your expression for tells, anything that’ll clue him in as to whether he’s made a mistake in bringing you something at all…

Perhaps… he was misinformed. It might be a grave insult to give a human something on their day of birth. Damn that half-wit brother of his, Strife. If he’s fed Death another lie to make him look foolish in front of you, why, he’ll-

A soft touch alights upon his palm.

Death’s gaze snaps down to see your tiny fingers curling tentatively over the parchment, and it takes a lot of concentration to keep his appendages from twitching as you slide the parcel out of his palm, brushing your thumb over his in the process.

“You… got me a present?” you ask gently, staring down at it before flicking your eyes up to peer at the Horseman from beneath your lashes.

Slowly, he retrieves his arm, giving it a shrug and sniffing, “It’s nothing particularly special.”

But you’re already pulling at the twine's lacklustre knot, delicately peeling away crinkled parchment to reveal the gift inside.

When you finally unfold all of the paper, a soft sound of wonder escapes your parted lips, and your face is illuminated in a soft, green glow.

It’s a flask. A tiny flask no larger than your thumb, cut from thick, crystalline glass and stoppered at the top with a chunk of cork. The flask itself has had a silver chain welded to the neck that glints in the sunlight as you bring it closer to your face to peer inside. Clinking around behind the glass, you spot a piece of shard, green as a summer field, glowing prettily like a captured firefly, small and dainty but luminous enough to cast its light through its crystal prison.

“I’m sure Muria could have made you something prettier,” the Horseman mumbles, “I’m no maker. But, I always did have a knack for crafting these talismans… You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to convince Fury to carry one…

“…Death…” you breathe.

“Yours is modified, of course," he ploughs ahead, clearing his throat, "Now, it won’t keep you safe indefinitely.” There's a pause, and you think you hear him mutter ‘yet’ under his breath before he continues, “But it will serve as a shield, of sorts. If you’re ever injured-“ Reaching out, he taps his nail against the glass. “- This will bear the worst of the damage. So long as you wear it, your skin will be harder to break. Your bones will only splinter where they might have shattered. You will be, in a word, protected.”

You can’t reply for a moment, your throat is too clogged with things you don’t know how to say.

You know this talisman. You know it because you’ve seen the one Fury keeps tucked beneath the high neck of her cuirass. She insists that Strife and War carry them too, though the brothers have yet to relinquish that secret to you just yet.

Nephilim’s Respite. It’s a protective trinket made by the eldest Horseman to safeguard his brothers and sister on their travels.

Death made them for his siblings. His family.

And now, here you are, holding the self same talisman in your hand.

You try to maintain your composure. You really do try. But when you blink, you’re slightly dismayed to find your vision blurring and a warm dampness tickling your lower eyelashes.

“Ah,” Death utters, drawing his head back to regard your gathering tears, “You’re crying. That… wasn’t my intention.”

A watery laugh tumbles out of your mouth, and you raise your unoccupied hand to sweep a wrist across your eyelids. “It’s oka-“ you start to sniff, though the Horseman jumps in before you can finish the thought.

“If the gift isn’t to your liking,” he concedes, reaching out to take the talisman back, “I can always-“

“-No!” Clutching the gift defensively to your chest, you throw Death a scandalised look, tears trickling lazily towards your chin, “It’s perfect, it’s just – it’s so much, Death! My god, I got you a mug for Christmas!"

And a fine mug it is, he reflects. Bone china, a yellow warning label with 'Warning, prone to sarcasm' scrawled across its surface in thick, black lettering.

It's one of his most preciously guarded items. He almost fed War's remaining arm to Harvester when the younger Horseman knocked it off his table.

But... you're fretting, and his reminiscing of the the humorous crockery will have to wait.

"You... accept the gift, then?" he asks, halfway convinced your eyes are misted over because he'd committed a faux-pas he isn't aware of.

There are times when Death wonders if you must think him quite dense. Such as now, for example. Short of throwing your hands above your head, you positively erupt in exasperation as you exclaim, "Wh-! Of course I do! This is the kindest thing anyone's done for me in my life!"

"Kinder than saving said life?" he quips, "Repeatedly?"

You only shoot him a wide, watery grin in response. Tossing the parchment over your shoulder, you hurry to slip the silver chain around your neck, clutching the flask delicately in a palm and thumbing the glass with fond, gentle strokes.

"I'm never taking this off," you murmur around a beaming smile.

