#snowys FUCKING SHOUTING AGAIN

[snowychicken]

If one more inanimate object starts giving me shit I'm going to start breaking things including my own bones

[aemondloverr]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡

𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 • 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 • 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Upon your arrival, Cregan sees to it that you are comfortable in Winterfell and a deal is struck.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: A sassy Jace and a Reader in denial of her feelings. Tiny bit of angst at the end

𝐰𝐜: 5.5k

𝐀/𝐍: I told yall I would drop again soonnn (had 4.3k words and decided to write 1.2k more smh.) And Ya'll. When you sign up for the taglist, PLEASE. PUT YOU USERNAME!! 😭 Some of you guys are just putting yes or no. I won't be able to tag you because I won't know how you are!!

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩: The entire family watches as you and Silverwing take flight, the dragon's wings beating strongly as you soar into the black sky.

A sense of melancholy hangs in the air, the weight of your absence already palpable among those left behind. Rhaenyra's expression is solemn as she watches you disappear into the distance, a silent prayer on her lips for your safe return.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

As Silverwing flies through the night sky, you catch a glimpse of another dragon in the distance. You instantly recognize the familiar shape and color as none other than Vermax. He appears to be flying in the same direction as you and is rapidly catching up.

You signal Silverwing to land

Silverwing, sensing your command, begins to reduce her speed and descend towards the ground. She lands gracefully on the soft earth, her wings beating powerfully to ease the impact of touchdown. The moment you dismount, you see Jace jumping off Vermax and hurrying towards you.

“Jace what the fuck are you doing??”

Jace approaches you quickly, his expression serious as he stops in front of you. He takes a moment to catch his breath, running a hand through his messy hair

"What do you think I'm doing? You didn't seriously think I would let you go to Winterfell alone, did you?"

“Mother said-”

Jace cuts you off, his frustration clear in his voice "I know what mother said. But I'm not letting you go on this trip alone, especially not with...him there. I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not."

You roll your eyes at his stubbornness and he rolls his own right back.

"Don't give me that look. You know I'm right. You need me there, whether you want to admit it or not."

“Why do you have to be so difficult. Ugh.”

Jace gives you a cocky grin, his usual playful demeanor resurfacing.

"Because someone needs to be the voice of reason and it clearly won't be you given your emotional state at the moment."

You scoff and get back onto Silverwings’ saddle.

He lets out a huff of laughter, shaking his head becausehe knows he's annoyed you. He hops back onto Vermax, the dragon flapping his wings impatiently, eager to take flight again.

"Ready to keep going, hotheaded?" he yells and you reply with a warning

“Mother will skin you when we get back; I hope you know that!”

He laughs, unbothered by your threat

"I'm sure I'll survive. Besides, it'll be worth it when I get to say I told you so."

Silverwing begins to beat her wings, preparing to take off once again. Jace clearly enjoys the opportunity to rile you up, as brothers always do.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

3 and a half days later

“DRAGONS!!” The guards bellow out a startled shout, prompting several other guards and castle folk to rush out into the courtyard to see what the commotion is.

As Silverwing and Vermax touch down on the cold, snowy landing outside Winterfell, you and Jace dismount, your breaths visible in the crisp, cold air. The castle looms above you, its massive walls and towers covered in a thick layer of snow. The sound of voices and activity can be heard from inside the castle, signaling the busy life of the northern capital.

The cold wind beats against you both, it’s chill uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

Approaching the wall, the townsfolk and guards murmur among themselves as you and Jace come into view, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. You can hear them whispering as they catch glimpses of the mighty dragons resting in the clearing behind you. The guards at the main gate watch you as you approach, their hands gripping their hilts of their swords tightly.

“This is the eldest Princess and Prince of the realm, children of Queen Rhaenyra. We are to meet with Lord Stark” you call out.

The guards exchange glances with one another, clearly uncertain how to respond. One of them steps forward, his gaze flicking nervously between you and the dragons behind you.

"You're here to meet with Lord Stark, you say?"

“Indeed. He had been made aware of our coming.”

The guard nods slowly, still appearing rather nervous in the presence of the dragons. He clears his throat and calls out to another guard standing further back

"Open the gates! The Princess and Prince are here!”

As the gates creek open, down comes Cregan Stark, marching towards you through the crowd of townspeople flanked on either side by a few of his trusted retainers. A cloak of wolf fur is draped over his shoulders, and his expression is stoic as ever. He stops about a few feet away from you, his grey eyes taking in the sight of the dragons behind you in the far clearing.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart races. You thought you were ready to see him again but clearly, that was not the case.

Cregan's expression remains stoic as he gazes at you, his eyes searching your face intently. He takes in the sight of you standing there, a mixture of emotions flickering briefly in his steel grey eyes. For a moment, the two of you stand there, silently staring at one another, neither of you breaking the tense silence that has fallen over the courtyard.

You observe each other with looks of familiarity. You still remember quite clearly how he looked at 5 and 10 and it definitely wasn’t anything like now.

Before, he was the same height as you, short red-brown hair and soft features. He had the sweetest smile you’d ever seen. It was almost like you could feel the warmth of his happiness.

Now, there is no warmth. His expressions show very little emotion and he’s at least a foot taller than you. His hair has grown out to his shoulders and it still has that pretty red-brown color to it.

He continues to scrutinize you, his eyes roaming over your figure. He does not speak, but his gaze betrays his thoughts.

It's clear that he too is caught off guard by the encounter, memories of your childhood together flooding his mind.

You incline your head in recognition and respect.

“Lord stark.”

"Princess,"

He nods in return, his expression guarded but polite.

He briefly glances at Jace, then back at you, clearly noting the presence of your companion.

You tap Jaces hand to get him to be respectful.

Jace, who has been watching the exchange with annoyance, follows your unspoken order. He steps forward and gives a brief, stiff bow to Lord Stark.

"Lord Stark," he greets in a cool tone, his expression betraying his reluctance to show proper respect.

What a great start to an alliance. Good one Jace.

Cregan raises an eyebrow at Jace's impolite behavior, but he remains impassive as he regards him. He turns his attention back to you, his gaze flicking over your figure once more before he speaks.

"I trust you had a safe journey?"

“Aye. We did.”

He takes a step back, gesturing towards the entrance to Winterfell.

"You must be weary from the journey. I will have my men take you to your chambers for you to rest. We can converse when you have freshened up and settled in."

“Thank you.”

Cregan nods once more, then turns and gives a brief command to a few of the retainers standing nearby. The retainers step forward and begin to usher you and Jace towards the castle. Cregan falls in behind them, still observing you intently, his expression inscrutable as ever.

You speak to Jace in high Valyrian

Jace glances at you as you address him, his brow furrowing slightly. He responds in the same language, his voice low so only you can hear. "He's still as cold and stoic as ever. This should be fun."

“It was rude of you to do what you did, ignoring him like that.”

Jace rolls his eyes, a hint of irritation in his voice

"It wasn't rude. It was the truth. He acts like a block of ice, even towards royalty."

“Jacaerys.” You demand sternly

Jace holds his hands up defensively, his expression contrite. "Alright, alright, I'll stop. But you can't deny that you were practically fawning over Lord Stark."

“I was not. It was rude of you not to greet him like that after sneaking all this way with me. It would be a shame to send you home when you’ve only just arrived, wouldn’t it.” You threaten.

"Fine, I get it I get it I'll be polite. But only for you. Not for him."

“That’s not how this works-”

Jace cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll behave myself. I promise. Can you just stop nagging me for ten minutes now, please?"

“Shall I send raven to mother right now?”

"No, no, no. That won't be necessary. I said I'd behave. I'll be the perfect image of etiquette, I swear it."

“Good then.”

Jace sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He gives you a weary look, accepting that he has no choice but to play nice.

"I'll be on my best behavior. No more rude quips or comments. I'll treat Lord Stark like he's the most charming, most handsome man in all of Westeros. Happy now?"

You just scoff in response.

Jace rolls his eyes, clearly not pleased by your response "Gods, you're impossible to please. I make the grand gesture to accompany you all this way and you're still annoyed with me. I can't win, can I?"

Cregan, who has been quietly listening to the exchange between you and Jace, raises an eyebrow at your bickering. A hint of curiosity flickers in his eyes as he hears the rapid exchange of words in High Valyrian. It's clear that he's wondering what you're discussing that has you so riled up.

Jace has nothing more to say, pouting as you’re lead to where you’ll both stay.

At last, you reach the Great Keep and up a spiral staircase to the guest wing. They escort you to two adjacent rooms, each furnished with comfortable beds, warm furs, and a fireplace to keep away the winter chill. Servants are already inside the rooms, laying out towels and filling a tub of hot water for you to bathe.

“This is much appreciated, especially after our long journey.” You thank Cregan but Jace just goes straight to his room, shutting the door behind him.

He waits a moment, as if considering what to say, before finally speaking in his deep, gruff voice.

"Is your brother always so...irritable?"

“I’m sure you remember.”

A slight smile tugs at the corners of Cregan's lips as he hears your comment. He nods slowly, his eyes still locked onto yours.

There’s that warm smile of his

"Aye, I do remember. Though he seems to be even more ornery than I recall."

“He’s quite the trouble. The older he gets, the more impolite and out of line.”

His eyes widen as he nods in agreement, his expression taking on a slightly amused cast.

"It seems so. But he is certainly loyal, I'll give him that much."

“Well it's clear he never liked you, that's for sure.”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at your statement, his gaze flickering with curiosity. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

"Oh? And why is that, pray tell?"

“Because you stole me away from him. I stopped playing with him everytime you visited King’s Landing.”

"Ah, so he's jealous, is he? I wondered if that was the cause of his animosity towards me."

“Speaking of Jace…I mean to talk with you quickly…”

You’d wanted to ask him if he could keep your brother in Winterfell but with the way Jace is behaving, he might just ruin it for himself.

The corners of Cregan's lips twitch into a smile at your words, his gaze still fixed on you. He nods, gesturing towards your chambers.

"Very well. Let us talk somewhere more private then, shall we?"

“No need.”

He raises an eyebrow at your response, his expression turning curious as he studies your face. He tilts his head slightly

"Oh? You wish to talk here? In the corridor? Are you not concerned about your brother and his listening in?"

“Well…I suppose you’re right.”

Cregan nods in agreement, a hint of a smirk on his face. He pushes himself off the wall and takes a step towards your chambers.

"Aye, I thought so. Come, then."

He gestures for you to lead the way into your room.

You push open the doors of your chambers. The room smells of your favorite flowers.

He remembered.

You smile silently but briefly to yourself at the flowers on the bedside as for him to not notice.

Cregan notices your brief smile anyways, but he does not comment on it. He walks over to the window, peering out into the snowy landscape outside. The moonlight in the darkening sky casts a silvery sheen upon the snow-covered ground, making everything look almost ethereal. He lets out a soft hum, his gaze still fixed on the outside before he speaks.

"It's a clear night tonight.”

You shiver, still cold although already inside. It was somehow colder in your chambers than the halls. Maybe it was because of the windows. You’d greatly underestimated the cold of Winterfell and now, you were suffering for it. “A-aye…”

Cregan notices the shiver that runs through you, his gaze lingering for a moment. He frowns slightly, concern evident in his eyes, even through his usual stoic demeanor.

"Are you cold? Here, come closer to the fire."

He gestures for you to come nearer to the fireplace and you step closer. He feeds the dying fire more wood in order to warm the room faster, moving to stand beside you, his figure casting a long shadow over yours as the firelight dances upon your features.

"Better?" he asks, voice soft and low.

You nod in response and he hums softly, eyes still fixed on you. He studies you for a moment, taking in your chattering teeth and trembling form.

"You're still shivering. Here, let me..."

Without warning, he reaches out and gently grabs hold of your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours.

“It would be a bother-“

He cuts you off with a shake of his head, hand tightening around yours. His voice is firm but gentle as he speaks.

"It's no bother at all. I won't have you freezing to death while you're under my roof."

He gently pulls you closer to him, guiding you to stand right in front of the fireplace. He keeps his hand wrapped around yours, his grip firm yet careful.

"Now, hold on.”

He takes a few moments to remove his cloak, which he drapes around your shoulders. The cloak is made of thick wool and lined with softer furs, making it warm and comfortable to wear. The garment is much too large for you, but it immediately envelops you, trapping the warmth of the fire between the layers of fabric. He stands silently next you, his hand still wrapped around yours, as if to ensure your body heat stays trapped within the cloak.

“I like this…This is nice.” The coat of course. Not his company. In any way. At all.

Cregan smiles slightly in response to your words, his grip on your hand tightening imperceptibly. He gazes down at you, studying your face as you huddle within the warmth of his cloak, a flicker of something warm passing through his grey eyes.

"Good. I'm glad.”

He rubs small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, his touch gentle and soothing as he keeps you close to the fire.

You can’t help but feel a flutter in your heart at the kind gestures and he can’t help but get butterflies, seeing you in his large furs.

Cregan continues to watch you silently, his gaze lingering on your slightly flushed cheeks and the way his cloak envelopes your body. With each passing moment, a sense of protectiveness and possessiveness begins to rise within him, though he keeps it well-hidden behind his stoic expression. His thumb continues to rub gentle circles on your hand, the gesture becoming almost subconscious at this point.

You pull your hand away and clear your throat. This is inappropriate. You shouldn’t be allowing him to get so close like this. Yet here you are.

He frowns slightly, feeling the loss of your warmth as you withdraw. He glances down at you with a hint of confusion in his eyes, wondering if he may have overstepped some invisible boundary. His gaze flickers down to his cloak, wrapped tightly around your shoulders, an unconscious reminder of his desire to keep you close and warm.

“Are you feeling warmer now?”

“Yes…Thank you”

A hint of relief crosses over Cregan's face at your answer, and he nods silently. Despite the return of the usual distance between you, there's a noticeable hint of reluctance in his gaze, as if he wishes to pull you closer again. He takes a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets, his voice is quiet as he speaks.

"You're always welcome."

The silence between you hangs heavy in the air, charged with unspoken words and lingering tension. Cregan stands facing you, his gaze fixed on your face. The dance of the fire casts shadows across his features, emphasizing the hard set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates, seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say. The silence hangs between you for a beat longer before he finally does.

"You said you wished to talk, didn't you?"

“I need a favor. Well not so much a favor but…”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at your words, curiosity etched on his face.

"Go on,” he prompts.

“My mother will soon be sending a raven.”

"A...raven? What for…?"

“She'll want you to send Jace back to dragonstone”

Cregan lets out a scoff, his gaze flicking around the room before settling on you again.

"She wants me to send him back to Dragonstone? Why?”

“He wasn’t supposed to be here. Mother forbade him from coming with me so he decided to be a half wit and sneak out to ‘protect’ me” You roll your eyes just thinking back to his rebellious flee.

He shakes his head at Jace’s stubbornness and crosses his arms.

"He really never does like to listen to anyone, does he?"

“She’ll surely skin him”

She really might.

"Aye, I can imagine she would be quite displeased to find out he defied her orders. He's really dug himself a deep hole this time."

“Well that’s why I need you to ignore the message…”

"Ignore the message? Are you serious? You want me to ignore your mother's command to send your brother home?"

“Just… don’t worry about it. And if you get in trouble. I’ll vouch for you”

Cregan looks deeply conflicted, his brow creasing as he processes your request. He crosses his arms, his eyes studying your face intently.

"The Queen herself? And you think your word can protect me if it gets out that I disobeyed her?"

“I am her eldest. Besides, It’s nothing you haven’t done already.” You cross your arms, hinting about when you were children.

He rolls his eyes at your remark, clearly understanding the reference.

"Aye, fair point. I suppose I have disobeyed a few royal orders back then. But this is different. We aren't children anymore."

You didn’t want to have to resort to this but you’re almost begging.

"I know this but can't you just do it for my sake? As much as I hate to admit it, I need my brother here." You take his hand once again.

Cregan flinches slightly at the sudden contact of your hand in his, his gaze immediately looking down to where your fingers are intertwined together.

There's a momentary flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, his stoic expression faltering for a brief moment. Your words, spoken with such earnestness and conviction, tug at his heartstrings, and he can't deny the plea in your eyes.

He sighs deeply, a mixture of reluctance and resignation crossing his features. However, as his gaze falls upon your desperate expression, his will crumbles, and he nods.

"Fine…I’ll do it for you."

“Thank you..good. I'll swipe the message before it even reaches your solar. And if she asks you, you won't be lying because you’d not have received it and you’d not have even laid your eyes upon it”.

"Aye, but I have one condition."

Oh gods. It can never be straightforward with him can it?

“And what'll that be?…”

"Your brother will have to be respectful and obey my commands. No more of his sharp tongue or disobedience. I’ll not have him questioning my authority in my own castle. I don’t want any more unnecessary headaches because of that boy."

Cregan takes a step closer to you, his figure towering slightly over you, his gaze fixed solely on your face. His voice is low and quiet, a hint of warning.

Despite your doubts for Jace’s good behavior, you agree

“Easy. Done.”

You mean easier said than done?

Herein lies the problem. How is Jace to do that? He’ll never give up his snarky remarks. Sure maybe temporarily, but not forever. He can’t go long without saying something out of pocket.

Cregan nods in approval, a flicker of satisfaction in his grey eyes.

"and.."

Of course there's more.

"...you give me something in return” He finishes, his voice firm but gentle at the same time. His gaze bores into yours, searching for a hint of protest in your eyes but not letting go of your hand just yet. He continues to study you with intense eyes.

“Which is…?”

"Your company. Everyday."

Fuck.

“What?”

This is the last thing you’d expect and the last thing you wanted to happen. Getting over him does not include spending MORE time with him.

Cregan's gaze is steady on you, his voice still holding a slight gruffness.

"I want your company. I want you by my side. I want you to accompany me to my meetings, to dine with me, to walk with me, to simply…be with me.”

You chuckle nervously in disbelief “Everyday? It is a jest, surely? You cannot expect to-”

Cregan cuts you off, his voice a quiet but firm interruption. His gaze remains steady and intent, his expression serious as he responds.

“Not a jest. I expect you to keep me company. Not all your time, I’m not unreasonable, but a fair share of it. That is my price. Take it or leave it.”

“…And if I refuse?”

An unreadable expression crosses over Cregan’s face at your question. His grip on your hand tightens almost instinctively, like he’s afraid you might pull away. A hint of vulnerability flashes in his eyes, hidden behind a stoic mask, as he responds.

“You won’t refuse…but if you do…then the deal is off and your brother has to leave.”

Using blackmail to spend more time with you is low, even for him.