Grunting, the Horseman folds his arms across his chest and replies, "See that you don't. With how attractive you are to trouble and disaster, this is the most efficient way to ensure you are kept relatively safe when I... when one of us isn't around to keep an eye on you." Pausing, he quirks a thoughtful brow behind his mask and adds, "Well... I suppose I could always enlist Nathaniel to play human-sitter..."

Your bright, incredulous peal of laughter cuts him off, but before he can lament on how much different he is now for allowing himself to be interrupted by a human and feel no malice, you suddenly plant a hand on his chest, spreading warmth from the tips of your fingers straight through to the hollow cavity that used to house his heart.

Death's mask tips down, his golden eyes calm, but curious as they fold into yours, old and new, sharing a moment of vulnerability on the steps of your home.

"Thank you, Death," you tell him sincerely, but oh so softly, "I mean it. Thank you."

And then, as if the thanks alone isn't quite enough to break a chip off his unassailable walls, you rise onto the toes of your shoes, reaching a hand up to hook a finger beneath the chin of his mask and drawing his head down inch by inch. Death, taken wildly aback by the boldness of laying your hands on the Executioner's mask, forgets himself, and follows the tug of your will until-

A layer of solid bone may separate you from the Horseman's skin, yet he'd still swear he feels the tender press of a warm, guileless mouth against his own, just for a moment, then you withdraw almost as soon as you leaned in, releasing his chin and letting your arms flop back to your sides.

"Well," you say, voice a little pitched like you've caught yourself by surprise, "Again, um... Thank you..."

Slowly, Death draws back to his full height, resisting the sudden urge to press his fingertips to the space near the bottom of his mask.

"Don't suppose you've got time to come in for a cup of tea?" you blurt.

And if the Reaper's thin, pale lips twitch up at their corners unbidden... Well... There's a reason he decided to keep his mask, after all.

#This is so stupid and abrupt #I wanted to end on a funny note #Darksiders #Darksiders 2 #Death x Reader #found family

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ltash · 1 day

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Ruined

Ghost (Gilded Reaper) X female reader

word count 5.5k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dark themed, dark ghost, noncon themed, kidnapping, forced s*x. MDNI

When you booked an airbnb until Ghost barged in and it turned out to be a safehouse but you were already ruined to realize this.

"His body was urgent against her, abd she didn't have the heart anymore to fight. She saw his eyes, tense and brilliant, fierce, not loving. But her will had left her. A strange weight was on her limbs. She was giving away."

At twenty-four, you seemed to have it all. You lived in a sprawling mansion in the Hollywood Hills, surrounded by luxury cars and designer clothes. As the young and vibrant CEO of Weathers Pharmaceuticals, the company your father built from the ground up, your life was the epitome of privilege and success. But beneath the surface of your glamorous world lay a tangled web of deceit and loneliness.

One day, your friends made an elaborate plan for a vacation in England, booking a charming Airbnb in the countryside. It was a rare opportunity to relax and unwind, far from the pressures of your daily life. Excited for the adventure, you packed your bags and boarded a plane to London, your heart filled with anticipation.

Upon arriving at the picturesque Airbnb, you waited eagerly for your friends to join you. Hours passed, and the initial excitement turned to confusion and then to dread. Calls and messages couldn't be sent; there was no network in the remote countryside. It slowly dawned on you that you had been abandoned. It was a cruel prank, orchestrated by the jealous friends who had envied your success and sought to bring you down.

Stuck in a foreign country with no immediate way back, you felt a mix of anger, betrayal, and despair. The beautiful countryside around you felt like a prison, and the isolation was suffocating. But as the initial shock wore off, a new resolve began to form within you. This was your chance to break free from the toxic relationships that had surrounded you for so long.

Determined to reclaim your life, you decided to turn this unexpected solitude into an opportunity for self-discovery. You explored the quaint villages, hiked along lush green trails, and found solace in the quiet beauty of nature.

However, as night fell on your first day, an unexpected and terrifying twist unraveled. You had settled into the cozy lodge, enjoying the peace and quiet, when suddenly, the door was kicked open with a force that sent a shiver down your spine. A tall, intimidating figure stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room. This was Ghost.

In a panic, you backed away, pressing yourself against the wall. Ghost's icy eyes bore into yours as he assessed the situation. You could see the surprise flicker across his face when he realized you were not who he expected.

Ghost's expression momentarily flickered with surprise as he observed your fearful reaction. It was clear that he hadn't anticipated someone in the lodge. He studied you carefully, taking in your frightened form. His voice, rough and tinged with a British accent, cut through the tense silence.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his tone gruff and commanding.