You ponder for a minute, weighing the decisions and he watches closely as he waits patiently for your response.

“So… blackmail is how you get what you want”

He sighs, letting go of your hand as he takes a step back, creating some distance between you.

"Not blackmail. Incentive." he grumbles in irritation. He crosses his arms, his gaze hardening as he responds.

"I’m not a liar or an oath breaker. You want me to do you a favor? Then I’ll do it. But I’m allowed to have something in return, aren’t I?"

“Fine.”

“Perfect. Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, you will spend the day with me.”

“Now” you sigh and turn your back “I’d like to take a bath now so if it please you…” you give a shooing motion.

Cregan nods, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes as he gazes at your back. He watches for a moment longer before relenting.

“Very well, you may bathe. I have matters to attend to anyway.”

He really doesn’t. He just wanted your company.

He turns towards the door, his hand on the handle as he glances back at you over his shoulder.

“I assume I will see you at supper tonight?”

“No you will not.”

He pauses at your statement, his hand dropping from the door handle. He turns back towards you, his expression slightly surprised by your adamant response.

“No? And may I ask why not?”

“I wish to retire after my bath so you may send for my supper. I will not come down. It’s been long since I slept well.”

He considers your words for a moment, his eyes studying your face intently, his tone slightly reluctant.

"Very well, I suppose you need to rest. But I expect to see you at breakfast on the morrow. We have a few matters to discuss.”

“Aye.”

Cregan gives you a small nod of agreement, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he finally turns to exit your your chambers, muttering something under his breath.

“Bloody stubborn girl.”

The door closes softly behind him.

“I heard that!!”

"Intended it to be heard!" he calls back from the hall, his voice tinged with playful sarcasm.

The room is quiet for a few moments after, the only sound coming from the crackling fire in the fireplace. The stillness is interrupted only by a soft knock on the door, followed by the voices of the servants as they bring in soaps, oils, and towels for the bath.

Every interaction with Cregan just melts at your resolve. You can’t avoid him. He’s made sure of that.

Despite your best efforts, you find yourself struggling to maintain that familiar disdain for him. Somewhere along the line, your feelings towards him have grown more complicated and nuanced.

You continue about your routine, undressing and slowly sinking into the warm water of the bath. As you relax into the tub, you let your mind wander once again, and the memories of your past with Cregan flood your mind. The old feelings of friendship and affection for him bubble to the surface, but you quickly push them down as you remind yourself of what he did.

The maids carefully and meticulously wash your hair, gently massaging the soap into the strands and rinsing it clean. Their touch is soothing as they work, their hands gliding through your locks with practiced ease. The warm water of the bath gently laps against your skin, providing a relaxing contrast to the maids' gentle touch.

You let yourself sink deeper into the tub, the warm water enveloping your body and easing the tension in your muscles. The heat of the water soothes your tired limbs, and the comforting scent of the bath oils swirl around you as they float on the surface. The maids gently massage a soft cloth over your skin, helping you clean and relax even further.

They tend to your arms, legs, and rest of your body, scrubbing all of the dirt and grime away.

After you are thoroughly rinsed, they help you stand and step out of the tub, warm water dripping down your body. One of the maids wraps a drying cloth around your hair, while the other sets out a soft and lightweight silken robe for you to slip into.

“Thank you for your assistance girls.”

The maids nod graciously at your appreciation, their work complete.

"You're welcome, Princess. Is there anything else you need before we take our leave?"

“What be your names?”

"I'm Martha." One says, the tall, brunette maid.

"And I'm Sara." The second maid replies, a soft-spoken blonde with an equally soft face.

“Goodnight, Martha and Sara”

The maids curtsy together as they reply.

"Good night, Princess."

With that, they gather their materials and exit your chambers, leaving you alone in the quiet room once again.

Once you’re done drying yourself off, you put on your silken robe, exiting the bathing room.

As if on cue, there is a knock at the door, followed by Cregan’s voice on the other side.

"Are you decent?"

“Just a moment.”

You cross the room to the bed, your steps quiet on the soft carpet. As you go through the wardrobe, you select a soft and lightweight night shift made of fine silk. You slip it over your head, the fabric feeling cool against your skin and falls just above your knees.

“You may enter.”

Cregan pushes open the door and enters, his eyes scanning the room, almost instinctively searching for your presence. A hint of surprise flickers across his face as he spots you, dressed in a simple nightgown with the fire burning bright behind you.

“I see you come bearing gifts.”

Cregan quirks a smile at your words, holding up a tray of food as he responds.

"As promised. I wanted to make sure you had something to eat before you retire.”

He walks over and sets the tray down on the table near the window, the dishes and cutlery clinking faintly as he places them down.

You do quickly to dismiss him. He’s been around you long enough today.

“Right…Thank you. Goodnight then.”

Cregan pauses, confusion and disappointment crossing his features as you promptly dismiss him. He stands there for a moment, shifting on his feet, as he stares across the room at your form.

"That’s it? I bring you dinner and just like that I’m dismissed?"

Well that backfired.

“What do you want, a piece of my bread?”

“No. I don’t want your bloody bread. I was just….”

he trails off, his expression clouding slightly, as if he suddenly can’t find the words he’s looking for to articulate his thoughts.

He takes a moment, gazing at you, taking in your form by the light of the fire. A hint of vulnerability seeps into his expression, his words suddenly turning quiet and unexpected.

"I was just trying to... spend some more time with you."

“You said that starts tomorrow. Not today.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, his eyes fixed on your face, his expression mingling with a hint of irritation and stubbornness.

"Aye, the deal we made says tomorrow. But I don’t see why I can’t spend some time with you right now. Why are you so adamant to get rid of me?"

“I’m just tired. And I don’t need this right now”

An excuse.

"You don’t need what? My company? Or is it something about my presence you find so intolerable, Princess?”

You raise you voice at him. “Just stop okay. Stop. I said I was tired and you're acting like a petulant child. I just- I want to be alone.”

The stubborn look in his eyes falters, replaced by a flicker of hurt that he tries to hide behind a stoic mask. But it’s ther for a brief moment. Your words hit a nerve, and he falters for just a second, before his expression hardens once again.

"Petulant? Just trying to spend some time with you, and you’re ready to kick me out as if I’m some lowly servant."

“That was not my intention. But now is not the time to spend time with me-” you try and defuse the situation by apologizing but to no avail.

Cregan lets out a scoff and wounded pride with a reluctant understanding flashes in his eyes.

"Then when is the time? Tomorrow? When do you feel like dealing with me?"

“Yes. Tomorrow. Because that’s when you said.”

He grits his teeth, his jaw tensing as he struggles to hold back a biting reply. Clearly, he’s not too happy about your decision to push him away.

"Fine. Tomorrow it is then." he mutters under his breath, the reluctance in his tone clear. He storms out, shutting the door loudly.

You distanced yourself, like you wanted…but at what cost? You can’t help but feel bad at your blunt words. You feel like you hurt him.

Despite his tough demeanor, Cregan's heart is soft and sensitive, and he's far more emotional than he lets on. Your harsh words, even if unintentionally, have obviously affected him, leaving him confused. He wants to understand why you're pushing him away, why you're being so distant with him.

You don't want to fall back into old patterns, let alone complicate your current situation. It hurt you to hurt him the way you did but you have to be strong...and yet, deep down, something inside you yearns for the familiarity of his presence, the warmth of his smile, the feel of his touch…

*****

You lift the lid of the food he brought and your eyes land on a small piece of paper tucked among the food. It's a note, penned in a neat and familiar handwriting. The ink is dark, the words written with a strong and decisive hand.

As you read the words, you can almost hear Cregan's voice in your mind, the deep timbre of his tone echoing in your ears.

It reads:

"I hope the food is to your liking. Sleep well, princess..."

C.

A note so kind yet you were so cruel.

Tonight was not a night you slept soundly, but rather, a night you pondered your words.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐀/𝐍

Bro why does it feel like I’m writing a whole lotta nothing…😭 Cregan barely does anything in this one but pt.4 gets good. I’m still cooking. And next chapter is gonna be deliciousss.

PS. YES. Their childhood will be in the story, probably pt.3 or 4. Still deciding which one because I don’t want the chapter to be more than 6k. (You guys should read the comments for some previews on the next chapter and sign up for the taglistt 😘)

@beebeechaos @iv-vee @aemondwhoresworld @obscure-beauty @cregansfourthwife @6ternalsun @msmarvelknight @melsunshine @littlebirdgot @kingdomzeldaquest @squidscottjeans

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

GUINEA PIG ───

jonathan crane ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion

pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader

summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.

warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.

You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship. 

Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive. 

This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function. 

Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but. 

These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead. 

“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright. 

You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane. 

You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease. 

At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525. 

You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it. 

When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god. 

“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything. 

However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive. 

“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GSU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago. 

You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear. 

As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with. 

Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee. 

You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.

You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting. 

(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh. 

Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.

What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)

You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together. 

Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody. 

You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane. 

Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out? 

But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves. 

Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago. 

Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart? 

“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch. 

“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all. 

“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”

Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.

You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face. 

Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain. 

“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”

Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.

“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”

“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked. 

“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”

“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”

“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated. 

“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway. 

“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now. 

You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”

“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.

There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office. 

You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.

You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly. 

Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not. 

By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces. 

Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated. 

Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home. 

Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park. 

Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials. 

Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze. 

You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off. 

You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation. 

That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects. 

“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab. 

“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes. 

“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark. 

“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant. 

That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting. 

“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”

You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.

“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair. 

You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”

Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly. 

“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid. 

You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.” 

Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?” 

You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.

You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years. 

You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew. 

He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment. 

Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one. 

“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him. 

“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”

You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.

You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek. 

Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”

You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed? 

You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before. 

Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever. 

“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily. 

“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes. 

You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time. 

“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”

Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”

His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment. 

“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”

Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.

“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him. 

You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all. 

Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white. 

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly. 

Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him. 

You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back. 

“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him. 

Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts. 

Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.

“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were. 

“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch. 

“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions. 

“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”

“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”

“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”

“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed. 

Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.

You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs. 

Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body. 

“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”

Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously. 

He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling. 

“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”

You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.

“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.

You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth. 

After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand. 

It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it. 

“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands. 

“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.

“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,” 

Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly. 

You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass. 

He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling. 

“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before. 

With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt. 

“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins. 

“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him. 

Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open. 

“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”

“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth. 

Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds. 

This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in. 

“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”

“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out. 

“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.” 

Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach. 

Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him. 

The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him. 

Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.

Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm. 

There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.

It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you. 

In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments. 

You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you. 

You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come. 

You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs. 

“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.

The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior. 

You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music. 

You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair. 

At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it. 

You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid. 

Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you. 

“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”

You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”

He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”

You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch. 

“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”

“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.

Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe. 

“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Your gravity falls fanfics are so good!! :0 if you’re still taking requests could I request a one shot where Stan’s s/o is with him during the fight between him and ford and they get sucked into the portal instead of ford? I love your angst so much hehehe

Part two is right here

You had originally came with Stanley as support for when he confronts Ford after spending a long period of his life with no contact, no nothing to reassure his twin that he was fine and not dead in a ditch somewhere.

‘The nerve of him, living it up here and not so much as a word to his one brother, his twin no less.’ Stan muttered, his gip tightened on your hand as you both walked up to the lonely shack amidst the snowy forest, but there was something else there besides anger it was nervousness or perhaps worry that his brother didn’t contact him for one reason or another.

‘And here’s your chance to make yourself heard,’ you said as you squeezed his hand, hoping to comfort Stan during this difficult moment for him, ‘you’ve spent enough time to mull over what it is that you want to tell him, now is the time to let him know how much this has affected you and he will have to listen regardless.’

However you’ve came to realise that there was a lot more going on that Ford claims that you and Stanley weren’t aware of as his eyes shifted everywhere out of paranoia. You were still blinking your eyes after getting abruptly blinded by Ford upon first meeting, something about possession? You were certain this wasn’t how you thought you’d be meeting Stan’s twin -not in the slightest- but it was clear to you that Ford was afraid of something, what it was he wouldn’t tell only saying that he needed Stan to hide his journals, scatter them as far from each other which did nothing but annoy Stan.

You could see the clench in his jaw and his fists and were about to reach out and ground him but before you could blink, Stan and Ford were tussling over the journal across the lab as the portal thrummed with power, almost as if entertained by the fight between twins and you were left unable to do anything but watch.

‘Is that all you brought me here for! To help you hide your journals?! I bet I didn’t cross your mind not even once!’ Stanley shouted as he kept the journal close to his chest with his lighter as he managed to keep Ford where he wanted him.

‘You don’t understand Stanley! This is dangerous things you are holding in your hands!’ Ford replied, eyes firmly locked onto the journal and the flickering flame of his brother’s lighter that got too close to the journal’s pages for his liking. ‘Think about the potential threats-‘

‘Fuck that! I want my brother back!’ Stanley cuts his brother off as he grew frustrated at how his brother was - once again- not listening to him or what he had to say. ‘You could’ve called upon me any time! But you only call upon me when you want someone else to do your dirty work for you! What about what I want! My life is in ruins because of you!’ Ford lunged towards Stan and managed to knock the lighter out of his hand, grasping at the bottom half of the journal while Stanley tightened his grip on the upper half of the journal.

‘You ruined your own life and you’ll ruin y/n’s with the way that you are going!’ Ford retorts in a strained voice as he and Stanley tugged the journal in two different ways, just for Stanley to loose his grip, fall backwards and hurt himself on a hot surface that caused him to scream in pain. ‘Stanley!’ You and Ford yelled as you both went to rush to Stan’s aid, hoping he wasn’t too hurt, only for him to Punch Ford in the face and as Ford stumbled backwards he bumped into you. which then caused you to fall back into a lever of sorts; before soon finding yourself beginning to float and be drawn towards the portal with nothing to grab onto to prevent it from happening.

Freaking out you yelled, ‘STANLEY! HELP ME!’ You screamed as you found yourself getting closer and closer to the entrance of the portal, helplessly flailing out of pure panic and need to get away from it, not realising that your attempts to get away were fruitless. Your screams had dragged Ford and Stan from their fight as they could only watch in horror as half of your body was already in the portal.

‘Y/n! Baby! HOLD ON! JUST HOLD ON BABY IM COMING!’ Stanley yelled back as he frantically looked for anything he could use to rope you back to the ground, but grew frustrated when he couldn’t find not a single piece of rope or metal rod lying about, the lab was clean of any and all obstruction. ‘FORD HELP ME!’ He cried as he looked back at his twin, who was frantically looking himself for anything to get you away from the portal, just to face the same problem that frustrated Stanley. ‘I’m trying!’ He shouted over his shoulder as his guilt for bringing both you and Stan here began to weigh down on him heavily.

‘Well you’re not looking hard enough!’ Stanley barked as the fear of losing you was slowly crushing his chest, making it harder for him to breath as his mind raced with the thought of having to live a life without you, his anchor, his best friend and his beloved partner. He hated it, he didn’t want to envision it but here he was living the nightmare he swore would never come true, feeling helpless and useless as he was forced to hear your frightened sounds and not be able to do anything about it.

He didn’t even get to say the words ‘I love you’ yet as he was scared that you’d find someone better then him before he even mustered up the courage, but you never did. You stayed by his side, even if it mean moving from state to state almost every week because of him and Stanley knew he didn’t deserve you, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to loose you from his life either.

Stan and Ford tired their hardest but it wasn’t enough as by the time they looked back at you, your outstretched hand was the last thing the pair saw as the portal closed, leaving them to stare at the portal in denial of their failure to rescue you. ‘Baby?’ Sanely said as he stepped forward hesitantly. ‘BABY! THIS ISNT FUNNY! COME OUT PLEASE!’ He cried louder now when the realisation began to set for him as he ran towards the lever, pulling it and pushing it in desperation of re-opening the portal in hopes of seeing you rush out and right into his arms; where he would keep you for as long as you’d allow him to.

Only for neither of those things to happen, the portal remained shut and you remained lost to whatever was on the opposite side, scared, confused and alone.

‘WHY ISNT IT WORKING!’ Stan screamed as he pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled the lever so much that Ford had to physically drag him away from it before he broke it, thus making more work for them in getting you back. ‘Stop Stanley, it’s not working!’ Ford said as he managed to stand between his twin and the lever, ‘the portal is out of power, it won’t open up unless we get the necessary materials to open it again.’

‘Then what are we doing! Let’s go get it!’ Stanley said as he was about to leave the lab but was stoped by Ford’s hand on his arm, which he shrugged off violently. ‘It’s not so easily obtained Stanley,’ Ford said as he let his hand drop to his side as Stanley glared at him, ‘we need money to get the parts needed to power the portal up. I only had enough to open it once and that took a lot of time, even with Fiddleford’s help, and without him or the necessary materials…’ Ford trailed off which didn’t help Stanley’s mood as he grew angrier at his brother’s insinuation.

‘They’re trapped on the other side forever?!’ He yelled. ‘Bullshit! I don’t believe that! I want them back now!’ Stanley then grabs Ford by the collar and brings him so that they were eye to eye. ‘Give them back or I swear to fucking god Stanford-‘

‘I can’t bring them back without the necessary materials Stanley I told you.’ Ford reaffirmed as he started at his heartbroken twin as the first signs of tears left his eyes, Ford felt Stan’s grip loosened on him until they went completely slack at his side as he fell to his knees, chin dropping to his chest as he silently wept. ‘Bring them back.’ Stanley chanted softly, ‘being them back to me, I can’t loose them. You don’t understand. They’re everything to me and now I’m nothing without them.’ Stanley whispered to the air as if someone with the power to grant his wish will hear him, but instead elected to ignore him and his pleads.

Ford, heartbroken at seeing how distraught and lifeless his brother had became, slowly knelt in front of him in silence, not knowing how to comfort him correctly as he felt himself to blame for your disappearance into the portal. He had taken away the one person who cared for Stanley in the times where his family couldn’t be bothered, someone who loved him unconditionally regardless of what he did and Ford had taken you away from him seemingly forever, so he wouldn’t be surprised if Stanley would hold a grudge against him for it.

However one thing was for certain, he’d help his brother get you back however he could, no matter how long it would take them, even if it took them thirty years to do so; it was a risk that Ford originally wasn’t willing to take but if it meant getting you back to Stanley then he’d do anything to see his brother happy again.

[ghostheartfelt]

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

—✩ PHANTOM TOUCH ✩—

word count —15.6k

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

VIENNA, AUSTRIA.

“Move, move, move!” Price yells.

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

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

Your lieutenant. 

Anybody. 

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

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

Your arms raise to cover your face. 