You stammered, unable to find your voice. The disbelief on Ghost's face was quickly replaced by a cold calculation. He seemed to be weighing his options, deciding what to do with this unexpected guest.

Frozen with fear, you glanced towards the window, wondering if there was any possible escape from the perilous situation you had unwittingly stumbled into.

You stood silently, looking at him. He stood 6'4" tall, towering over you. Even with your heels, you couldn't reach his height. You felt tiny in comparison. He wore black cargo pants with combat boots, a black tactical shirt with a full vest over it. A golden skull mask with a black balaclava beneath it and a reaper hood concealed his face. His golden Beretta rested on his chest, with shotgun shells adorning his vest.

He observed you with a calculating gaze, his eyes studying your frightened expressions and trembling form. His mind was whirling with questions, puzzled by your presence. He took a few steps towards you, closing the distance between you, and spoke again.

"You're not supposed to be here," he stated bluntly, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Who gave you permission to be here?"

He observed you keenly, noticing the size difference between the two of you. He couldn't help but smirk as you stood there, barely reaching his height even with your heels. His gaze wandered over your figure, appraising your stature against his.

"You didn't answer my question," he repeated, his voice sharper this time."

You wore Louboutin heels with your ripped pencil jeans. A black sheer net button-up blouse revealed a black push-up bra peeking from inside. Your 27-inch waist looked snatched with your 34D bust. At 5 feet tall, you were short and petite but curvy. Your black hair swayed at your hips, and diamond studs sparkled at your ears.

Your LV glasses sat on your small, thin nose bridge, and your milky complexion shone in the dim light. You had a small, pretty face with a thin neck like a swan. Your big blue eyes looked at him, and your glass-like skin revealed your veins, with your pulse visible in your neck. Your long, fragile fingers with manicured nails touched the wall.

"You could probably hide behind me and not be spotted," he commented, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You're tiny."

Ghost stared at you intently, his gaze traveling every inch of your petite frame. He took in your Gucci belt, ripped jeans, and the sheerness of your black sheer blouse, catching a glimpse of the black push-up bra beneath. His gaze lingered slightly longer on your chest before swiftly returning to your face.

He couldn't help but admire the striking contrast between your doll-like features, porcelain skin, and delicate frame. The sight of your manicured nails tracing the wall made Ghost's pulse quicken.

You turned around. He was intimidating to say the least. Your heart raced, your pulse quickened in response to his imposing presence.

"Who are you?" You asked in your shaky voice, trying to steady yourself against the unsettling atmosphere he brought with him.

He paused for a moment, his dark eyes fixated on you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"That's a question I should be asking you," he retorted, his voice cold and authoritative. "You're trespassing on private property."

Ghost noted the shiver in your voice as you turned to face him. He observed the way your heart rate quickened and your pulse raced, betraying your inner turmoil.

A rare smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he stepped closer to you, his intimidating aura casting a shadow over your petite frame.

"No one you need to worry about," he replied in a low, gravelly voice.

His eyes, hidden behind the golden skull mask, scanned your delicate form, taking in every detail.

"Why?" You demanded, your voice edged with frustration and disbelief. "I booked this lodge as an Airbnb, and you barge in here calling it a safehouse?" You spat out the words, challenging him to provide an explanation for the sudden intrusion and the unsettling revelation.

Ghost chuckled darkly, amused by your defiant tone. He tilted his head to the side, regarding you with a mixture of curiosity and irritation.

"Well, love," he began, pacing slowly around you like a predator circling its prey, "your booking with Airbnb must've been a mistake. This here's a safehouse, not a bloody vacation home."

"This can't be," you exclaimed, your voice filled with incredulity. "The helicopter dropped me here. I booked it. There's a lake in front of it. I booked it for the views, for God's sake. Uff."

Ghost chuckled again, his mask concealing the smirk that tugged at his lips. He seemed amused by your insistence on the Airbnb details.

"Listen, doll face," he said, his voice taking on a hint of a condescending tone. "This isn't a vacation spot. I'm here on a mission. Consider yourself lucky to be sharing a roof with me."

"Oh yeah. I'm stuck with the beast of a man dressed as an assassin, and I consider myself lucky. Are you for real, dude?"

Ghost's smirk widened beneath his mask. He chuckled softly at your audacity.

"You've got quite the attitude, don't you?" he replied, his voice carrying a hint of mockery. "And yes, doll face, you are lucky. Not many people get the privilege of being alone with me in a secluded safehouse."