“Fuck!” 

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

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

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

Thump.

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

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

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

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

Hudson “Scooter” Wheeler. 

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

“I’m sorry, Wheeler.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They moved closer—it seemed to be one person. 

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

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

Your finger grazes over the trigger of your carbine rifle.

A leg comes before the torso, then the face. 

The skull mask.

Ghost.

Relief washes over you immediately—raising to your knees.

“Lieutenant!” You call. 

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

“Thought we lost’ya,” Ghost rasps.

“What’s the sitrep?” 

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

You nod softly. 

“Why’d you hang back?” 

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

“Gh—“

There’s a person behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost.

Where was Ghost?

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

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

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

“Ghost, are you injured?” 

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you.” You bite back.

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

“I eat boys like you for breakfast.” 

Ghost chuckles beside you.

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

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

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

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

“Good fuckin’ luck,” Ghost grunts.

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

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

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

“Hey!” Ghost shouts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Agarwal—blade.”

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

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

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

“English, asshole.” You grunt.

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

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

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

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

“Piss off,” the blonde huffs.

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

“No!” You yell. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your vest and your book.

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

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

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

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

“Thaye…” he susurrated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does the sun go on shining?

You watch Rolmuth pick up a pair of pliers.

Why does the sea rush to shore?

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

‘Cause you don’t love me anymore?

He was going to rip off your finger.

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

“Go…to hell—“ 

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

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

Why do the birds go on singing? 

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

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

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

Why do the stars glow above?

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

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

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

It ended when I lost your love. 

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

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

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

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

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

Why does my heart go on beating?

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

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

“Who…is…your...captain?” 

Why do these eyes of mine cry?

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

Ghost coughs up blood; internal bleeding. 

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

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

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

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

It ended when you said “goodbye.” 

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

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

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

Ghost yells your name again.

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

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

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

Why does my heart go on beating?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your head slumps at the attempt of a nod. 

“Save y’r energy, lovie.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY TWO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was asleep.

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

It felt colder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes flicker to yours. 

“‘M alive, aren’t I?” Ghost says.

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

“You are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He dismisses the two of his men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In my heart, I have but one desire…

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

And that one is you, no other will do…

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

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim

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

I just want to be the one you love…

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

And with your admission…that you feel the same,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The music is starting to garble. 

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

I…—you too—uch.  

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

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

I just want to start…

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

A great big flame…

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

Down in your heart.

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

You see, way down inside me,

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

Darling, I have only one desire. 

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

And that one desire is you, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enough!” The blonde yells again.

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

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

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

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

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

The taste of bile is sickening to your empty stomach. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pissed.

He was incensed. 

More than that. 

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

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

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

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

You still bore into your lieutenant’s gaze.

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

You might drown in your own saliva at this rate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop,” you rasp. “Let’im go…”

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

“No…” you snarl.

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

“No?” He says cockily.

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

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

You hear a click, it wasn’t a gun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears surface the corners of your eyes. 

No, no, no, no…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His radio.

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

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

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

“Thaye…” Ghost croons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t do anything.

He can only watch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleep,” he rasps. “I’ll watch ya.” 

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Hindi man pulls down Ghost’s gag. 

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

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

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

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

“Stop!” you cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The gun slides across the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bitch!” Rolmuth snarls.

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

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

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

Ghost calls your name weakly.

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

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

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

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

“Thaye!” Your lieutenant hollers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghost?” You lift your head. 

“‘M here.” He replies. 

“I don’t know if I can get up.”

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

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

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

He didn’t have a knife on him. 

Got to be fucking kidding me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can y’walk?” 

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

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

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

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

“I know but—“ 

“No.” 

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

“Stay behind me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six…Five…

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

Four…

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

You groan and push over a bookshelf behind Ghost once you’re both out of the smoke. He takes aim and opens fire at three men, blowing holes in their chests before he rams into the fourth with a loud yell and slams down the stock of his assault rifle into his face until his teeth and nose are finely pressed into the persian rug.

You finish off two more who try to walk through the threshold of the room, turning your head over your shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Two…

You jerk yourself away before you get slugged by a riot shield, ascending yourself and shoving your firearm past the barriers of his lips from behind. You pull the trigger and his head flings as the bullet rings out and creates a sizable hole in the back of his head.

One…

Before his body hits the tile, you take hold of his riot shield and deflect the hail of gunfire from the individual who came emerging from the threshold corner.

You walk forward until his clip is empty to drive the shield into his vest-covered chest, stunning him so you can push it aside and fire your last shot into the underside of his jaw. 

Zero.

Bullets continue spraying throughout the entirety of the house while you make sure you don’t pass out from the amount of blood you’ve lost.

You grab the TAQ-V from off the floor and click a new magazine into it, shoving a spare into your back pocket before pushing into the same room as Ghost.

He’s piling bodies on the floor, wrestling for dominance over a knife. 

You fastdraw another handgun you’d grabbed off of one of the bodies and shoot the man in his knee cap to allow Ghost to gain the upper hand and pierce the man’s temple with the weapon. 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly. 

You nod softly, inhaling sharply as you feel wet blood pool around your uninjured foot. 

They took your shoes for no reason, like they had a use for them.

Maybe it allows you to move around more quietly, but it still disturbed you that they took the time to even peel off your socks. 

“What intel did y’know that we didn’t?” His chest is against yours, head craning down to keep the conversation between the two of you.

“Lieutenant, we don’t…” You pause a moment, your head spinning. 

Hunger, thirst, the cold, the blood loss. There was so much holding you hostage and you weren’t even able to comprehend how you were still standing—limping.

“Well, Seargant?” His voice is low, still holding the same husky British drawl.

“We don’t have the time for this, for now—“ Ghost shoves you aside before you can finish, raising the muzzle of his rifle to open fire on the men entering the room.

“Fuckin’ riot shields!” He pulls you behind a flipped over tattered blue couch that had already gone through its fair share of bullets.

A bullet flies and hits the side of the couch a hair’s breadth from your face. 

“Goddammit,” he curses while replacing the magazine in his gun.

The men brandishing shields push further.

When one reaches close enough, you run in front of the shield and grab the sides before he crashes into you. 

You turn him until his body is vulnerable to Ghost, your teeth ground into each other.

“Ghost!” You yell to catch his attention, head snapping in your direction to fire a single round into the back of his head.

You throw the body off of yourself and yank the riot shield to cover yourself, ducking your head as you recoil your fist and punch one of the men baring LMGs hard twice in the jaw.

You thrust the shield into the next, throwing it into his abdomen as he topples, finishing him off by shooting him down in the chest.

One turns with his M4 raised, but you turn your gun around and bash the stock into the base of his chest, then again into his cheek, swiping your leg across the floor and knocking him down then picking his head up and slamming it down on a thick shard of glass sticking upwards to finish him off. 

Ghost drops the last body, finishing off a magazine into his vest and throwing the weapon aside. You toss him another one, which he catches with ease.

“We’ll force upstairs, look f’r our shit, ‘n leave.” He says as he picks up a frag grenade from off a vest.

“There should be Skimobiles somewhere around here, the ones they were using in the FFO,” you nod.

“A’right,” he groans while rolling his shoulders. “On my mark.” 

He trudges past bodies until he’s at the threshold of the staircase, stepping up slowly with the grenade in one hand and his gun in his other.

You follow behind leisurely, eye down the scope of your rifle. 

He pulls the clip and tosses it up, arm stretching behind to press his hand against your shoulder blade. 

“Oh shit—grenade!” A man yells from upstairs before detonation. 

“Go!” Ghost immediately backs up off the wall and skips over two steps into the corridor, prefiring as he loops around a wall.

There’s already bodies and limbs splayed across the room from the combatants who were hit by the frag.

Your back rubs against the wall as you lean to shoot down the hallway, whirring bullets firing past you.

After a few back and forths between staying flat against the wall and leaning to fire off your gun, bodies drop and you’re able to progress down the hall. 

Ghost is somewhere on the opposite side of the house, you still hear heavy gunfire.

You pause at the sight of another man at the end of the hallway and you recognize him immediately.

The look in his eyes and the scruffiness of his face made your lips stretch in almost the most feral look.

Corbin, that was his name. Callsign ‘Pooch’.

Anger burns in the depths of your lungs and stomach as you grip the wall for support, lunging yourself forward to lift your feet over each body that was littered across the hallway floors.

Sweat ran down the sides of your face and splotched down around the neck of your shirt with the blood.

You watch his face twist into a wolfish grin as he slings his gun over his shoulder and walks towards you. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” He purrs. 

White noise fills your ears.

All you can see through the glossy shine of your eyes is the man who humiliated you in front of your superior. 

All you can see through the blinding red rage is the man who beat Ghost and cracked his ribs, forcing you to watch him retract and twitch at every fleeting fist. 

Even the hail of gunfire is silent in your ears as you drag your injured foot. Everything sounds underwater, everything feels dull.

His fist intersects and meets with your cheekbone causing your head to shift to the left and your body to stumble where you stand. 

You grip his wrist and divert his second punch by lifting your arm and thrusting your knee roughly into his thigh to tamper his movements.

He groans, with grim chuckles following after. “I’m going to enjoy every last second of this,” he coos.

Your body shivers in disgust as you slide your fingers down to your waist, priming the knife stuffed beneath the hem of your shirt. “Go fuck yourself…” you hiss.

His eyes flicker down to your hand and his boot immediately connects with the middle of your torso, sending you across the floor with a loud thud.

Pooch steps between your legs and lifts your upper body by the neckline of your shirt, his knuckles slamming down to beat on your already swollen face. 

Drool and blood pour from your mouth, a strangled gasp leaving you at every punch before he releases you harshly back down onto the floor. 

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, the pressure and swelling in your face and head being all too much for you.

A boot is savagely kicked into the lower pit of your abdomen, making you gag on air.

“Get the fuck up.” Pooch spits. 

You clutch your stomach and turn, slowly feeling for the knife, then quickly lifting the edge trimming of your tank top and grasping the handle, pulling it out and sweeping your leg around and behind his ankles to knock him off to the side.

He yells out swears as you level yourself over him, his legs kicking out to make your chest rest on the soles of his boots. 

Both of your hands grasp the handle of the knife making it easier on your lack of fingers. His hands grip your forearms as you cry out and try forcing the knife down on him.

He kicks his legs up and backwards, upending you over him and sending the knife flying. 

You hiss and give yourself no time to recover, flipping on your stomach and army crawling with your forearms to grab the knife.

He topples atop your body, planting a piercing slap across your face before reaching for the knife and propelling it downwards into you.

Before you’re able to block, the knife breaks through the skin in your stomach, your hand managing to grab his wrist before he’s able to gut you open.

You seethe and let out a sharp whine followed by a croaked cry, your other hand circling his wrist in an attempt to push him away. 

Quickly, you roll your body off to the side and let go of him, causing the knife to pierce into the wood flooring as you grip a console table to succor yourself up.

Corbin abandons the knife and flings himself upwards, swinging his gun into his arms. 

“I’m done playing games.” 

You advance on him, grabbing the rifle and pushing it into his chest before he can aim it at you.

One of your hands grip the upper hand guard while the other grips the bolt and holds the muzzle up.

You yank his body over towards the window behind you, turning your body then grabbing the man by the back of his hair and smashing his head through the glass.

It shatters from contact and leaves cuts and shards in his skin, a loud yell clawing its way from his throat.   

His finger grips the trigger and bullets roll out into the floor as you pull his head back.

You pull the rifle sling from off his shoulder, tossing it aside and disarming him from the X12 tucked into the back of his pants.

He growls at every tug of his scalp as you shoot him in the back of the leg and force him onto his knees.

A loud wail echoes the hallway from the man below you.

 “Shut your fucking mouth,” you snap.

“You don’t get to scream.”

“You don’t get to cry and whine like a little bitch.”

There’s no remorse in your voice, no sense of mercy for the man being held on his knees and whimpering.

You smack the magazine onto the base of his nose, blood dripping it’s way down his nostrils as a struggling noise spills from his lips.

“You…fucking….” he chokes on his own words. 

His entire body violently trembles at the tortured scream he releases as you squeeze the trigger again, shooting Pooch in his shoulder then proceeding to stick your thumb into the ravage wound harshly.

“Bitch! Fucking bitch!” He strains and pants like a dehydrated dog trying to jerk away from you.

You replace your finger with your foot, lowering his back against the floor as you press your toe into the bullet hole.

Another scream tears out of him as you blow another hole into the other side—his chest convulses.

Blood seeps from his mouth, you hold the grip of the handgun with both hands and sob out loud as you empty the entire magazine into his head until his face is unrecognizable to the amount of bullet holes.

You keep pulling the trigger, even as the gun starts to click announcing its out of ammunition.

The entire floor below you is covered in gore; flesh, messings of brains, blood, skin. 

So much.

Your body snaps around as a hand abruptly drapes over your shoulder, your arm raising the gun ready to bash it into the skull of the next man to try and touch you.

“Thaye, Thaye—y’got him! Thaye, he’s dead!”

Someone calls your name trying to snap you of out haze.

Ghost—your eyes soften with glistening tears as he calmly disarms you after deflecting the hit with his forearm, tossing the handgun aside so he can push you into his chest by the back of your neck.

“‘S over, sweet girl.” Ghost says with intonation. “Can’t hurt ya anymore.”

Your eyes are wide with terror, hands bundling your lieutenant’s shirt as you exhale a shaky mewl.

It’s him who releases you first, handing you your custom rifle and radio.

His balaclava is back on his face, along with the skull mask.

“Y’r vest ‘n boots are in the room I came from,” Ghost jerks his head.

You nod softly and shamble towards the doorway in the direction he’d pointed out.

You pause.

A little boy walks out of the threshold—he’s holding a gun far bigger than his head.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Did these men take you from your family?” 

You turn your head over your shoulder to call for Ghost, the sound of a bullet whirring filling your ears.

Ghost wastes no time pulling out his handgun and shooting the little boy in the head before running towards you.

Your right shoulder is screaming at you as time seems to slow down to a crawl. You hear Ghost yell behind you and the gunshot ringing as the little boy falls back and you do too, hitting the ground hard.

The masked man is on his knees in front of you within seconds, lifting your head into his lap.

“Thaye! Thaye, don’t y’fuckin’ die, not now…” He growls, applying pressure down onto your shoulder with both of his gloved hands.

Your lips slant in a tired manner, eyelids feeling heavy. His bloody hand kneads your cheek, smearing gore along your already dirtied skin.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he curses loudly. “Stay awake, love, please…”

God, he was hurting, it hurt to have your head against the burns on his stomach, but he wouldn’t let you die.

“Babygirl,” he says weakly. 

All you can see is an uncleanable amount of red seep and cover your shirt.

Your lungs clutch together inside your chest, labored breaths escaping you with a strained noise.

“I know…I know—keep those gorgeous eyes on me, sweetheart.” He inhales a shaky breath, flipping up your blood-crusted hairs from sticking to your forehead.

You whisper an apology, catching his attention as you grip his waist. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow.

“Don’t. Don’t say sorry,” he says. “You did this, you saved our lives, love.” 

“‘M just finishin’ the job, ‘lright?” His split and bloody lips find a place on your temple, planting a raw and long kiss to your throbbing skin.

“…’least I got to see your face before—“ 

Ghost holds you, squeezing your hand as a slight warning. “Don’t talk like that.” 

It was a demand. 

“That an—“ you spur into a coughing fit, blood spraying onto the man’s vest. “…Order, Lieutenant?” 

“Spare y’r energy,” he huffs. 

“Simon—“ you slur.

“Stop.” He snarls.

Your ragged breaths start to stray, causing panic to surge through the man above you.

“No,” he growls, squeezing your smaller hand in his a bit tighter than before. “Don’t, Thaye,” he says through clenched teeth.

Your body falls limp in his lap, the grasp loosening on his shirt making his heart pound through his chest, a painful pounding that felt similar to acid reflux.

“No!” Ghost yells, desperately palming at your tangled hair in panic. “Fuckin’ massacre,” he exhales shallowly.

One arm scoops beneath the back of your knees, the other across your shoulder blades with his hand holding your arm. 

A loud strained groan claws it’s way from his gullet at the sudden pain inside his ribs as he lifts himself up and off the floor. 

His muscles tighten inside his body, a burning sensation in his abdomen as he clutches you close to his chest, feeling your blood seep into his shirt.

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The gentle rhythmic beeping and steady flow of air through your nostrils was something that felt unreal and forced.

You slowly flutter your eyes open to light slipping in between the beige curtains. Your eyes are half-lidded and threatening to close against your will as your bandage wrapped hands rests atop the metal railing on either side of you.  

It smells of strong floor cleaner and hand sanitizer, a scent that is slightly uneasy on you as you slowly slip back into consciousness. 

Your muscles feel tight in your body; pain racking your shoulder and neck as you crane it to take a look around the room. 

The walls are spinning and the ceiling above you is spiraling making you sick to your stomach. 

On the bedside table to your left—closest to the window—there’s flowers. They’re too withered to try and recognize what kinds, shredding to flakes in your fingers when you caress them between your pinky and thumb.

Your hand drags up to pull nasal tubes out of your nostrils. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe air, throat tightening and lips so still from lack of moisture.

There’s a penetrating migraine in the back of your skull as you carefully swing your legs over the side of the bed, the thin baby pink and spotted hospital gown flowing down your sides leaving you slightly exposed in your thigh region. 

Bare and bandaged feet slide along the smooth cold tile, sending chills up your body as you grip the IV stand with your trembling hand, the other holding onto the bed railing for support. 

You groan and strain as you struggle to lift yourself up, propelling upwards with your palm and grip on the stand until your knees straighten and your standing up somewhat decently.

Where was Ghost? Is Ghost alive?

So many thoughts coursed through your head along with the punishing feeling of dehydration. 

You guide yourself using the wheels on the IV stand towards a counter, your hands gripping the handle of the sink and pulling it upward.

A choked moan manages to break from you as you scoop the water in your hands and swill the rich liquid. 

Water dribbles down your chin, which you wipe away before lifting your head to look into the medicine cabinet mirror. 

Your hand rests on the wall in front of you as you heave.

They cut your hair shorter, not too short but enough so that it was comfortable. Your entire right side of your face being bandaged, stains of blood being a faint copper color.

Bandages wrapped around your neck and reached down your shoulder you’d been shot in.

Your hair had been taken care of neatly while you were in a coma, that was obvious.

Ghost. Where?

You grip the IV stand and hobble towards the door, turning the knob and gripping the threshold with your other hand as you step out. 

A nurse pauses in her tracks, rushing to your side in an instant. “How are you up? Your injuries are critical,” she gasps, palm flattening against the small of your back.

“My lieutenant—…my lieutenant…” you say in an undertone.

“You need bed rest, you’ve only just woken up.” Her voice is gentle yet commanding.

“No,” you bark, shuffling out of her hold. “Please take me to him.” 

The woman bites her lip before nodding hesitantly, hand against your back again to guide you towards his room.

It was only a few doors down from you—when the nurse opened the door, allowing you into the room.

You see the back of Ghost’s head facing in your direction, his hair tousled from the bandages wrapping around his head.

“Ghost,” you call.

His head turns from facing the window to facing you, you hear him murmur your name in reply.

“Y’minx,” he breathes. “Hell y’doin’ out ya bed?”

You carefully walk yourself towards him, the nurse holding her hands atop her chest nervously. The sound of the plastic wheels of the stand makes his breath hitch in his throat, the sound of reassurance that you were alive.

“You okay, big man?” Your voice is hoarse from lack of use, but he’s able to that you perfectly.

“D’ya ever worry ‘bout y’self, love?” Ghost asks with a tinge of humor. 

Heavy casting was on his right leg, bandages and patches on practically every inch of his body—similar to you.

“Sometimes,” you smile softly and push strands of his hair out of his face, your heart slightly shatters in your chest at the sight of him flinching at your touch.

Ghost scoots himself over slightly, wincing at the sudden movement.

You seat yourself beside him on the large gatch bed and his hand pushes you down to lay beside him.

“Wait, Mr. Riley—“ the nurse takes a small step forward.

“I’ll ‘b fine,” he grunts.

Her eyes blink slightly as she takes a few steps back, her lips separating to speak though no words come out. She simply turns on her ankles and closes the door behind her.

Ghost secures an arm around your waist, pushing your back flush against his bandaged chest.

Your eyes trace his tattoos and the muscles of his arms, every scar and blemish.

“Where’s the force?” You ask quietly.

“Left recently,” he mumbles back tiredly, pressing his nose into your hair. “Y’smell like pomegranate—got y’self a damn spa crew while y’were out?”

You laugh dryly, breaking into a light fit of wheezes.

“Not too hard, Seargant.” Ghost’s finger tucks a loose strand of hair from your bangs behind your ear.

Your wet bandages on your hands rub against his knuckle as you hold onto his hand, he seems to pay no mind.

You turn your body slightly so you can get a better look at his face. “Odd seeing you without your eye black.” You quip.

His closed eyes open to look down at you. “Mm, might as well see m’down in me knickers then, eh?” He chuckles huskily.

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes lightheartedly. 

You catch his small glances to your lips, his hand leaving your chest to run his thumb down your bottom lip until that same hand is cupping your cheek lovingly.

His eyes narrow, he’s sleepy, but you still catch yourself propping your body up with your elbow and closing the gap between the two of you. 

Instantly, his head cranes and tilts to deepen the kiss, his fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to press his thumb into the underside of your jaw and drag his fingers along the nape of your neck.

Ghost breathes into your mouth, the taste of mint leaf and citrus enveloping your taste buds as his tongue laced over yours.

The kiss was passionate, you feel his eyebrows furrow showing his desperation as you both kissed softly at a gentle pace and motion.

Your eyes flutter open as you feel his warm lips leave yours with a quiet pop, both of you panting lightly with his forehead pressed against yours. Ghost’s eyes are unable to open for a few moments after you disconnect. 

When they do open, your eyes bore into his brown orbs, the dark purple hue circling under his eyes showing his deprivation of sleep.  

When he feels you buck gently back into his groin, he releases a small grunt, lips meeting yours again for a small chase kiss.

“Not like this,” he says quietly. “I’d take you on this bed right here, right now, but y’ve recently waken up ‘n we’re both still in r’covery.” 

You hum in agreement, his hand finding it’s place on your chest once again with the knowledge of your lower abdomen injury.

“‘N to b’honest—‘can barely feel m’damned balls, feels like ‘ve got whiskey dick.” He grumbles, and you bite your lip to suppress a giggle.

“Simon!”

“Don’ you laugh at me, woman.” Ghost lowers his head into the crook of your neck, biting the skin gently 

“My deepest condolences, Lieutenant,” you purr, catching his lips in another kiss when you jerk his head upward with your uninjured shoulder. He growls against your mouth in reaction.

There’s a long yet short line of silence as you turn towards his back again, your legs tangling with his as you hold your lips against his knuckles.

“Y’have no clue how strong you are.” He swallows the knot in his throat as he speaks. “God, Thaye, they…they told me there was a chance y’d never wake up.” 

“Hey,” you hum. “Stop that, I’m here now.” 

His eyes stare blankly at the wall ahead of you, maybe even the same wall you were staring at—if your eyes weren’t closed already. 

“I just don’ know what I would’ve done if I made it outta there ‘n y’didn’t make it with me.” He says. 

“Y’r the reason I made it out with you in the first place. If y’hadn’t pulled that barmy stunt—“ he pauses, and you feel the rise of his chest and the fall as he exhales deeply.

“Y’survived internal bleeding, trauma to the head ‘n eye, two broken ribs, second and third degree burns, asphyxiation, dismemberment, stab wounds and gunshot wounds..” Ghost squeezes his fist tighter against your chest. 

“So did you, Si.” You coo softly. 

“Christ…” he mutters. 

His fingers interlock with yours best they can, regardless of the most of them being numbs on your knuckles, and it wasn't until your hand rested on his chest and rubbed over the raised scars, that he realized he hadn't been touched so gently in nearly eleven years. It wasn't a new feeling, but it was a feeling that he had craved desperately. 

Never had fallen in love before, but he knew you had bad experiences with it—figuring out that your ex-fiancé had cheated on you while on deployment. Someone had to love you, and he was skeptical of it being him, but it was clear you loved him too and now he was scared you’d stop. 

But hearing your gentle breathing as you slipped back into sleep hunched into his form led him somewhere he’d never been. You cleared his mind and cleared away his thoughts. For the first time, he doesn’t want to look away from what he has the ability to feel.

[jenna-ortega]

history of man

pairing - joelmiller x femalereader ratings - 18+ word count - 4k warnings - arranged marriage AU, dubious con(the whole arranged marriage against readers will thing), angst, brat!reader, softdom!joel, kidnapping, jumpscare!david, salt lake but a very different salt lake than the games (aka no cannibalism) , panic attack authors note - thank you for waiting for this! i really hope you enjoy it, no smut in the first chapter :( (ik boooo) but there will be smut to come. cause you know joel miller is nothing if not a seducer of woman. comment, and let me know what you think! lets have a discourse.

SUMMARY - You thought coming to silver lake would be better than your previous QZ living situation. Come to find out, you had more than freedom waiting for you on the other side of the wall. You had Joel Miller, whether you wanted him or not.

series masterlist

Fuck this. Fuck him. They hold you hostage then offer you food and water? This shit doesn’t feel right. Your whole body turns away from him. Pushing the glass further from you as you pout.  “Drink.”  “No.”   “Now. The growl in his voice startles you. For someone who swears they aren’t going to hurt you, it feels a hell of a lot like he is. Your eyes find his, now dark with a scowl on his face.  “I’m not gonna tell ya again, girl.”  You scoff. “What…you’re gonna force me?” 

Nothing you’ve been through thus far could have prepared you for this. 

It’s dark. So, so dark. 

“Get off me!” you screamed while trashing your body in the man's arms. Earning you an elbow to the side that made you groan at the harsh hit. Your body trembling, wishing you could see through the pitch black area ahead. 

You arrived at Silver lake only a short time ago, not realizing how much of a mistake this stop in your long journey would be. You only made it a few hours into nightfall trying to observe the town from the far woods when a bunch of men caught you from behind. Now dragging you across the snowy town and making a scene of it. 

“I will KILL you!” Your empty threats made the man dragging your left arm along laugh, causing you to turn your head and give him a nasty look. 

“Hear that, ted?” the mystery man nodded his head to the man on your right, “we caught a feisty one. Know just who’d like this one…” the men disregarded your attempts at kicking, laughing as they went back and forth as if this was just another day. 

You made it to what looked like some sort of run down restaurant, your brain working over time to think of every possible scenario that could happen here. Worst is you’re dead. Best is they feed you, cloth you, and tell you this was all a prank. But you doubt it’s the latter. 

You huff out a small ouch as you’re being thrown into a makeshift jail cell at the back of the place you surveyed earlier, hitting the grown so hard dust particles float in the bright white light casting above you. 

“Don’t move.” the taller man shouts down at you, 

Your eyes roll at the request, “Nowhere to go in here, jackass.” you cross your arms and death glare at him from below. 

“Fucking bitch,” his hand grabs your hair from in between the bars and drags you to it. Your whole body moved to follow his hand, trying to shield yourself from the pinching pain, 

“HEY!, get off her, man. You know they’ve gotta be in one piece.” the other man warns, thankfully giving your scalp a break from the pull. 

“Whatever.” he scoffs, turning to walk out with his buddy. Both of their backs towards you. You slap the cell bars and scream in frustration. Quickly realizing you needed to figure out your next move. You need to stay alive, you need to get the fuck out of here. Your body pushes itself against the wall, head falling back as you begin to silently cry. Nobody here but you and your thoughts for the foreseeable future. Your head falls against the wall, and your eyes close. Forcing yourself into slumber. 

—

Drool begins to dry on your face before you are suddenly awakened by the loud slam of a door. You gasp, waking up and forgetting this is now where you have been staying. A cold, dirty cell floor. You look up quickly and your eyes find a taller man, one you haven't seen before; walking slowly towards you. You instinctively crawl to the further edge of the cell.

“Stay back.” you warned, as if you had any upper hand in this situation. 

“m’sorry to scare you” the strangers hands raise in defense as he stopped walking towards you. “Just wanted to check on you.” He stands with his arms to his side now. Waiting on your next move. 

“Check on me?” you begin, voice dripping with malice. “I was just kidnapped and thrown into this fucking cell.” his eyes follow your body as you kneel to stand up. Wiping down your pants to get the dust off. Fully standing, now closer to his height. 

His face is flat and stern as he begins to observe how you are acting. Deeply in his own thoughts as he looks down at the ground, only to be brought back by your incessant nagging, 

“HELLO! Can you even hear me?” 

“I want to help you” 

You’re confused by his bold statement, but accept his help by nodding slowly as you walk towards him in your cell.

“You’re not leaving this cell until they think you’re calm enough…and you’re not leaving this town. At least not alive, I’m sorry.” 

“What does that even mean? What do you guys even want from me?” 

“It’s not the right time.” the man turns on his heels and begins walking out, leaving you more pissed than you originally were.

“Please, please don’t leave yet!” you whined,

He turns his head over his shoulder slightly to acknowledge your plea, his back still to you.There is a comfortable silence until he breaks it, “What’s your name?” 

You go back and forth with yourself for a little while, wondering if you should be honest. You have to get out of here, and maybe he is your best bet. If you play nice with him, maybe you can bring his guard down enough to get released and escape. You’ll play this role for now, and you tell him your name in a silent whisper. 

He nods in acknowledgement, and you throw his question back to him. Another silence looming before he breaks it, 

“Joel.” 

—

It’s been hours.

The metallic clang echoed through the dimly lit room as a new man fumbled with rusty keys. You squinted at the sudden sound as he swung the creaking cell door open. His average figure standing at the opening of your cell, beckoning you to come with him.  

“About time," you muttered, rubbing your eyes and standing up.

The man flashed a wry smile, his reddish beard framing weathered features. "Apologies for the delay. We don't get many visitors here in Silver Lake, and security is tight." 

You stay silent as you give him a shy smile. Following him out of the room, and close on his trail as you walk an appropriate distance away from him as he brings you outside. It’s an oddly calm vibe, and you begin to overthink. Is this your chance to run, he’s giving you so much freedom…would he be able to even catch you? He does look kind of older, skinner than the other men you’ve had the pleasure of interacting with. As if he reads your mind, he breaks your thought pattern, 

“Sorry about my guards. They can be protective of this place.” he eyes your bruises, 

“What is this place?”

The man gestured for you to follow again as he led you through town. "Silver Lake is more than just a town. It's a haven for those who survived the apocalypse, a place where people from different walks of life came together to rebuild what was lost."

As you walked, you noticed families huddled in makeshift homes, the sounds of children playing echoing through the air. The aroma of cooking wafted from a communal kitchen, and people greeted you with nods as you both passed.

"It's been a tough journey, but we've managed to create something special here," the man continued. "We have families, we have friends, we’re a community"

“A community that throws people into dark dungeons and leaves them there for days?” you bite back, causing him to stop in his tracks, turning to you. 

“I am very sorry about that. Let’s start over.” he holds his hand out for you to shake, “I’m David. And who might you be?” 

You give him a funny look, face scrunching in disgust, not wanting to do whatever this is. But you remember what Joel had told you. Remember your plan to play along. 

You shook his hand and told him your name, earning a smile from him, “It’s very nice to meet you.” 

The air was thick with a sense of uncertainty the rest of the walk. You both ended up at a rather small house, the look of it just like every single other one. As you approached the house, the wooden boards creaked beneath your feet. The windows, covered with tattered curtains, revealed only glimpses of the dim interior. A sturdy figure with a graying beard stood on the porch, his eyes scrutinizing the surroundings.

"David," Joel called out, a tight smile breaking through the gruff exterior. "Wasn’t expectin’ you so soon." 

“Thought I’d bring her here, have her rest up by you. Get acclimated to the community.” 

You’re confused by David’s words. Was Joel one of his guards? Like the other two men who had caught you? You have so many questions you wanted to ask, but you were insecure. Didn’t know if these were people you could really trust or not, and you just wanted to make it out of here. You had to push through, had to endure whatever the hell this was. Just until you were able to make it out. 

David begins to introduce you both, but Joel raises his hand stopping David’s words– “We’ve met.” 

David looks at Joel in a peculiar way, a way you couldn’t quite decipher yet. Then back at you, grinning widely, “Glad you’re taking this so well, Joel.” he walks back off down the stairs, turning back just once to shout, “You’re in good hands!” 

You sway back and forth slowly, hands crossing over the other as your gaze is glued to the ground. You don’t know what to think, what to do, what to say…

“You can come in.” 

—

You’ve been sitting in silence for the past 30 minutes while Joel is simmering something on the stove. His kitchen table is small, and placed in the corner of his modest sized kitchen. It all looks so..normal. So much like how it was before. You watch Joel as he stirs the big pot, banging the spoon handle on the side to watch the sauce drip back down into the pot. He brings the spoon back down onto the counter, turning towards you to sit. You rip your gaze away from him, pretending you haven’t been observing his every move.

“You’re nervous?” His voice is soft. He is still standing at this point, noticing you flinch as he goes to sit. You get the feeling he isn’t bad…but at this point, you don’t know what to think. You look up at him, biting your lip as you stay silent. 

“m’not gonna hurt you.” he reminds you. Joel grabs a cup from his counter, turning on the faucet and pouring you water. Water. You haven’t seen a stable source of water in…oh god it’s been long. 

Joel takes note of the glint in your eyes as he pours you a cup, taking a deep breath in relief. Seeing you nervous only makes the seed of guilt in his stomach grow. The soft look of fear you’ve had plastered on your face since he’s seen you makes him angry. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have to do this. 

“Here.” He sets the water down in front of you, sitting in the seat next to you. 

Fuck this. Fuck him. They hold you hostage then offer you food and water? This shit doesn’t feel right. Your whole body turns away from him. Pushing the glass further from you as you pout. 

“Drink.” 

“No.”  

“Now.

The growl in his voice startles you. For someone who swears they aren’t going to hurt you, it feels a hell of a lot like he is. Your eyes find his, now dark with a scowl on his face. 

“I’m not gonna tell ya again, girl.” 

You scoff.

“What…you’re gonna force me?” 

“f’i have to.” 

“Then go ahead.” 

You hear him grumble to himself, words that resemble “fucking stubborn.” as he pushes out his chair, pushing it back in roughly. He slams a bowl down on the counter, causing you to gasp. You watch as he scoops a few spoonfuls of food into the bowl, turning abruptly to slam it down in front of you. Rushing off after he does. Leaving you to ponder your own thoughts. You’re looking down at the steamy bowl of what looks like a stew as you hear the front door slam open and closed. He’s left you. Has he gone to tell David about your interaction? Shit. You should have listened to him, you wanted to play this smart. Now for all you know this will be the last bowl of food you’ll have in a while. Will they bring you back down to the cell? Your thoughts frighten you into eating scoops of the food, taking huge gulps of water. Your belly burns from the nutrients you’ve been neglecting yourself for weeks. You sip the last remnants of liquid from the bowl and get up to set it down into the sink. With Joel gone, you were free to roam the house. But you just felt like a scared little mouse, too afraid to disturb anything not familiar. 

You’ve decided against your better judgment to take a look at the place. Just until someone eventually comes back to take you away. 

You look around the living room first, a small brown couch, enough to fit three bodies comfortably sits directly across from a fireplace. A mantle with nothing but dust lays atop of the fireplace, not homey at all. You inspect the room, finding nothing that tells you about the man who left you here. You decide to move on. 

There are 4 stairs that lead up into what looks like a small wing of the house, the last square footage you have left to survey. To your left, a small bathroom. A large tub, one that reminds you of yours from home. Bubble baths and candle lit nights fog your memory. You surprise yourself as you feel water run down your eyes. Tears. Shit. This is all too much. 

Just a few feet down, there’s an empty room with nothing but the sunlight of the open window shining through. Directly across, there’s another room. You break through that doorway and find a bed, a nightstand, and what looks to be a 6 drawer dresser filling the room. So empty, yet you wonder how he lives. You walk towards the drawers, opening up the top left one to find a few pairs of flannels. Of course. You open the top right and find it empty. He must travel light. 

You get bored and begin walking to the bed, sitting atop of it to feel how soft the sheets are. You haven’t sat down on a bed in forever. So comfortable. The sheets stretched over the bed softer than you remember sheets being. The pillows are fluffier than you ever felt. The blanket is so warm…so…inviting. Your body does it before your brain thinks of it. Crawls under the covers. Your head hits the soft pillow, and you feel your eyes closing and your brain settling down. Your shoulders relax into the mattress, and your breathing evens out. You’re gone before you know it. 

…You feel a thump on the bed that startles you awake, darkness engrosses the room and you thrash in bed to find your bearings. 

“Joel?” you rub your eyes and see him standing in front of the bed, you look down to see fresh clothes lying next to you. 

“Take a shower. We got somewhere to be.”