"Stop calling me doll face. Wouldn't you?" you retorted, your voice laced with irritation and a hint of defiance. The situation was surreal-stuck in a lodge that was supposed to be a serene Airbnb, now commandeered as a safe house by this enigmatic figure. Yet, despite the tension and uncertainty, you found yourself standing your ground, refusing to be belittled by his mocking tone.

Ghost tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning your face intently. A hint of amusement gleamed in his gaze.

"And what if I don't want to stop, doll face?" he taunted, a hint of arrogance creeping into his voice.

"I have a name," you said firmly, asserting your identity in the face of his mocking demeanor.

Ghost sighed exaggeratedly, feigning annoyance. He took another step closer to you, his tall form towering over your petite frame.

"And what might that name be?" he asked, his voice laced with mockery.

"Angel Weathers," you replied, your tone firm despite the tension crackling between you and Ghost. His mocking demeanor faltered slightly, perhaps surprised by your straightforward response.

Ghost repeated the name to himself, savoring the sound of it. It rolled off his tongue effortlessly.

"Angel Weathers," he murmured, a hint of intrigue in his voice. "Fitting name for a doll face like you."

"Yeah, and you?" you asked, holding his gaze with a mixture of defiance and curiosity, eager to know more about the man behind the intimidating facade.

Ghost chuckled under his mask, clearly enjoying the little cat and mouse game unfolding between you two.

"I'm Lieutenant Ghost," he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "But don't expect me to use my real name. You can just call me Ghost, doll face."

"Ghost? You look like an assassin dressed in this black tactical suit with a grim reaper's stolen hood and this golden skull mask of yours. No army vibes. Sorry!" you quipped, unable to suppress an eye roll at the incongruity of the situation. The lodge, intended for a peaceful getaway, now felt like the backdrop of a spy thriller with you and this enigmatic figure at its center. Ghost's masked expression gave away nothing, his demeanor both intimidating and oddly intriguing.

Ghost chuckled again, amused by your boldness and observant nature. He took another step closer, his tall form now almost pressed against yours.

"Assassins wear masks too, doll face," he replied with a hint of arrogance in his voice. "And let's just say my job isn't exactly a walk in the park. But I'm flattered that you think I look like an assassin. That's the point."

"Yeah, a walk on the runway. That could be appropriate for a fancy dress like that," you remarked, a hint of sarcasm in your voice as you gestured towards Ghost's attire. His outfit, more suited for covert operations than a fashion show, seemed out of place in the rustic lodge setting.

Ghost chuckled at your remark, his eyes crinkling behind the mask. He couldn't recall the last time someone had the audacity to mock his appearance.

"Are you always this mouthy, doll face?" he retorted, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Watch it, or I might have to gag that pretty mouth of yours."

"What did you say?" you asked, your voice steady despite the underlying tension in the air.

Ghost's voice dropped to a low growl as he moved even closer, his body now only inches away from yours.

"You heard me, doll face," he replied, his eyes locked on yours. "One more sarcastic comment and I might have to put something in that mouth of yours to keep it shut."

"What are you even saying? Do you have any idea?" you asked, your lips quivering slightly as you tried to make sense of the surreal situation unfolding around you.

Ghost chuckled again, seeing the effect his words were having on you. He leaned in even closer, his mask mere inches from your face.

"I know exactly what I'm saying, doll face," he said, his voice a whisper. "And I bet those pretty lips of yours look even better with something stuffed between them."

"Fuck off!." I spat.

Ghost smirked at your reaction. He seemed to enjoy seeing you riled up. He grabbed your wrist with a firm grip, pulling you even closer to him until your bodies were almost touching.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" he taunted. "But I like that. Keeps things interesting."

"Keep your distance, or I will call someone," you warned, your voice firm and resolute, drawing a clear boundary between yourself and Ghost.

He tightened his grip on your wrist, making it clear that he wasn't backing down.

"Oh, really? Who are you going to call, doll face?" he mocked. "We're in the middle of nowhere. There's no one within miles who can hear you."

You tried to twist your wrist. Let me go," you demanded, attempting to free yourself from Ghost's grasp, your voice tinged frustration.

He seemed to be enjoying the little struggle unfolding between the two of you.

"Not a chance, doll face," he taunted, his grip on your wrist unwavering. "I like having you so close. And I don't let go that easily."

You tried reaching for your cellphone on the bed. Your movements cautious as you attempted to grab your lifeline amidst the tense standoff with Ghost.

He being keenly aware of your every move, saw your attempted reach for your cellphone on the bed. He quickly snatched it before you could grab it.