—

You are trying to catch up to Joel as he’s walking ahead of you, “Slow down!” you shouted to him, stumbling over your feet as you grabbed his arm to stay up.

“We’re already late,” 

“For what?” 

He huffs, but begins walking slower for you. Both of you now silently walk into the same restaurant you were kept at just a day ago. Your body goes rigid as you think of all the things that will happen. You fucked up. You did this to yourself, you didn’t follow the—your thoughts pause as you see the place crawling with people. Like a huge get together, chatter and laughs bounce off the walls. It’s so…alive. 

The crowd of people part, and all eyes are now on you and Joel. David at the forefront of the room. “Welcome, Welcome! We’ve been waiting for you two.” he laughs as he walks past the sea of people to you both, grabbing onto Joel’s shoulder and smiling widely,  “Hopefully you were late for a fun reason,” he winks at you two and you shudder, what the fuck was this guy assuming? You rip your hand off Joel’s arm, patting down your dress and making note of all the faces in the room. Your eyes catch the two men from your capture, hand and hand with ladies. How the hell did they land those girls? They were absolute dicks to you. But as you rip those men apart in your head, you notice everyone is coupled up. Kids in the mix as well. Maybe the community wasn’t terrible…seems family oriented at least. 

You follow Joel to the front of the room, wanting to stick by him and not venture off too far. He seemed to be a rigid asshole sometimes, but he was an asshole that didn’t hurt you yet. You stand close to him, arms bumping as you look up at him. He looks down at you, smiling with his eyes turned down, a worried look etched on his face. Maybe he was as anxious at public events as you were. 

“Please, everyone welcome our newcomer into silver lake!” David introduced you by name to the room, the whole room saying hello directly towards you in a cult like manner. 

“Uh–Hi everyone?” you stuttered, heart beating so fast the pounding began to overtake your hearing. 

David’s speech began again, mentioning new updates and new hunts their men had succeeded at. You zoned out again, only brought back to the present by Joel nudging you gently, your head batting to look towards David who had beckoned you to stand on the other side of Joel, sandwiched between the two men. You smiled and nodded, doing as you were told for this one instance. Put on the spot as you got comfortable in your new position, David called upon you, 

“She has been a wonder, ladies and gentlemen. An absolute prize. That’s why I think we should all welcome her with open arms.”

You stood by David's side, feeling the curious eyes of the community upon you. Joel, a stern figure with a rugged exterior, stood nearby. The unease in the room was palpable as David continued his introduction.

"And this, my friends, is a crucial time for us. Unity is our strength, and it's my pleasure to announce that we have a new bond to forge. In the days to come, our friend here will be joining hands with Joel."

Your heart skipped a beat, panic creeping into every fiber of your being. You exchanged a wary glance with Joel, whose expression remained stoic. David's words echoed in your ears like an impending storm.

"Joel," David continued, "our only hermetic guard, will stand as a pillar of strength for our newcomer. Together, they will contribute to the resilience of Silver Lake and ensure the prosperity of our community."

A lump in your throat formed, the weight of the announcement settling in. Arranged marriage—a relic of a bygone era—now thrust upon you in the midst of survival. Your eyes darted between David and Joel, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

"Survival often demands sacrifices," David said, his tone filled with conviction. "And in this new chapter, we come together to build a stronger, more resilient future."

The room buzzed with whispers, but you could only hear the thudding of your own heart. Joel's gaze met yours, and you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes, as if he, too, had been thrust into this against his will.

As the community welcomed you both with a mix of cheers and polite applause, you felt the walls closing in. The air grew heavier, and your breaths quickened. This was worse than the cell. This was worse than your impending death. This was something you could have never seen coming. 

As David's words lingered in the air, a suffocating tension settled over the room. The weight of the announcement hung over you like a dark cloud, and you couldn't bear the collective gaze of the community any longer. Without a word, you turned on your heels and bolted from the room, breaths coming in erratic gasps.

The cold night air hit you as you stumbled into the open, the dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows over the uneven ground. Panic gripped you like a vise, and you ran blindly through the narrow pathways, seeking solace in the darkness.

"Wait!" Joel's voice echoed behind, his footsteps closing in. You refused to stop, the desperation to escape overwhelming reason. But he caught up, his hand gently gripping your shoulder. "Stop."

You whirled around, chest heaving, eyes wide with fear. "I can't do this, Joel."

He stepped closer, his gaze softening. "None of us asked for this. But we're survivors, and sometimes survival means making tough choices."

You shook your head, the panic escalating. "I won't be someone's pawn. I won't let them control my life."

Joel's expression softened, and he pulled you into a hesitant embrace. "Shh, babygirl, calm down. Running won't change anything."

The unexpected term of endearment caught you off guard, but the gentleness in his voice began to chip away at the walls of panic. You trembled against him, the tension in your body slowly dissipating.

"We can figure this out," he murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "You're not alone here. We'll find a way out. Told ya I wouldn’t hurt ya."

You took a shaky breath, the warmth of his embrace offering a strange comfort in the midst of chaos. The reality of your shared predicament began to sink in, and you reluctantly nodded. "I don't want this, Joel.."

He pulled back slightly, locking eyes with you. "I know. You gotta smarten up if you want to survive. No more being stubborn."

You wipe your tears from your cheeks, sniffling as you nod at him. “Okay.” 

“If we want to get out of this together. There are some rules ya gotta follow.” Joel began, surprising you with how fast the gentleness in his tone shifted into something more stern…

“This is not a fairy tale. It's about survival. Our survival."

You nodded, a bitter taste settling in your mouth. The harsh truth of your situation echoed in Joel's words.

"First rule," he continued, his eyes piercing through the darkness. "We stick together. There's safety in numbers, and in this world, trust is a luxury we can't afford. You stay close, and you follow my lead."

You swallowed hard, the gravity of the arrangement sinking in. "Fine," you mumbled, my defiance momentarily subdued.

"Second rule," Joel continued, unfazed. "We present a united front. Whether you like it or not, we're bound by this arrangement. Any sign of discord, and it puts both of us at risk. We can't afford internal conflicts."

You bristled at the demand,  frustration bubbling to the surface. "I didn't sign up for this, Joel. I won't be some indentured servant."

He narrowed his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "You're not the only one dealing with shit. I won’t touch you, I won’t make you any kind of servant. You follow my rules, and you don’t fuck with our chance at getting out. Understand me?"

Reluctantly, you nodded, conceding to the harsh reality that enveloped you.

“I said, do you understand me?” he repeats, expecting an answer from you. 

“I understand,” you whispered to him, lips curving down as you felt tears swell in your eyes.

You met his gaze, defiance flickering. "I won't play house just to appease the crowd."

He sighed, the weariness in his eyes suggesting a history of battles fought and lost. "You don't have to like it, but you have to do it. It's the only way we make it out of this mess alive."

As Joel's rules echoed in the silence that followed, you couldn't shake the feeling that your autonomy had been sacrificed on the altar of survival.

taglist - @joeldjarin @love-affair-with-fandoms @punkshort @movievillainess721 @fragilefable

[deadratdonoteat]

Sanemi Shinazugawa x reader

Paired up with a hot head to go on a mission through a snowy mountain, Y/n being the snow hashira isn’t bothered by the cold, but someone is but he won’t admit it.

Tags- Fluff, sharing rooms, physical touch, Sanemi being bad at feelings, coldness??

W.C=1.4k

“KAW Meeting with Ubuyashiki KAW” Shi flew above my head screaming at me. The black crow landed on my elevated arm. Her red scarf, a gift from the Love Hashira, blowing in the light breeze. “Will I be alone?” I asked my pretty bird. Shi gave me a glance before flying off, she seemed to be laughing (If a crow could laugh). The night bird gave directions to the meeting place, even though I already knew the way.

-

After sliding the door shut, I saw Ubuyashiki sitting on his knees. There was someone else. The Wind Hashira? Was I going on a mission with him? God, I hope so! I shook the thoughts from my head. Ubuyashiki welcomed me as I bowed to my knees. The white haired male gave me a mean glance. Guess I was going on a mission with him, and he wasn’t happy about it.

The mission was a two day trip to a village that has a number of males mysteriously missing. Some lower ranked slayers already tried to take care of it, they haven't returned or answered letters. It must be bad if they are sending two hashiras. Maybe it’s a lower moon or upper moon. The village was located on a snowy mountain to the east.

Once the meeting was over I was given a bag of things I needed. It contained food and fire starters. No blankets or heavy clothes. I hope Shinazugawa was used to the cold like i was. Being the snow hashira had its perks. Like being unaffected by the temperatures.

Walking to the gate I saw him waiting for me. His hair seemed to dance in the light breeze. There were a few wisteria petals falling. He turned to look at me. His brows pushed together. His stare was so deadly, it gave me chills.

“Hurry the hell up,” the wind pillar shouted at me. I just smiled before picking up the pace a little. He wasn’t wearing anything extra.

“Won't you be cold?” I asked. He scoffed. Rolling his eyes before walking. This is going to be a painfully silent trip.

-

I was right. Every time I tried to talk to him, he’d shut me down. To the point he yelled at me to ‘shut up’. The silence wasn’t awkward but it was tense. Snow started to cover the ground. The temperature dropped with each step. I was warm, like usual. Glancing at my companion, he seemed to be shivering.

“Would you like my haori?” I offered him. His head snapped in my direction.

“Do you think I'm weak?” He shouted in reply

“No, I think you're cold,” I snapped back. He didn’t say anything. Just continued walking. Not even 5 minutes later, he bright his hands to his mouth and blew on them. He must be freezing. As I opened my mouth to offer again he glanced at me quickly. He was pissed. Either at me or the cold. Probably both. I saw a big shiver go through him.

“Shinazugawa do you want-” “NO” I was interrupted with a shout. I grinded my teeth together. Now I'm getting pissed off. I want to help him but his pride won't let me. He won’t be able to fight with all his strength if he’s cold. iI sighed.

I pushed the taller man into a tree. He grunted before yelling at me.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get off-” His closed his mouth when I moved his hands. I put them on my waist, against my bare skin. I had unbuttoned my uniform before I pushed him. My skin was warm. It was getting even warmer from how close we were. His face turned red. He looked away. With his hands on my waist, I moved my hands to his face. He was freezing.

“See, not so bad!” I cheered at him in a mocking tone. He squeezed my hips. I moved my hands to different parts of him. He never looked at me. He was being so obedient. My hands moved to his exposed chest.

“What are you doing?” His eyes met mine. His ears were now pink. I really was warming him up. As my hands moved all around I stared at him. I saw his eyes glance at my lips before looking away. Oh. My face turned a little red.

“Better?” I asked while tilting my head. He just nodded, but made no move to get away. Maybe he was enjoying this more than I thought. I removed my hands from his chest, he still didn't move still. I buttoned up his uniform. It looked a little weird to see him so formally. As I stepped back I buttoned my corps uniform as well. He turned to continue walking but i grabbed his hand.

-

The hot-headed wind pillar was still red in the face. His hands were rough but warm, wrapped around mine. I would occasionally swing our connected hands. I was talking and asking him simple questions. He never once told me to shut up. Wow, What a nice guy. The sky was dark but thankful there was a wisteria house up ahead.

Entering the nice house a young man welcomed us. Shinazugawa dropped my hand as soon as the other man greeted us. Maybe he was embarrassed.

“Are you two hungary?” the male asked, still bowing. Before I could answer he was leading us to a dining room. The food was so good. The helper, who’s name is Haru, kept refilling my drink after every sip I took. Where as Shinazugawa had to ask (yell) for more. As Haru gave us sleeping robes, he told us about the hot springs out back. He was only looking at me. He seemed to really want me to join him. Shinazugawa yelled at him for me. Haru really didn’t seem to like the wind pillar.

“This is where the snow hashira shall stay, My room is next door!” Haru cheered. I gave an awkward smile. Why did my room have to be so close to his room? While Shinazugawa was on the complete opposite side of the house. I didn’t even notice the young man getting closer.

“Or if you get cold you can join me in bed-” Haru stopped. His eyes wide at something behind me. Turning I saw a glaring man. Shinazugawa had come to save me.

“She doesn’t need your pathetic ass,” Sanemi said and took my hand. Leading me away from the creep. Haru was mumbling under his breath about something.

“I thought you had gone to sleep”

“And leave you alone with that creep? No.”

“I could have handled it myself”

“Well i already handled it” I giggled as he said this through his teeth. How overprotective. I didn’t even realize my cheeks were red. I guess I found being overprotective attractive. Maybe I just found Sanemi attractive.

“Wait, why am I in your room?” I asked when looking around. “I’m not leaving you over there,” the white haired male whispered. He wasn't looking at me.

“Liar,” I accused him. His head snapped to me.

“Fine…I was cold.” He said in an ashamed tone. I giggled at him. “Nevermind then. Leave,” He raised his voice a little. He was sitting up on his shikibuton. He looked good in his sleeping robe. It wasn’t closed around his chest, like always. No wonder he was cold. Now he was shooing me away. No way was I going back to my room. I rolled my eyes at him. His face turned a bit red when I sat next to him under the covers.

“Just admit you wanted to sleep with me,” I leaned on his shoulder. He tensed at the contact. He didn’t even try denying my accusations. He started to lean back. I followed his body. He was stiff, not trying to get comfortable. I guess I was going to have to do everything. Ii moved to get comfortable, raising the converter to my shoulders. I layed on my side, facing the wind hashira. I wrapped an arm around his chest. Even letting my hand snaked into his robe. His skin felt hot. So why was he complaining about being cold?

He finally moved. His arm went under my head. He pushed his legs to touch mine. Then his head rested on mine. The futon didn't give us a lot of room, so we were very close. I don’t think Sanemi mind, I definitely didn't.

“We’re leaving as soon as we wake up,” He spoke. I could feel the vibrations of his voice. I nodded before snuggling closer. He held me tighter. I could already tell that when I wake up I won't be moving. I hope he gets cold often.

<3

[koiimii]

𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐀𝐧𝐝… | 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“𝙄𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘼𝙡𝙚𝙭 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩.”

————

“Are you bored of me?”

You finally spoke up again, turning away from the window to stare at your silent boyfriend who’s grip on the wheel tightened.

“Fucking hell…”, he muttered, “(Y/n), I told you that wasn’t it—“

“Then for goodness sake Alex, what is it?!”

The two of you blew down the snowy, empty roads of the night after leaving Alex’s concert. The first concert you’ve been able to attend in months. The first anything you’ve been able to commit to in who knows how long…

You’re unsure of when it began at this point, but you’ve had almost no time outside of work to do anything. Your life currently consisted of meetings, presentations, and paperwork and it was beyond tiring.

Alex had fallen victim to your schedule as well.

You hardly had anytime for anything that didn’t involve work, including him, and that mere fact was already a sting.

When he’d come over to spend the night, not even an hour could pass before you passed out on the couch. He couldn’t text or call you without both going un-answered for hours on end.

At first, you thought he was handling it well. You thought you had come to a mutual understanding about your busy schedules. Whenever you finally had a chance to talk about it over the phone or at dinner, he’d always brush it off and change the subject with a “It is what it is.” or a, “What’s passed is passed.”

But lately, you’ve realized it’s really been taking a toll on him, and your relationship altogether.

When he came over to spend the night, he’d nearly fall off the edge of the bed with how much distance he put between the two of you. At dinner, he only spoke if you spoke first.

Your intimacy levels suffered too. They had grown to be nonexistent, and that was made very apparent tonight when as he walked off the stage and into your open arms, he kissed you as though you were his grandmother.

That left you with a sinking feeling that turned your insides to ice.

Did he not love you anymore…?

Seeing as he still hadn’t answered, you continued on.

“I know I’m never around anymore! And I hate that, and I’m trying to fix it but- but I feel like I don’t know you anymore and you won’t even let me try! What am I supposed to do if you won’t even let me in?! If you won’t let me fix things?!”

His brown shaggy bangs fell into his darting eyes whilst he only shifted in his seat.

His silence was killing you.

“Alex—!”, you cried out in despair, gripping his arm. You felt his body jolt at your touch when he finally spoke up.

“I don’t know!”, he shouted back in defense, in panic… You flinched.

Alex never raised his voice… and this time you heard it break the slightest bit as he exhaled a shallow breath and continued.

“I don’t know, alright?! I don’t know how to talk to you like this— about this, because I haven’t talked you as it is in weeks, (Y/n).”

Neither of you had realized, but the trees and building began to pass by in a frenzied blur now. You were going fast.

Too fast…

You swallowed thickly and sat back in your seat, letting go of his arm. You knew he was right. You couldn’t even think of the last time the two of you had a decent interaction in who knows how long and it broke your heart…

Some girlfriend you were.

“So please, would you just stop shouting at me, and give me a moment, love. Please…”

You nodded gently, turning towards the window as tears began to prick your eyes. After a few moments, you realized just how fast the world around you passed by the window.

“Al, slow down…”, you sniffled, turning back over your shoulder to look at him.

“What?”, he turned to you abruptly, frustration still laced in his tone.

“Alex— Stop!”

Your eyes went wide as you quickly grabbed the wheel in attempt to steady the car again, but it was too late as it began to swerve out of control.

“Fuck-!”, Alex cursed before the car jerked to the side, sending you flying back against your seat with a hard thud.

You hadn’t even realized Al’s arm that had shot out to hold you firm against the seat just as the gut-wrenching sound of splitting metal and shattering glass rang through the snowy night.

The car had slammed head-on into a tree.

You curled into yourself as best you could as you both jerked forward, the air bags flying out to hit you both. As they began to deflate in the following moments, you cautiously lifted your tear glazed eyes to face the damage.

The now crushed hood of the car already leaking with smoke and oil, and the headlights flickered with a desperation to stay alive.

You swallowed thickly and blinked away the tears that now tumbled down. Still frozen in shock, you hadn’t even realized Alex beside you…

He only stared straight ahead, blinking slowly and pulling a cigarette from behind his ear. He then lit it up and leaned back, man-spreading in his seat as he took a long drag, and blew out the smoke.

He was rather calm… After another moment, he turned to look at you.

The frozen state of fear had finally let you go, and you now pushed frantically on the door.

“I can’t do this right now…”, you whispered, finally shoving the door open and stumbling out of the car on shaky legs.

You staggered up onto the icy roads, snow instantly sticking to your hair and frost nipping at your nose.

Your breaths grew shallow and erratic as you spun around in all directions, your tears falling harder and faster to leave hot trails down your face.

Finally, you spun right into Alex’s chest. His hands reached out to grip your arms, pulling you into his embrace. You immediately hugged him close around his torso, breaking out into broken sobs.

“I’m scared you might hate me now…”

You hadn’t even fully comprehended your words, but Alex did and they shattered him.

“I don’t want you to regret me, or regret us…!” Your body shook, fingers gripping the back of his shirt.

“Shh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.”, he shook his head as he rubbed your back, staring out into night.

“I… let’s not fight like this. Not anymore, alright?”

You nodded frantically and hugged him closer. You knew you would get through this…

Together.

————

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝.

A/N: The origins of this piece are rather… comical. I was having coffee with a friend, and I told her I wanted to write an argumentative fic. I wanted to try more angst. She then made a joke about how during an argument, reality would quite literally “hit” (Y/n). Ahem, I now realize we have rather poor taste in comedy and inspiration choices. Hope you enjoyed!

[wifeofwandamaximoff]

Apricity

A/N: Not my best work but these were in my drafts, I also apologize for not posting a lot. I have another work that might be out soon.

Warnings: Angst, death?

Y/n pov:

"JARVIS search the area to see if its clear." Tony said. We were on a mission to gather some information about a nuclear weapon hydra apparently had.

I was with my mother and my girlfriend Wanda, slowly advancing towards the hydra base when I heard a click. I then stayed deathly still. Fearing if I move an inch the mine underneath my foot would blow up and everyone would die. The other two were ahead of me so they didn't see that I wasn't moving. I then press my ear piece to communicate with Tony.

"T-Tony."

"Yes mini Romanoff? he questioned me

"Dont freak out but I've stepped on a land mine. Get everyone out of here!" I demanded him.

"Kid we can't just leave you here your mother and girlfriend would kill us!"

"They'll understand Tony. Just say that im already on the quinjet."

The comms went silent when all of a sudden I heard footsteps coming closer to me. I looked up and saw my two favorite people.

My girlfriend and my mother. They both stopped when they came at least 1 feet away from me.

"Y/n why are you standing still Tony said to retreat?" questioned my mother. Then Tony and Steve started advancing towards us with some tools. And I knew Tony would try to use these tools to help me.

"Anthony Edward Stark! I said retreat not help!" I screeched at him. But again he didn't listen and Steve looks at me hesitatingly.

"Bubby what going on?" questioned my lovely girlfriend. I look slowly turned my head towards her. My lips trembling and my eyes welling up with tears. Wanda then started rushing towards me but I used my water to bring the ground water to the surface. Wanda stepped into my shield before I could fully close it.

"mamas you have to step out" I softly said. She looked at me confused why I even made a bubble. I then heard Tony yelling at me to take down the barrier so he could help me.

"Wanda im on a landmine." I told her which was the worst idea. She just stood their frozen still.

"Your joking right? Please tell me your kidding and its a sick prank that your playing. Because if it is you got me good bubby now please come here and hug me.

"Mamas im being serious no pranks no jokes."

"This can't be true!" Wanda sobbed out. I wanted so badly to wrap her in my arms where she felt safe in. I decided to let my mother know what happening since Tony is probably making Steve find out a way to break the barrier, even when Tony is one of the smartest person I know.

Wanda just stood there. Knowing if she came over and hugged me and kissed me the landmine would trigger and I would die. But she knew before I would die I would shield her with my elemental powers to keep her alive and safe.

I took down the barrier and saw my mother just sitting on the cold snowy ground waiting for me. While Tony was in the air holding his arm out ready to blast me but then realized I took the barrier down. Then Steve fell flat on his face which made me chuckle.

"Y/n River Romanoff you better fucking explain to me why Wanda is crying and why is Tony and Steve freaking out!?" shouted my mother.

I then said in a quiet voice, "I stepped on a landmine. Tony is trying ti figure out how to help me." 

"What!? Y/n you better be joking." I then shook my head to signal to my mother that I was telling the truth. My mother shook her head in denial that I was going to die.

"I-Its okay." I said to Tony.

I then made a barrier with my earth powers surrounding Tony and I with branches and vines.

"Tony take Wanda and let Steve take my mother. Leave me behind I assure you that they both will understand"

"Kid there has to be a way to help you! Im a genius I can figure it out just give me time!"

"Tony leave willingly or I'll make you leave" I said while giving him a cold hard stare.

Wanda's pov:

I started trying to pry the branches and vines out of the way. I then heard some cracking to my left and saw that Nat was using all her tools to break down the barrier.

"Girls stop" said a voice behind us. I whirled around and saw Steve.

"Are you fucking kidding me Rogers my daughter is in there! My fucking miracle is gonna die and I haven't even said I love you to her yet! So dont tell me to fucking stop Rogers!" screamed Natasha.

I just ignored them both and kept trying to break through when the barrier broke down. Making us all look at Y/n and Tony.

Tony looked at Steve and nodded then started to fly towards me. He then lifted me off the ground which I was shocked for a second but then it was instantly replaced with anger, panic, fear, and sadness.

"Anthony Stark let me down to see my girlfriend!" I yelled but it seemed to go deaf to his ears. I then started pounding my fists on his suit which hurt but that didn't matter to me. We both then arrived at the quinjet and was waiting for Steve and Nat to come back. I then realized I never go to tell her I loved her. 

We've only been dating for 8 months but im falling in love with her quickly its starting to scare me how fast I could fall in love with her then her being just someone in my memories and cameras. But cameras weren't enough to catch her beauty.

Tony then tied me up afraid that I would take off and go find Y/n. He wasn't wrong because I would've done it if he hadn't put the magic restricting handcuffs on me.

Nat and Steve then arrived. Nat was a sobbing mess. Begging Steve to go back and get her daughter. Steve just shook his head and went to the cockpit to leave. Tony also put handcuffs on Nat.

I then scooted over towards the window where I could see a small figure. I immediately knew it was my girlfriend. She then looked up at me and smiled. Almost knowing I would that I would do that.

The quinjet started to take off and I pounded my fists on the window. I then saw Y/n stepping off of the land mine once the quinjet was far away enough. I then screamed at Steve to go back to get Y/n.

I then heard loud sobs. I turned my head and saw Nat right next to me. She just scooted over and hugged me letting the tears fall freely. We both cried. Thats all we did was cry. 

Even after a week later the tears couldn't stop falling. My heart was shattered and no one could fix it. I know Y/n would want me to move on but I knew I could never love someone as much as I did with her. She was my apricity. She was the warmth and light in my life. without her I didn't know hot to feel. What to do with my life now.

[snowychicken]

Me: :(

Someone: hi Snowy!

Me: :)

[popponn]

a sort of. [rin x reader]

notes: it's rin itoshi, and the relationship is pretty ambiguous but there is comfort there. a hinted heartbreak with some nameless npc on your part. pre blue lock.

From Itoshi Rin’s point of view, you are downright pathetic sometimes.

Sitting beside him, you sobbed loudly into his scarf. Your snot wetting the fabric all over the place in form of messy and most probably gooey spots that Rin would never touch even with a pole—he would burn that scarf or threw it to your face later. This was the third time you were like this and Rin wondered why he even bothered sitting beside you at times like this. He could be practicing and yet—

“Rin!” you wailed suddenly, pulling his hand that you had taken hostage since thirty minutes ago. “Are you listening?”

“No,” Rin answered bluntly. As a response, you kicked his shin weakly, which he returned with half the strength he used on soccer balls.

“Argh!” you yelped, hugging his right arm tighter. With a glare, you protested, “How could you do that to this heartbroken me?!”

Rin just made a face at that, as if asking were you sure you could stand the words he was about to spit at your face. Your glare shifted into a pout that belongs more to a elementary schooler instead of a highschooler. Thus, with that, the small war between the two of you—classmates, neighbors, and childhood friends since the two of you started crawling—ended.

At the edge of the empty field, Rin and you sat in silence. You stared blankly at the setting sun, meanwhile Rin wondered how he could get you to let him go back to his practice. But, in a way, what had been present for more than a decade had its way, so Rin just sat in silence while stealing glances of your figure, leaning on his side slightly. He, of course, would never admit that even under torture.

“Rin,” you began again, this time with a voice that was smaller and just a step away from a quiver. “…do you think anyone will ever like me back?”

Hearing your question, Rin merely stared at you wordlessly from his peripheral. He watched you put away his scarf to your right, gently as if saying that, yet again, you would wash it and return it him later. And if he told you to fuck off or called you names as bad as he did after that snowy night with his brother, he knew yet again you would just came back and attach yourself to his side like a goddamn parasite.

Unable to hold himself, Rin scoffed and looked away from you. “As if I know.”

You laughed bitterly and lightly, “Yeah. As if.”

Rin didn’t give you any reply. He let you sat with his hand trapped in your arms for another five minutes, before roughly shoving you away with his leg. As an act of vengeance, you threw a shoe to his head and miserably missed.

“Pathetic, lukewarm moron,” Rin spat coldly as he walked back to the field.

“Shut up, soccer clown!” you shout back before shifting your sitting position into a more comfortable one.

Rin stayed for another six hours in that field all while you sat at the edge, wrapped in his jacket that you had yet again taken by force from his bag. This time, Rin didn’t insult you.

[rreskk]

FREAKSHOW

Hey guys, excuse any gramma errors or whatever. I’m still sick lol

Summary: You were apart of the goth subculture. There was an open venue for a goths night, including punks as well. It was all going well before you crossed paths with a particular man.

Pairings: goth fem!reader/Trevor Philips

TW: smut

Word count: 4860

New wave. Simultaneously on the spectrum with punk-rock when it came to growing popularity. Once frowned upon, now you are looking around the room, seeing people express that “satanic” ritual of black dresses, corsets, white makeup, dyed black hair. Of course you had the casuals! People who were standing around drinking from the cup of beers, wearing that once relevant band from the 70s, but it was the thought that counted. It was not only new wave for the goths; it was new wave in general, the population intensifies with experimentation and new fashion. You even saw a few mohawks clotting through the endless crowds that surrounded the loud speakers.

You smiled, contently. You were one with the crowd, exchanging knowing glances to other people within your subculture, nodding to appreciate their whole attires and appearance. It was nice like that. Especially in the low-developed areas within the Midwest where things were usually slow, more media-shy. Heavy music was only just celebrated due to the solemn nature of the town you were based in – North Yankton. With all the rapid snow, you would’ve thought it was the hotspot for likeminded people? Surprisingly, no. This club was a few hours aside, still within the area but more in the region of human life. Where you lived, it was in the rural region. Snowy fields, broken-down cars, lost tourists (who went the wrong way), weirdly growing criminality rates?

The criminality has died down a bit but a few weeks ago there was a robbery at the local cash-in. It shocked the neighbours and locals, the community automatically downgraded with trust.

So it was great to hit the clubs again.

It was packed, but you liked that. Finding a drink was hard until some lovely lady, twice your height, handed you a glass of wine. Red. It was typical for the goth agenda and luckily you were in the mood for some classy drinks as the night commended into a phase of adrenaline and spirit!

You sipped the fruity delight and meandered within the crowd, making small-talk with the occasional men who were drunk as a skunk. It was something you couldn’t escape when clubbing. You usually wonder away as they slur out an age that was definitely not theirs… A man full of grey hair with wrinkles of a scaled fish would lie about their age being under the 30s and you immediately slick out of them lies. What could you expect in a room full of misfits. A murderer could be in this room and none of the people here would care. They would, however, riot if something happened to the drinks and music.

“Hey, hey.” You heard someone hush as a hard hand grasped your shoulder. Turning around, your eyes met this largely obtained frame of a man whose face was vaguely covered by the dim lights. You barely made out the hand that pointed towards your drink. With a husky voice, he spoke again. “They got something other than wine?”

Trying to understand him from over the music was hard enough. You shouted out and pointed towards the bar. “They’ll have menus over there or something.”

The man sniffed loudly when you spoke. He shifted forward, the majority of his face revealed. His nostrils were red and his eyes were a bit twitchy, but he was fairly normal looking. Well. For a scene like this. He wore this moustache and shaggy mullet that spiked up in every direction, effortlessly as well.

“Eh. Eh – Atta girl.” He ruffed and sniffed again. You wanted to assume it was the cold weather outside but you knew it was something other. The man released his grip and squeezed past you, his large shoulder accidentally knocking your wine. It fell onto your dark dress and leather corset.

“Fuck…” You murmured but he hadn’t of noticed, only walking further away from the destruction he had caused. There was a temptation to call him out for the clumsiness but it was stupid to blame a man who was high on whatever substances he had snorted in the past hour. It was obvious, you even noticed the powder sit on the skirts of his moustache. White; cocaine.

Watching him from afar, the guy was quite tall. He wore nothing to suggest he willingly came in here. Probably drinks, right? It was an obvious reason, maybe the only reason. He made no attention to the dressed up figures around him. In a room full of liveliness, he sat there on the bar, his green parkers coat and tanned cargos. His posture hunched and you saw him take a swig of a glass that wasn’t even his. The lady beside him grew disgusted and walked off despite paying for the beverage but you couldn’t blame her – he was intimidating.

People automatically avoided him and continued dancing around to the wave of music. However, your eyes struggled to move away from the stranger. As you were patting down the damp fabrics from the accident, you took small steps forward, slowly edging towards the bar. Maybe you could get an apology or something. This corset was expensive and now it had small specs of the wine imprinted.

It took courage. You stood beside him and cleared your throat for the bartender who came to your service. If you weren’t going to face the problem in a confrontational threat, you were going to give passive hints.

“Hey.” You smiled when the bartender stood at your front. “I was wondering if you could refill my wine? Someone knocked it over a few minutes ago.”

“Ahah, accidents like that happen all the time. I’ll get you another glass.” The good worker took your glass and went back to refill.

This left you alone with the stranger who gave you a snarky side-eye. Now you could see it for yourself, he was high. Them eyes were dilated like a UFO and his face was struck with this nasty gaze. You made eye-contact and he held it, making you stiff.

“I found the bar.” Finally, he muttered after taking a sly sip from the stolen drink.

You nodded your head in affirmation and looked away but he said something else, something faint. It took you a couple of seconds to recall the exact wording since his voice matched the heaviness to the music.

“What’s the fuckin’ occasion then? I walked in and everyone is dressing up like some BDSM get-together.”

“BDSM?” You repeated, rather offended. “No. It’s a venue event.”

“Halloween was months ago.”

“Yeah, I know – “

“I saw a random guy over with a leash around his neck.” The man grunted as he raised his hand to the far corner of the club. He then looked at you. “This ain’t some normal venue. You got some kinky shits in here.”

“It’s for the new-wave music. You know, gothic… Metal, punks?” You attempted to explain.

“In North Yankton? This is some Romanian vampire costume party.” He placed the glass back down and returned to his shell, covering his face with his arm and sitting there like a loner.

But you didn’t take this as a sign to stop.

“It’s not all about the clothes. It’s the music.”

With this, he edged his head up and stared through his brows at you. It took him a minute to recollect the energy and straighten his posture. “I always thought goths were to look at.”

You felt a bit disgusted as you knew what he was suggesting.

“Your clothes and all…” His voice drooled and came to a deep conclusion by the pitch of his tongue. “It’s erotic. Sexy.”

“Nice…” You whispered with discomfort. The wine was served and you held it close to your chest, not trusting the guy who was obviously taking an interest at the sight of you standing there.

“Oh, come on… Take it as a compliment. You goths have way more to look at than the strippers I just saw – “

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying… That you look… Nice.” The man gritted with his teeth. The shift in tension between you both grew as annoyance struck. He wanted you to take it as a compliment despite the “compliment” being pervy and disrespectful to the overall scene.

You dragged your drink away the bar and gave him a hefty glare. “Thanks.”

He sniffed up the molecules of coke from his moustache and returned your sarcastic remark. “You’re fuckin’ welcome, sugar.”

You uttered a small “whatever” under your breath before setting some distance between him, but he maintained this steady stare where you felt burdened to break the eye-contact. Whatever this was, it was intense. You returned his stare while taking slow sips of your wine, eyes flickering down towards his tongue that licked the lining of his glass cup. It made you grossed out and you looked away.

The man, with strength, slammed the cup against the table surface and leaned back in his chair, his body slump, his arms falling to his sides, staring – still. This is where you draw the line, finding this behaviour creepy and uncomfortable.

“Stop staring.” You muttered loud enough for him to hear.

His eyebrows raised at the confrontation. “That’s poor mannerism. Where is the magic word?”

The audacity of this guy. To refrain from further exclusions of emotions, you grounded yourself and turned your back. If he wasn’t going to find decency, you may have to ignore him, which is what you are about to do. He watched as you left the bar with the glass of wine idly in your hand.

“I didn’t hear you say the magic word!” The man called out before you could get lost in the crowd.

So turning back, you raised the finger and gave him one last sight to taste. But apparently that was not to his standards. Your eyes widened as he jumped out of his seat, his face full of hatred and feet rapidly following you.

He looked painfully angered yet his words, smooth as butter. You were forced to face him with inches sparing to save room for Jesus. His groin; pressed against yours mercilessly. Whether he meant to, it was warm and it made you shudder in a weirdly excited fright.

“There is no. Need. To. Be. So. Rude… Darling Dragula… You hear me?” Is what he said.

The threat became nothing but sweetness to your ears after the close, heated proximity where you wished it hadn’t of turned you on so much.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured.

“Oh, yeah, you’re sorry,” his voice rapidly tormented. “You can’t expect a man to not stare at the freaks in a freakshow.”

There was zero rationality that made your lip twitched. He needed to be corrected as this was your time to loosen up and have fun, being someone within a community so wronged.

“You willingly stepped into the freakshow. I wouldn’t complain if I were you…” You tried to ease the bitterness but it was prominent.

The guy grinned uneasily at your argument and leaned closer. His horrid breath filled with alcohol, bodily disgust, acidic death; an assassination to intimidate your nostrils and dominate the title of “freak.” Because he was one. You didn’t have to second-guess that.

“I ain’t complaining. The staring said otherwise.” He whispered directly against your ear, his lips grazing your earrings like he wanted to taste the material. The drug was definitely playing a role with his reasonings.

“Sometimes staring can be misunder….” You stopped talking when his nose gently rubbed against yours. You stopped talking at the closeness becoming 10x entrapping. Despite complaining about the staring, the stare he was doing right now was different and vulgar. Your spine shivered as it felt wrong to participate in this weird situation.

“Staring can be what?” He grumbled with a low voice.

“…Staring can be…” His persistent boldness had made you struggle to line up the right words. He had left you speechless which is where he wanted you to be.

The man smirked and leaned away, gifting you with freedom of space before grabbing your wrist and speaking. “What’s your name, sugar?”