"Ah-ah, doll face," he taunted, holding your cellphone out of reach. "You're not getting this back anytime soon."

"Give me my phone back!" you yelled, your voice echoing with a mix of frustration and urgency, demanding the return of your lifeline.

Ghost chuckled at your outburst. He knew he had the upper hand in this situation, and he was enjoying every moment of it.

"Not a chance, doll face," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You're not getting this back until I say so. And right now, I'm quite enjoying the sound of your voice when you're yelling at me."

Your hand flew through the air, delivering a hard slap to Ghost, but you immediately regretted it as pain shot through your hand. You shook it, feeling the sting of the impact reverberate through your palm and up your arm.

Ghost didn't even flinch at your slap, his mask hiding his true expression. He chuckled softly as you shook your hand in pain.

"Feisty and a bit of a biter, I see," he mocked, amused by your boldness. "That was quite the slap, doll face. But I've endured worse. Can you say the same about your little hand?"

"You are hurting me," you gritted your teeth, your voice strained with both pain and determination.

Ghost smirked under his mask, taking in the sight of you struggling in his grip. He relished the fact that he was in control of the situation.

"Oh, am I?" he taunted, feigning innocence. "I guess I'll have to ease up a bit then. Can't have you getting too worked up, doll face."

He loosened his grip on your wrist, but kept you close. He could feel the heat radiating from your body.

"What do you want from me?" you asked, shivering slightly as the uncertainty of Ghost's intentions weighed heavily on your mind.

His eyes glinting with wicked amusement. He tugged you again, bringing you even closer to him.

"What do I want from you?" he repeated, his voice low and gravelly. "Many things, doll face. To start with, I want you to stop fighting me like a wild cat, and admit that you're stuck with me for now. We're going to be spending some quality time together in this little safehouse."

"Oh, fuck off!" you spat defiantly. "It's better to die here than to surrender myself to you."

He loved seeing your feisty side, it made things more interesting.

"Oh, doll face," he said with mocking sympathy. "You're quite the fighter, aren't you? But let's be real here, there's no way you're going to die here. And trust me, I'm not the type to let go of something so easily. You're going to be spending a lot of time with me, whether you like it or not."

You twisted your wrist, freeing yourself in an instant, and made a run for the door.

Ghost was caught off guard by your sudden burst of energy.

"Not so fast, doll face," he growled, quickly regaining his composure. He lunged forward and grabbed you from behind, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. "Where do you think you're going?"

Your elbow kicked his rib, but he was wearing a vest. Let me go!" you yelled, your voice filled with desperation as you struggled to break free from Ghost's grip.

He winced as your elbow collided with the hard material of his vest. He could feel the impact, but it didn't slow him down at all.

"Nice try, doll face," he mocked, holding you tight against his chest. "But that little kick didn't do much."

He pulled you closer, his arms encircling your body like a steel trap.

"Give it up, you're not going anywhere."

"Leave me alone," you said firmly, emphasizing your need for space and separation from Ghost.

Ghost chuckled at your persistence. He had to admit, he was enjoying this little game of cat and mouse.

"And why should I do that, doll face?" he taunted, his arms still firmly around your waist. "I quite like having you in my grip. You're a feisty little thing, aren't you?"

"Fuck you!". You shouted.

"Such a dirty mouth you have," he teased, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You kiss your mother with that mouth, doll face? Don't worry, I can think of better things for that mouth to do."

"Say it to your mother." You spat.

Ghost chuckled again, amused by your biting remark.

"Oh, doll face, you've got quite the smart mouth on you," he replied, his grip on your waist tightening. "But I don't think my mother would appreciate your kind of language."

"How dare you manhandle me like this, huh? Who do you think you are?" you demanded, your voice echoing with a mix of anger and defiance.

"Who do I think I am, doll face?" he repeated, his voice dripping with arrogance. "I'm Lieutenant Ghost, in case you've forgotten. And when it comes to manhandling, well, I'm quite good at it."

"I am a girl, alone and vulnerable, and you are taking advantage of me," you asserted, your voice wavering with a mix of fear.

He found your naivety somewhat endearing.

"Oh, doll face, I know you're a girl," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. "And when it comes to being alone and vulnerable, well, you walked right into that one, didn't you?"

He pulled you closer to him, his grip on your waist firm.

"As for taking advantage of you, well, let's just say I can't help myself when you're so vulnerable and... tempting."

"It's getting out of hand now," you said, your voice trembling with determination as you reached behind your back and pulled out his Beretta, pointing it directly at him. "I will pull the trigger if you don't leave me now."