You didn’t want to tell him. Whatever happened to the bitter-sweet argument where you wanted to continue your night, solo. But you couldn’t escape this one, not yet anyway.

“[y/n].”

“[y/n]?” He repeated and you nodded. The man inspected your face before nodding. “Your make-up. It’s… Cool.”

“Than – “

“The names Trevor.”

The pace was fast when he proposed his name. You didn’t know how to react. What was there to say? “Nice name…”, “Nice to meet you!”, “How are you, Trevor?”

None suited the present time. Neither was his name nice or was it to meet him. Trevor. It was so ironic. The syllables to his name was something to spit out, an opposite of a lullaby and melody. Trent, Travis, Troy, Trevor. Somehow you imagined people named after a “Tr” approach to be someone like him; a bit edgy and definitely questionable, morally. It’s the aggression and swift movement of the lips and teeth that makes his name unforgettable. It was masculine, indeed.

“Ahh, cool.” You uttered relatively quietly.

Trevor rocked his head back and took a deep breath before them frantic pupils scanned the busy room. He took turns to focus on each individual then returned to you, lips curling up into a snarl. You thought he was going to say something but instead, he just sneezed. You flinched and watched him adjust himself back into the close position.

“Bless me.” Trevor applaud with an overexaggerating tone.

You gave him a nervous smile and leaned away. He noticed the distance multiplying and tugged his cruel fingers around your corset where they felt the strings round back. This was alarming until he used it to pull you closer. Your body instantly went into meltdown as your groins fell in contact again. You could feel him, he was there, and he was hard. It unconsciously rubbed against you through the skirt. You didn’t know if he meant it so you remained silent. Mute.

“Don’t look so scared – I’m trying to be nice.” Seized the taller man as he noticed your discomfort. Them hands gripped harder around you and he looked through his brows with a scolding gaze. “Thought I’d… Endure the atmosphere a bit.”

“The atmosphere?” You spoke.

“Everyone else is enjoying themselves. Why can’t I?”

“You can, I… I didn’t mean – “ The way he phrased things. He seemed so offended all the time! You didn’t want to miscommunicate with him anymore since you could already tell he was a bomb to handle. A ticking time-bomb.

“[y/n], [y/n], [y/n]. Don’t sound so unsure. Try and enjoy your precious goths night, ay?”

You really wanted to say “you make it less enjoyable” as he took every chance to mock the subcultures in the room, but you could identify the slander being a pathetic attempt of teasing, maybe flirting.  

“Yeah, my night.”

Trevor grumbled in his voice as your bodies swayed together slightly. He was stuck to you like glue. “My night’s been a shithole. I need a distraction. Lemme dance around with you.”

“You want to dance?”

“Or fuck.”

“What?” You froze.

“What?” He snickered in return, gaslighting.

“You just said you wanted to fu – “

“What shitty, shitty music… Let us dance around with these other morons…” His voice would bewitch and charm, licking up them insults with a flavour of seductiveness; paradox-ing whatever the Hell you were experiencing with this guy who was high as a fucking kite.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but move around with the commandment of his hands that held onto your lower back, pulling you alongside. You looked at Trevor who grinned. God you wanted to go. To escape this. Your feelings were conflicted and you felt like you were going to puke. Your face was full of nervousness and you glanced to your side before his cold thumb grazed a pinch of your upper lip.

It made you jump as you watched his finger pull away, your black lipstick staining the tip of it.

“What?” You confusingly murmured.

Trevor raised an eyebrow and licked the lipstick from his thumb. Pervert.

“It smudged a bit.” Was his excuse.

“Sure… You fixed it?” You’d interrogate sternly, this time.

“No – it’s more smudged now.” Trevor smirked and threatened to touch you with his thumb again. “It looks hot on you though. You know, messy.”

Instantly avoiding his thumb, you broke away from his grip and crossed your arms, creating an invisible barrier between you both where he turned sour again, glaring like you disobeyed a law.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“You’re creeping me out.”

Trevor scoffed. “Oh, get over yourself – “

“I don’t care how lonely or high you are, I really don’t care! Just stop freaking me out with you… Touching me like that. It’s fucking weird.” You stressed.

“Weird, is it?” He took a step forward and grabbed your wrist, your nails automatically digging into his hand as he’d hiss at the pain. You marked his skin great enough to draw blood that trickled down his palm like a piece of artwork. His eyes shifted from your sharp, black nails and to the wound, caused by you, his face itching with disbelief.

This was the opportunity to rush off but then that same hand attacked your face. Your mouth was hit with this iron taste and you were thrown back into his arms, his hand covering your mouth, blood aching on your lips and tongue. Trevor was shaking as he kept you tight and grunted slightly since your warm breath penetrated the fresh wound from your nails.

Your words were muffled and he placed his chin on the top of your head, dragging you away into the furthest corner where the lights barely exposed it’s presence.

“C’mon…” He whispered in your ear and finally released you from his bloodiness, making you gasp for air. Though you were free to speak, his body cornered you against the wall.

However the situation… You were supposed to feel angered and scared. But there was something about it all. His blood marked your lips and you licked around it, the eye-contact between his brown ones and yours strong. You became aroused.

“You made me bleed.” Trevor groused with restless lips that stretched up into a grin.

The connection was shared and now you were both facing the consequences of this unwanted arousal. You were fuelling his fetish for “goths” and you couldn’t care less. Not after this.

“Am I supposed to feel sorry?”

“Don’t apologise. Don’t fuckin’… Ruin the moment…” He hurried, “and don’t threaten me, you cheeky fuck.”

“You threatened me first.”

“You wanna try and threaten me with my cock in your mouth, huh?”

“Now that… Was a threat.” You snickered.

Trevor adjusted his bulge and used his free hand to hold your chin, looking at you with desire. His thumb, stained with blood this time, smudged more of your lipstick before moving closer, searching between your lips and passing your teeth. You took this as a sign and began to sensually suck around his thumb, tasting his blood and your own lipstick.

“Oh…” He seemed more vulnerable watching you. His large frame hid you from the crowded room but that didn’t stop him from paranoidly looking over his shoulder. Possibly the drugs giving him that fear of being watched. He waited until you sucked for an extra second then draped an arm over your shoulder. You were guided by this shaky man as you entered the private bathrooms reserved for the staff.

One of them staggered over after noticing Trevor luring closer. He cried out. “Hey, that’s staff on – “

But in return, he received a massive “FUCK OFF!” that echoed over the music, some of the party-goers turning to gaze over but you were pushed into the private bathroom, the door locking behind you.

Immediately his lips were on yours. Trevor lifted up your hips and held you against the wall as he carelessly aloud your make-up to splutter against his rough skin. You grabbed the back of his neck and gently applied pressure with your nails while he worked labour with his tongue that adventured around your wet mouth, tasting every inch like he was deprived from touch.

He made whining noises throughout the clingy kisses and he couldn’t hold back. You gasped out loud when he ripped off your leather corset, the strings snapped in half and your body becoming free from that tightness. It made you feel naked. You leaned your head back and breathed heavily as he ran his hands down your frame, the dress becoming loose due to this rough nature of his playfulness. It took you a life-time to prepare yourself for the venue today but something about Trevor ripping every layer was more sexier. Soon your back was naked against the wall and he had his hands groping your freed breasts.

You looked at him, his face partially white with the occasional smudges of black. His moustache had white ends from the endless kisses too. He didn’t seem to noticed, you loved it.

“I’m so… God…” Trevor groaned as he zipped off his green coat, throwing his shirt from over the head and easily undressing himself in front of you. His body type had great muscle mass but with the balance of thick and thinness. Your eyes shifted to the hairs leading down to the buckle of his belt, in which you saw his injured hand undo. The buckle came loose and he made sure you watched. Trevor’s other hand grabbed onto your neck as he positioned your head to face the reveal of his cock. He brought it from the briefs and lied it in the palm of his hands, smirking at you. “You like that, [y/n]? You want that?”

The dirty talk edged you closer and you nodded your head, the dyed black strands falling onto your face.

“I bet it fits perfectly in you.” Your body shivered as he held you against the wall, his hand introducing himself with your intimacy. He said this while stroking over your pussy. He gave himself an insight of your shape, feel, touch. Trevor must’ve loved the way you were since he’d let out a soft moan when his finger perfectly moved into you without struggle. The way he came in – you whimpered silently.

Trevor continued to finger you until it was loose enough for his preference. He liked it wet and messy before the deal. You opened yourself to him and felt obliged to the access of his shaggy mullet, dragging your nails down his strands, repeating the cycle from the scalp downwards

He hummed at your affections before lining his cock, with the guidance of his bloodied hand, easily fucking the looseness as it would slide right in. This made you both moan behind the heaviness of music that dominated the atmosphere still. At least no one would hear you. They may suspect, after Trevor’s “kindness” to the worker, but there was no evidence to propose the truth. It was only you and him.

“Yes, yes…” You finally encouraged Trevor through the increased pace. The make-up was damned and ruined, your breasts bouncing at the force of his thrusts. Your back kept on beating the wall behind since the bathroom was too small to execute a full position. The cramp space, however, made it all so better because you two were made into this close proximity. The proceeding sweat from his neck and face would only transfer onto you due to this. It was the definition of “hot and bothered.”

“Oh, my… Oh, ah!” Besides, his noises were pathetic. Before you assumed he was this masculine character, yet the way he sloppily fucked into you with them whiny cries said otherwise. You were allowing this pervert to treat you like so! It was abnormal, amazing even! How the time passes when you are having an awful interaction with this intoxicated man. There were nothing but lust and coke behind his eyes and you showed mercy; resulting in legs spread, cock in, mouth puking out moans. Dirty work. You wondered if the strip-club he allegedly stayed in, before the venue, was at your level of satisfaction. Maybe you were proving him right though…

Goths were so much more than them strippers. You damned that right.

“I fuckin’ love you… Love me!” Trevor angrily sobbed as he pounced in and out aggressively. You’ve had rough sex before but this was another category. You were light-headed at the heaviness of his touch, it was disgustingly attractive.

Your hands clenched onto a handful of his thin, longish hair and you pulled as you as you can, liking the way he responded through snarls and moans. The painful dosage mixed with pleasure. You could’ve sworn his cock had the stains of his blood too, and now it was inside you.

“I… Shit…” You moaned, “I think I’m gonna cum, Trevor… Trev – Fuck!”

He nodded his head rapidly and consistently fucked you. His lips were sucked in and he only made sounds of whimpers and whiny chants. From the hardness and twitchiness though, you knew he was close too.  

“Fuck me! You fucking… Freak! Fuck!” This came watering out from your tongue unnaturally. So into the moment, so infused, that the filter was beckoned. Your eyes wondered from realisation but Trevor, dear old Trevor, he nodded his head again.

“Oh, yeah… I’m a freak, baby. I’m all yours. All yours… My cock fits so good, don’t it?” He weakly responded after the intense echoes of your skin slapping together.

“You’re all mine?”

Trevor placed his lips against your forehead and murmured a muffled groan. “All fuckin’ yours…”

What had gotten him so worked up and needy? It was hot. You smirked and took in the scent of his nastiness before the sensation became present again. He cried in frustration and ignored your distressed moans, the climax approaching you both at the same time.

“Trevor… Shit…” Your legs started to shake and you stared upwards, suddenly…

Both finishing. Warmth rinsed out of you, squirting. The noise you made was painfully good. You had arched your back and allowed the cum to drain out as Trevor came onto the softness of your stomach. He rubbed himself to encourage the orgasm that was awakening the sobriety in his mind. Loud wasn’t even the right word for it. He was obnoxious. You breathed heavily after he released a high-pitch pant, the bathroom slowly becoming silent, making you realise just how randomly steamy it had got.

And it smelt of sex, massively.

“Ohhhh, and I hate myself…” You heard him whisper as the rush came to an end. Your pussy though? It stung, in a good way.

You picked up the scattered leftovers of your clothes and decided that after this, you may go home since your attire was… Presumably inappropriate looking. From the way your make-up was running down your face with sweat and the sweat mess of your hair. You didn’t mind, a good nap was what you needed from this anyway.

“Dare I ask for your number, sunshine?” Trevor managed to speak, his coat on but his shirt not. He lazily had his chest out like he couldn’t be bothered.

“Yeah…” You whispered and routed for your phone before realising that it was in the car still. The way you fell in defeat and sighed. “Fuck. I haven’t got it with me.”

He scoffed. “Where am I gonna find a chick like you again, ay? I gotta have something. An address?”

“Woah, too fast. I’ll just tell you where I work… You know, day-time job. In the town still.”

“Strip-club? – “

“The café a few blocks down. You know where that cash-in is? The one that got robbed?”

Trevor fell silent before grinning. He nodded his head and looked at you. “I know that area very well, sugar.”  

This didn’t seem to tick any flags in your head as you smiled. “Yeah, I’m there from 9 to 3 usually. Am.”

“Good to know.”

“I’ll see you around, maybe?” You hoped.

“I’ve got a load of business around there… So yeah, you’ll see me around, sugar.” He said with an entertained grin before zipping up your dress and ensuring you looked somewhat presentable.

Well, he didn’t help. You had to persuade him. He did complain but was silenced when you slapped his shoulder.

Then you exited the bathroom. It was awkward and you avoided eye-contact with anyone, especially because he still had his chest on display from under the open coat. He probably forgot about it. His shirt was stuffed in the waistline of his cargos as well, it was pretty obvious.

“Keep them sharp nails to yourself, [y/n].” He said in your ear and wondered off without another word. He left you standing there dazed. With a sore pussy as well.

“Keep them sharp nails to yourself…” You mocked back and walked out of the venue, the freezing air drying up your sweat as you walked back to your car, half-proud, half-ashamed.

[caspersugarboo]

Breakup Comforts

Platonic! Alphonse x reader x Platonic!Seth

Synopsis: you recently got broken up with, and are very heartbroken. Luckily you have two dumbass roommates to cheer you up!

Cw: mentions of weapons, breakups, sad vibes until our boys arrive.

" It's over"

Two words you hoped you'd never have to hear ever again. It was hard enough the first time, but a second time? Goddess, life just hated you, huh? 

You sniffle quietly as tears flow down your pink cheeks, how long had you been crying now? An hour or was it Two?

Your partner had just broken up with you. It was some bullshit excuse of  "I met someone". It had been 2 years between the two of you. Two fucking years, only for someone else to swoop in and throw it all away. 

Did you want to full on sob? Oh of course! But could you? Nope. You had two roommates, Ahem, best friends to keep in mind. First you had Alphonse, the pink haired, candy obsessed, punk. He was your first roommate, originally your only roommate. He was kind, funny, and downright adorable. 

Then you had Seth, your own personal cowboy with a heart of gold. He stumbled upon you and your roommate's doorstep one snowy night, covered in bruises. You took him in and the rest is history. 

You loved those two, they were like the family you never had. 

One wrong move and they'd probably straight up kill your part- ex. Your ex. Oh Goddess that hurt to say. You whimper quietly, well maybe not quietly as it was loud enough to catch the attention of a passing person, specifically your roommate, Seth. 

You try to muffle your breathing as a knock rings out from the door. 

" Hey Sugar, y'alright in there?" Seth asked through the door. You go to answer, but all that comes out is a strangled noise. You finally get the words together. 

" Yes! P-perfectly fine!" The sentence sounded forced and constricted, you knew he wouldn't believe you, but you prayed he'd leave. But then again part of you didn't want him to leave. 

" Y/n, you don't sound alright. Let me just come in and che-" " NO!" You shout, cutting him off. You could feel the flinch from the other side of the door. 

' look what you did now' the thought bubbled in your mind, only adding to the sting you felt. Another whimper escaped, which was followed by several tears after it. 

" Sugar, I'm coming in." Seth told you, and before you could say a word, he slung the door open. 

You stared at one another for what seemed like forever, tears rushing down your cheeks, and Seth's sweet concerned eyes staring back at you. 

" Y/n? Hey sugar, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" He asked softly.

 The sweet, honey-like tone he used finally got you. You doubled over, sobs rolling from your throat, tears flowing as fast as they could. 

Seth jumped a little, and if you weren't crying you would have laughed at his little demonstration of surprise. 

He slowly approached you, arms barely rising to touch you, but he stopped. He bit his lip between his teeth, and tried to find words. 

" D-do…do you want a hug?"  He asked gently, arms wavering ever so slightly. You nodded the best you could, and before you knew it Seth had scooped you up in his arms and squeezed lightly. Burying your face in his neck, clutching his shirt, you sobbed your heart out. Seth only whispered sweet praises to you, rubbing your back as you cried. 

It wasn't long until Alphonse strolled in, definitely alerted but the shouts and cries of his roommate. 

" Hey you two, everything alright in-... here?" Al stuttered, body coming to a halt in shock. His brows furrowed, and he walked briskly towards the two of you. 

" Hey, Hey, Hey…whats going on in here?" He muttered. Seth gave him a look as he sat down, hand coming to rest upon your shoulder.

" I dunno, I just found 'em like this…" The brunette muttered, turning to you " What's goin' on sugar?" 

You squeezed Seth a bit tighter and gave a soft hiccup, " Boo, you gotta let us know what's wrong so we can help." Al urged, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze. 

Sighing, you shuffled back on the bed. You looked up into the eyes of your roommates, only wanting to return into Seth's arms. He was always so good at giving hugs. 

You shook that thought away, fiddling with your hands nervously. " I…me and..me and (Ex's name) broke up today."

Before you could tear up any more, Alphonse grabbed your hand, Seth grabbing the other. " Oh Sugar.." Seth whispered. The pink haired one of the two only shook his head," there's more to it than that though, isn't there?" 

Gulping, you looked away trying to avoid Al's intimidating presence. He grumbled, reaching out to grab your chin, and forcing you to look back at the two of them. " Boo. What else happened." 

You blushed, embarrassed. Finally you decided to be honest with them. " I..they told me they met someone." You start, taking a breath. " Two years! Two years of love, tears, effort, promises, and time…two years and they throw it away for someone else!" By the end you were almost yelling. 

" Are you serious-" Seth said, clearly angered by what you told. Alphonse released you, looking down in his lap and smiling. This wasn't a kind, loving, smile though. This was a smile filled with slight rage and anger. 

Al stood, cracking his knuckles and giving a small laugh. " Alright then, they break your heart we break their face!" Seth grinned. Jumping up and starting with the pinkette to the door.

You paled, jumping up after them and somehow beating them to the door. Stretching your arms out in front of them, you tried to reason. " Guys! It's really not that big of a deal! It just made me sad and- Woah!" You were cut off by Al picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder.

They walked to the living room, you still on Al's shoulder, and Seth running around in search of something. 