His eyes widened in surprise as you suddenly pulled out his berretta and pointed it towards him. He hadn't expected you to be so bold, but he had to commend your quick thinking.

"Well, well, doll face," he murmured, a hint of surprise in his voice. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

He paused, studying you carefully, trying to gauge your determination.

"You really think you have it in you to pull that trigger?" he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance.

"Don't you dare get your hands on my dignity," you spat, your voice filled with defiance and a fierce determination to protect yourself from his intimidating presence.

He chuckled again, still unflustered by your threats.

"Oh, doll face, you're so worried about your dignity," he taunted, his eyes glinting with mockery. "But don't you know that sometimes it's more exciting to lose it?"

He took a step closer, his body almost touching yours.

"And trust me, I can do things to you that will make you forget about dignity altogether."

"I swear to God, I'll shoot if you come any closer," you declared, your voice unwavering as you held Ghost at gunpoint, the tension thick in the air between you.

Ghost raised his hands in mock surrender, feigning innocence.

"Whoa, doll face," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "No need to get violent. I was just trying to get a little closer."

He took another step closer, testing your limits.

"But you know, I don't think you have it in you to pull that trigger."

You fired two rounds into the floor. Startled, Ghost stepped back, creating a brief opening. Seizing the moment, you ran towards the door.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself, watching as you made a break for the door.

He quickly regained his composure and started to chase after you, his long legs closing the distance between you in no time.

You opened the door and rushed outside. The pain from my heels was excruciating. You shook them off as you ran barefoot towards the jungle, driven by the urgency of escaping the threatening atmosphere behind you.

He chased after you, cursing under his breath as you escaped into the jungle.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, gritting his teeth in frustration.

He saw you shedding your heels as you ran barefoot into the jungle, and he quickened his pace to try and catch up with you.

You tried running, but a stone came under your feet, causing you to stumble and fall. Your long hair spread on the ground as you started panting, the rush of adrenaline giving way to exhaustion and fear of what might come next.

Ghost saw you stumble and fall, your long hair fanning out on the ground as you panted heavily. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, finding you somewhat comical in your attempts to escape.

"Well, well, doll face," he called out, his voice ringing out in the surrounding jungle. "Looks like you're not as fast as you thought you were."

You pulled yourself up and ran again, pushing through the pain and fear, determined to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the lodge.

Ghost chuckled again, watching as you pulled yourself up and started running once more. He couldn't help but admire your determination, even though he found it somewhat absurd.

"You're quite the runner, doll face," he called out, still amused by your attempts to escape. "But I hate to break it to you, you're not going to get far in those bare feet."

You ran as fast as you could, driven by the urgency to escape, each stride propelling you further away.

Ghost followed after you, his footsteps closing the distance between you with each passing moment. He could see you running as fast as you could, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

"You can run, doll face," he called out again, his voice taunting you. "But you can't hide forever. I'll catch up to you eventually."

Afraid, with your heart racing a million miles an hour, you were badly shivering. Your feet came to a halt as you realized you had nowhere to go. Panic gripped you as you stood there, the reality sinking in that you were stranded in unfamiliar territory, vulnerable and alone.

Ghost saw you come to a halt, your body shaking with fear and exhaustion. He could see the fear in your eyes as you realized you had nowhere to go.

He stepped closer, his shadow falling over you as he stood a few feet away.

"Looks like you've run out of places to hide, doll face," he taunted, his voice low and dangerous. "Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Just you and me, here in the jungle."

He was holding his gun, pointing it at you. "Move," he commanded, his voice firm and authoritative, leaving you with no choice but to comply, your heart pounding in fear of what might happen next.

Your breath hitched as you saw him pointing his gun at you. "Please don't. No, no, no," I begged, tears streaming down your face. He approached you and pressed the gun against your head.

"Move before I kill and bury your body right here," he threatened, his voice cold and menacing, sending a chill down your spine.

Ghost's finger rested ominously on the trigger of his gun, his piercing eyes locked onto yours. In that tense moment, you could see no trace of hesitation or mercy in his gaze, only a cold determination that sent shivers down your spine. The fear and desperation in your eyes seemed to fuel his resolve, your desperate pleas echoing in the silence of the jungle, falling on deaf ears.

His stance was unwavering, the weight of the gun pressing against your temple like a grim reminder of his power. You felt paralyzed, trapped in a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape. The harsh reality of your vulnerability struck hard, as you struggled to comprehend the depths of danger you were facing.

"Move," he ordered again, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. His tone brooked no argument, leaving you with no choice but to comply despite the terror coursing through your veins. Every instinct screamed for you to run, to fight, but the futility of resistance loomed large in the face of Ghost's lethal presence.

You moved slowly towards the lodge, the cold metal of Ghost's gun pressing against your back. He followed closely behind, his eyes never leaving you.

As you entered the lodge again, he pushed you forward towards the bed you had tried to escape from earlier.

As the door clicked shut, sealing you inside with him. Panic surged through your veins, your heart pounding like a trapped animal's. You stumbled, your legs giving way, collapsing onto the bed in a heap of exhaustion and fear. Every ounce of strength drained from your body, leaving you helpless, breathless.

"What are you gonna do to me?" you pleaded, the words trembling on your lips, a desperate question laced with dread.

He locked the door behind him, cutting off any chance of escape. He turned towards you, watching as you collapsed on the bed, your strength seemingly gone.

"What am I going to do to you, doll face?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Well, that's for me to know and for you to find out."

He approached you like a predator stalking its prey, his eyes glinting in the dim light. He sat on the bed and tugged at the front of your shirt, easily tearing it apart.

His hand reached for your bra, his fingers tracing the edge of the fabric.

Your weak protest fell on deaf ears as he tugged at the front of your bra and pulled it off, leaving you completely exposed. He studied your body with his eyes, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.

"Well, well, doll face," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You have quite the body, don't you?"

His hands reached for the strap of your jeans, unbuttoning them easily before slipping them off your legs, leaving you only in your thong.

He let out a small whistle as he took in the sight of your exposed body, his eyes roaming over your curves.

"Look at you, doll face," he teased, his voice dripping with mocking amusement. "All dressed up for me, aren't you?"

His gloved hands touched your soft breasts squeezing them painfully as he pinched your nipples.

"Aaah!" You cried painfully.

"What's the matter, doll face?" he taunted, his voice low and dangerous. "Can't handle a little touch?"

He touched the straps of your thongs smoothly sliding it between your legs as he took it off.

"So pretty and sensitive." He said as you writhed beneath him.

You tried to hold his hand in protest, pleading with him to stop, but he easily brushed your hands away.

"No use trying to protest now, doll face," he taunted, his eyes roaming over your body. "You're all mine, and I'm going to do whatever I want with you."

"Please don't rape me." You pleaded. Shivering and writhing.

Ghost chuckled at your direct plea, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

"And why not, doll face?" he asked, his hand still tracing your jawline. "You're already at my mercy, completely vulnerable and at my disposal. Why shouldn't I take what I want from you, hm?"

You attempted to pull away, but his grip on your jaw tightened, a firm reminder of the power he held over you.

"Because...," You began, your voice coming out as a shaky whisper. "I..don't want it. Not like this."

He finally spoke, his voice still carrying its usual coolness, but with a hint of something unfamiliar-something that could almost be called restraint.

"You don't want it...like this,' he echoed, his thumb tracing a path along your jawline. "But what if I make you want it? What then, doll face?"

"What do you mean?" You whimpered.

"Touch yourself for me wont ya?" He said and took a seat on the chair infront of you. "Go ahead. Do it now." He ordered.

Your eyes widened at his blunt command, and a mix of shock and heat flooded your system.

He watched you intently, his gaze never leaving your face. He could see the hesitation, the internal battle you were waging. And yet, there was something dark and hungry in his eyes that betrayed his true intention-he was leaving you no choice.

"I can't." You cried and pleaded.

His jaw clenched, his irritation flaring at your continued disobedience. He rose from the chair, closing the distance between you in a few fluid strides.

He leaned in until his face was just inches from yours, his eyes flickering with a dangerous mixture of desire and anger.

"You really want to test my patience, don't you?" he growled, his hand gripping your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Please. I beg you." Tears escaped your eyes.

"You're making this harder than it has to be," he said. "Do you really think tears are going to sway me?"

Ghost's tone was firm and unyielding as he perched himself back in the chair, his gaze fixed on you like a hawk. He expected obedience, and he wasn't about to let you off the hook.

"You have two choices, doll face," he said. "Either you do as I say, or I'll have to make you. And trust me, you won't like the latter option. So, which is it going to be?"

He went and perched on the chair. Tears cascading down your cheeks ruining your mascara.

Ghost watched with dark, hungry eyes as you slowly removed your thongs, his gaze roaming over your exposed body with an intensity that made you shiver. His breath hitched in his chest as he took in the sight of you.

Your shaky hand reached between your thighs as you touched your clit slowly circling it with your fingers.

His eyes darkened with lust as he watched you touching yourself.

His eyes locked onto your face as tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the soft moans that escaped your lips. The sight stirred something primal within him, a storm of conflicting emotions waging war in his mind.

Ghost watched as your breaths became shaky, your body quivering under his intense gaze. The sight of you biting your lip, the way your body responded to his presence, only added fuel to the fire burning within him.

He leaned back in the chair, his body tense, his eyes fixed on you like a predator watching its prey.

The sounds of your moans echoed in the room, the sweet, sultry music of your pleasure filling Ghost's ears. He clenched the arms of the chair, his fingers digging into the material as he fought to maintain control.

He watched as your body writhed and squirmed at your own touch, the sight of you lost in your own pleasure both arousing and maddening to him.

You were so far gone in pleasure you didn't even know when he approached you.

Your breath hitched in your throat. He wasn't wearing his clothes. "Leave something for me doll." His husky voice echoes.

His hands encircled your wrists, guiding them to his muscled chest. The feel of his hot skin beneath your palms sent a jolt of heat through you, a stark contrast to the coldness of his mask.

He settled between your legs, his strong thighs supporting your slim legs, the friction of your bodies pressed against each other creating a delicious, building tension. The mask he wore only heightened the sense of mystery and danger surrounding him, making your heart race with both anticipation and trepidation.

The tip of his thick cock touched your folds and a hiss escaped your lips. His eyes locked at your face as he entered you and you felt your walls stretching with the thickness inch by inch as he invades your walls.

A sexy moan mixed with pain and pleasure escaped your lips.

He groaned as you tightened around him, the sensation causing his body to involuntary shiver. He paused for a moment, allowing you and himself to adjust.

He leaned down, his mask a stark contrast to your flushed skin, his breath hot on your ear. "Look at me." He commanded in a hoarse voice.

Your legs were completely bent as he filled you up to the hilt. "Look at me." He ordered again.

You open your hazy eyes with a gasp as you met with his intense gaze and a sexy cry escaped your lips.

Your pussy clenched around him. He held the back of your thighs with his warm hands to bend you more as he thrusted deep into you.

Your back arched as you clutched the sheets. Screams of esctacy escaped you.

"You are at my mercy now and I will ruin your pretty cunt for everyone else."

His words jolted you to the core.

With each deep thrust, his pace quickened, his movements becoming more desperate and urgent. You could feel the heat building inside you.

He put your legs on his shoulders and started to fuck you so hard his dick made impression where it hit you inside.

He put his hand on your belly as he bend you more to hit deep inside you. At this point your were yelping under him, writhing as his cock hit inside to your extreme limit.

Your back arched as you hid your face in the pillow biting it to muffle your painful cries as tears mingled with your sweat and soaked into the pillow.

You let him have his way with you.

He thrusts got more deeper and more fast. At this point you were totally blacked out and disoriented. You hadn't even been in a relationship before and here you are being fucked hard by a beast of a man.

Your back arched in his hands, head thrown back into the pillow. Fat tears escaping with the cries from your mouth. Drool all over your pretty face.

He took you to the verge of breaking.

A coil tightened in yoour core as you reached your utmost high like you climbed a mountain and then you came crashing down in his arms with a force that broke you into pieces in his arms.

He pulled his mask from his head and wrapped his arms around you as he pulled you into him. His lips crashing into you swallowing your sweet moans and cries as you came undone in his arms.

Your high was his low as he let go himself into you. His cock pulsated into you as he came inside you filling you to the brink with his hot cum.

Your cries muffled by his lips as you melted in his arms going completely limp and passing out with the height of pleasure.

From that day to the day you left everyday was a new test to your limits with this man as he fucked your breath away.

In the shower pinning you against the wall or on the cold marbled kitchen counter, on the wooden floor, or on the bed, he always had his way with you fucking you so bad until you are pleading him to stop or until you pass out from the multiple orgasms he bless you with. The days with him were filled with pure pain and bliss. He was all teeth and talk, a monster when it comes to sex.

With him you realised the true meaning of being ruined for everyone when you couldn't even stand up or walk properly.

You couldn't even walk properly as you went to sit in your helicopter wobbling all the way when he stood beside you to see you off.

"You didn't tell me your name." You said turning around to meet his cold gaze.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek.

Simon Riley! He whispered.

"Remember this name." He said as he nibbled your earlobe.

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