" Seth, grab Betty for me!" Al yelled past you. Gasping you hit his back repeatedly, kicking too like some toddler. " Alphonse! Put me down right now! And Seth you better not be grabbing any weapons!" You yell out.

 You can feel Alphonse's shoulders shake with laughter. He approaches the couch and sits you down gently. " Relax boo, I was just jokin'." He said smiling. You could see him wave off Seth who was was carrying various things, like..was that a fucking bat?! 

Al sat down with you, throwing a blanket over your laps. And Seth quickly returned with a bowl of popcorn and three sodas, instead of weapons. " How the fuck- didn't you just have a ba-" the cowboy cut you off. 

" So what movie are we watching, Sugar?" 

' rude.' You thought, rolling your eyes.

" Oh! Boo, we should watch ( Favourite movie)!)" Al suggested. Instantly you lit up, eyes sparkling almost comically. " Okay!!" You cheered, taking the popcorn and two sodas from Seth. He sat down on your left, paralleling Al who sat on your right. 

The Pinkette started to put on the movie, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. Seth sat his soda down on the coffee table and turned to wipe the remaining tears off your cheeks. 

" Forget about that asshole sugar, if they couldn't see your worth, they didn't deserve it in the first place." The brunette comforted. Your eyes widening before you were smashed between the two boys, both of them hugging you tightly. 

You teared up again, but this time it was happy tears. 

 

Short blurb of comfort, more on the platonic side this time. I have another one I'm planning to make longer. It should be released this coming weekend, I'm very busy this week, so let's hope!

Feel free to request anything bit please look at the pinned post to see what isn't oka and is please! If you have any questions feel free to ask!

[laheymaze]

why are there so many mistletoe?

✨eddie munson✨ x fem! reader

summary: your best  friend, eddie, has been in love with you for years, but has never wanted to  admit his feelings. but when his child sidekick, dustin, gets in his head, eddie gets drunk at your christmas party and almost messes everything up 🎄

warnings: language, SMUT, alcohol use, i think that's it??

*this was originally going to be super innocent and cute, then i got a little too excited with the way the story was going hehehehhehehe enjoy*

ultimate masterlist!!

holiday masterlist!! 🎄

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“You need to tell her how you feel already!” Dustin shouted at Eddie while sitting next to him at the lunch table.

Eddie was gushing about how perfect you looked over the past weekend at Corroded Coffin’s show, and Dustin was tired of hearing about it. Eddie has had the biggest crush on you since he met you freshman year, but never “had the balls” to tell you, as Dustin so lovingly put it. 

“For the millionth time, I am not ruining my friendship with her over this,” Eddie stated.

“Okay, for the millionth time, shut the hell up about her then!” Dustin countered. 

“Shut the hell up about who?” You questioned, walking to the table, sitting on the other side of Eddie. 

“No one!” Eddie shouted, giving Dustin a dirty look.

“Okay?” You questioned hesitantly. “I’m having a Christmas party thing at my house this weekend, you all are invited. Saturday, seven o’clock. It’s not an excuse to get drunk and throw a rager, okay?” You said, looking at Eddie. 

“It happened one time,” Eddie said.

“Yeah, and you got so wildly drunk you that threw up all over my bedroom and slept for almost 20 hours the next day. I am not letting that happen again.” Eddie ignored you, choosing to throw a carrot at you instead. 

“This is the perfect opportunity,” Dustin whispered not so quietly.

“Perfect opportunity for what?” You asked.

“Can you ever just shut the fuck up?” Eddie said to Dustin, hitting his shoulder, making the boy yelp. 

“Why are you two being so weird today?” You questioned, raising your brows. 

“You’re being weird,” Dustin said, trying to cover. 

“Okay?” 

“So, Christmas party, Saturday, seven o’clock? Sounds fun.” Eddie said, distracting away from Dustin’s obvious behavior. 

“It should be! It’s snowy-Christmas themed, so I’m wearing my cute snowflake sweater.” You said.

“The one that has blue and silver flakes?” Eddie questioned. 

“Yeah, I can’t believe you remember that.” You told him. Eddie’s eyes went wide, Dustin laughing. 

“I remember it because it’s so ugly,” Eddie said, smirking. You smiled at him, your turn to throw food at his face. 

“I better see you wearing a better sweater then, Munson.”

“You know it, sweetheart.”

—-

When Eddie showed up at the Christmas party, he was not wearing a Christmas sweater. Instead,  it was a “holiday” Metallica shirt and jeans. Eddie made his way through the people in your living room, finally finding you in the kitchen with Steve, Robin, Dustin, Mike, Max, and Lucas. 

“That is not a Christmas sweater!” You told Eddie.

“And that is still an ugly sweater.” Eddie countered, pointing at your sweater that he actually adored and loved seeing you in. 

“I think it’s a cute sweater,” Steve said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. What the fuck was that?! 

The jealousy filled in Eddie, not knowing if you and Steve were actually a thing or he was just being friendly. But that’s how Eddie was with you, not Steve. So there must be something there. 

“Hand me a beer,” Eddie said harshly, making you raise your brows. Steve tossed him one, and Eddie left the kitchen, on the search for anywhere else to be to conduct his master plan to finally make you his. 

—-

When you finally left the kitchen to socialize with other friends, you noticed the unusual amount of mistletoe hanging everywhere. You questioned whether you hung those up, remembering very clearly that you did not. You caught Eddie out of the corner of your eye by the staircase, making his way up. You followed him, watching as he put a mistletoe under your bedroom door. 

“Why are there so many mistletoe?” You asked, startling Eddie. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you scared me.”

“I thought Eddie Munson doesn’t get scared.” You said, smiling. 

“Only of a few things,” Eddie responded.

“Like what?”

“Mistletoe. You should come over here and protect me from it.” Eddie slightly slurred. 

“Stop trying to get me to walk under the mistletoe.” You joked. “I thought we talked about you not getting drunk tonight.” You said, leading Eddie into your room where you noticed a full water bottle sitting on your nightstand, handing it to Eddie. 

“I don’t recall,” Eddie said, plopping down on your bed. 

“Of course you don’t.” You sat next to him, watching as he chugged the water. “What else are you scared of?” You asked, seeing what drunk Eddie had to say.

“Santa.”

“Santa? Since when?” 

“Since I never got to experience Santa as a kid and one time Wayne took me to the mall and Santa was there and he was disgusting, so clearly I wasn’t missing anything,” Eddie explained. At first, you felt bad for him, then you began laughing at his comment.

“What a shame, I figured we could go sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what we want for Christmas.” You joked. Eddie propped himself up, smirking at you.

“Why sit on Santa’s lap when you can sit on mine?” Eddie said, still smirking, making your eyes go wide.

“Eddie Munson, what is going on with you?” You questioned, laughing. 

“That little shit Dustin, that’s what. He got in my head.” Eddie started explaining, taking off his shoes and curling up in your bed. “He said tonight was my time to say it, but he was wrong. Why do I always listen to that child?” You laughed at Eddie, not really understanding what he was talking about. 

“Is this about that she you were talking about at lunch the other day? Does Eddie Munson have a crush?” You asked, tucking him into your bedding. 

“Not a crush, I’m in love.”

“In love?!” You had never heard anything about this before. Who was he talking about? And why did it make you sting with jealousy?

“Yeah, but I think she’s with Harrington,” Eddie added, completely turned around and under the covers. Well, he wasn’t talking about you then…

“She’s an idiot if she would choose Steve over you.” 

“She’s actually smart,” Eddie said. “And super hot.” 

“Is that so?” 

When you didn’t get an answer from Eddie, you realized he was fast asleep. You got up off your bed, giving Eddie a kiss on his forehead, and turning off your lights before leaving and closing the door. You walked back downstairs to enjoy the party, but not without Eddie’s words repeating in your head the entire night.

—-

Eddie woke up the next morning, drooling all over your pillow, having a huge headache, and craving coffee and pancakes. He slowly got up, rubbing his eyes to adjust to the light in your room. He heard a light snore, looking down to see you sleeping on the floor. Next to where Eddie was sleeping was a trashcan, Tylenol bottle on the nightstand, and two bottles of water. Eddie smiled, realizing it was all for him and you slept next to him to make sure he was fine the whole night.

“Y/N?” Eddie whispered. “Y/N?” Eddie said a little louder. You stirred awake, eyes peaking up at Eddie’s wild morning hair. 

“Pancake mix and coffee are already downstairs, ready to be made.” You told him, already knowing what he liked after a long night. 

“Gosh, you’re the best,” Eddie whispered. “Will you please get in your own bed? I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

“I usually wouldn’t take up your offer, but this floor is super uncomfortable.” You said, getting up and scooching in next to Eddie. "Stay." You told him as he tried getting up to go to the floor. You were facing him, Eddie smiling at you. “Is that drool?!” You exclaimed, noticing the wet stain on your pillowcase. 

“No?” 

“Liar.” You said, closing your eyes. “Do you remember anything you told me last night?” You questioned. 

Shit. What did he say to you last night?

“No… what did I say?” Eddie was worried. He was praying he didn’t tell you how he felt.

“That you’re in love with a girl who is apparently with Steve.” 

“Oh.”

“According to Steve, though, he isn’t seeing anyone right now. So, not sure where you got that info from.” You told Eddie, opening your eyes to meet his worried ones, still laying side by side. 

“He isn’t?” Eddie asked extremely quickly. 

“Nope. So who is she?” 

Eddie didn’t know what to say. Does he tell you and risk ruining your friendship? Does he keep it a secret and let you fall into another guy's arms? He was weighing every option he had, finally deciding to take the jump and would later blame it on the hangover if things go sideways. 

“Fuck it. A new year is about to start, and I can’t go another year hiding this from you.” Eddie started, sitting up and looking down at you. “I was talking about you, Y/N. It’s always been you.” 

“What?” You sat up, directly in front of Eddie. 

“I’ve liked you since freshman year, and everyone kept telling me to go for it, but I didn’t want to ruin anything and lose my best friend. Then at lunch, Dustin told me I should tell you at your party, which freaked me out and I thought, hey, why not get drunk and hang up mistletoe instead? I’m an idiot, I know.” Eddie rambled, making you smile. 

“You are an idiot, yes. But only for thinking I didn’t feel the same and that anything could change me being your best friend.” You told him, placing your hand on his leg. “And for getting drunk when I specifically told you not to.” You added, making both you and Eddie laugh. 

“So Dustin was right for once? You have feelings for me too?”

“Yes, he was, but don’t tell him that.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’d ever let that child know he was right,” Eddie said, laughing. 

“Do you want some pancakes and coffee now? I don’t think I’ll be falling back asleep.” You asked Eddie. 

“Oh my gosh, yes!” Eddie happily exclaimed, rushing out of bed, then getting light-headed. 

“Easy there, speed racer.” 

“Never when your pancakes are involved.”

You and Eddie walked out of your room, Eddie stopping behind you under your door frame. 

“What are you doing?” You questioned. Eddie pointed up, looking at the mistletoe. “I thought I took all of them down.”

“Guess you missed one,” Eddie said, grabbing your waist and pulling you to him. 

Eddie leaned in, gently putting his lips on yours. Your hands cupped his cheeks, his arms wrapping tightly around your body as your lips moved in sync. 

“Can I go brush my teeth?” You asked, pulling away.

“No time for that,” Eddie said, putting his lips back on yours, making you smile through the kiss. 

“Pancakes?” You added, breaking away once more. 

“Pancakes!” Eddie shouted, running down the stairs, leaving you behind. 

“Dumbass.” You said to yourself, turning around to go brush your teeth. 

Once you did so, you made your way downstairs, finding Eddie with a cup of coffee and pouring pancake mix into a bowl.

“You tricked me.” He pouted. 

“You’re the one that likes pancakes more than kissing me.” You teased. 

“Oh really?” Eddie questioned, putting his coffee down and grabbing you, lifting you in the air, making you giggle. 

Eddie twirled you around and then finally put you back on the ground, his arms still securely wrapped around you. His lips found yours once more, and your hands tugged at his hair. Eddie started off with slow, soft, kisses, then rapidly increased speed. His tongue eventually joined the mix, gliding into your mouth with ease. This caused you to moan slightly, adding to Eddie’s growing hard-on. 

Noticing, you pressed against him more, Eddie pushing you against the kitchen counter, him completely pressed against you. He moved from your lips, kissing along your jaw and neck as his hands made their way up your shirt, giving you chills from his rough hands touching your bare skin. 

“Fuck,” Eddie moaned into your neck, still in his morning voice. “I don’t know how fast we’re taking this and I know you’re going to think that I’m crazy… but I have been dreaming of the way you taste and I need to find out,” Eddie said quietly into your ear, you throwing your head back. 

Responding, you took off your shorts, tossing them aside. Eddie didn’t hesitate. He kneeled down, grabbing your leg, and placing it on top of his shoulder, giving him perfect access to you. He kissed up your thighs, teasing you by kissing the outside of your underwear. He hooked his finger around the pair, pulling it aside. 

Eddie didn’t waste a second, he dove right in, his tongue deep into your entrance. He moved his tongue with ease and aggression, making it his goal to soak up every centimeter of your wetness. Your moans grew louder as his thumb moved around your clit, your body building up every second he continued. 

“Fuck, Eds!” You shouted, your hands tugging on his messy hair. Eddie smirked against you, him then increasing speed, determined to taste everything you had to offer. 

—-

“Fuck, I still can’t get over how good at that you are.” You told Eddie, both of you sitting down eating pancakes, finally. 

After Eddie finally got to taste… everything… you made out on the kitchen counter for a while, then after Eddie’s grumbling stomach interrupted, you felt it was finally time to eat. 

“Making pancakes? I know.” Eddie joked, winking.

“Funny.” 

“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night? I promise I’ll actually wear my Christmas sweater.” Eddie said, smiling.

“I’d love that.” 

“I love you,” Eddie whispered.

“What?” You questioned, not sure you heard him correctly. 

“What?” 

[pr33tylul]

HARRY POTTER X FEM READER

The bet pt 3

The both awoke to the sun shining on the both of them, y/n was the first to wake up. She realised what position they were in, also realising they had school.

“Harry up we have school!” She panicked getting dressed quickly. Harry groaned getting up, getting dressed then they both went separate ways to go to their common rooms.

Y/n got to her dorm and dressed as fast as she could.

~

“Where have you been then?” Blaise said looking at the tired Harry walking to his dorm. “With y/n” was the last thing he said before going into his dorm.

Malfoy and Blaise looked at eachother.

Not long Harry came out.

“So what did you two do on that date?” Blaise finished.

“We fucked, happy?” Harry was stressed, the boys cheering him on but he wasn’t interested he didn’t want her to find out how much of a dick he was.

He had gone back to his dorm, slamming it and that’s when the last of his mates saw him.

Y/n on the other hand was panicking, what if he didn’t enjoy the sex? What if she fucked up? She carried on with the rest of her day and still

Harry Potter was no where to be seen.

~

After school she’d had gon up to her dorm.

She sent him letters but there was no sign of his snowy owl.

She’d fallen for the boy, a boy she didn’t want to lose.

She decided to got to the slytherin common room.

She slowly walked out her dorm and walked to the slytherin common room.

The door was just opening as some people were going out so she walked in looking around the room. No sign of Harry anywhere, not even his mates? No malfoy or Blaise.

“Excuse me, do you know where I can find Harry potters dorm?” Y/n had gone up to a brunette hair girl. “Yeah uh just up there and the last door on your left” the girl said and y/n nodded.

She walked up the stairs to find the door closed but a little open, she went to push it open.

“So Harry, how’s it going with y/n” she stopped her movements and listened. “Good it’s going good.” Y/n smiled at his answer.

“So your not gonna tell her it was a bet?”

A bet?

Her heart sunk and she pushed the door open to see Harry with a cigarette in his hand. His friends froze and Harry did too.

“Thought you didn’t smoke?” Her voice cracked at what she just heard.

Harry on the other hand didn’t know what to say, he prayed she didn’t hear.

“So I’m a bet to you?” She said crossing her arms, tears pricking the corner of her eyes.

“Well we’re give you some space” malfoy said as the boys walked out, closing the doors. Harry had put the cigarette down and stood up. “Y/n no I can explai-”

“IM A FUCKING BET TO YOU?” Tears fell down her face. “I should of fucking known.”

“Y/n no listen to me please it was a bet yes but I love you I do.” Harry took her hands is his as tears were in his eyes now.

“Yeah and how am I supposed to believe that. we fucked! You were my first! And you knew that and you still did it anyway! You were just playing me like you to to most girls.” She shouted

“Y/n please don’t say tha-” before Harry could carry on she slapped him. “I hate you, never talk to me again, potter” she ran out with tears in her eyes and Harry was left there tears falling down his cheeks.

It had been a week since y/n found out about the bet and she was heartbroken.

She didn’t hate him, she loved him and she hated herself for loving him.

She had not seen Harry ever since that day. He’d send her letters but she’d never open them.

“Y/n where’s y/l/n!” You heard a voice outside, she furrowed her eyebrows and walked out to see none other than Draco malfoy.

“Y/l/n” he said looking at her “it’s Harry, look he’s drunk he’s just not himself so can you help him, we’ve tried he just wants you.” Y/n not really wanting to get involved she found herself walking with the blonde, walking past all the chattering slytherins and over to Harry’s dorm pushing it open.

He was sat on a chair, bottles of fire whiskey, empty cigarette boxes.

“Harry?” She walked in closing the door, she walked infront of him, he was looking out the window. “Oi” she said kneeling down. He looked at her.

The girl he fell in love with. “I’m so sorry y/n” his voice cracked. “I’m so sorry I’m so sorry” he repeated.

“Shhhhh” she took his hand and stood up. She helped him off the chair and into bed. “Come on sleep it off, then we’ll talk okay?” He nodded.

She stood up and picked up the bottles and cigarette packets. She went downstairs to Blaise and malfoy.

“How long has he been like that for?” She asked sitting down. “Well when you left him, he’d punched something or some sort” Blaise continued on “then went out, turned up drunk. The teachers think he’s sick.”

Y/n nodded. “Well I’m gonna go back up there and well…why did he do it?”

The boys looked at eachother. “It all started when you bumped into him, Ron thought you and Harry were cute and Blaise said you and him would never happen…Harry took it as a challenge and yeah we’re here.” Malfoy said then said. “He didn’t wanna tell you because he’d fallen in love with you, he was scared so he said he would make sure you didn’t know but that didn’t go according to plan.”

Y/n looked down, she felt heartbroken but she loved him, she loved him a lot to just quit on him. Whiteout saying a word she stood up and walked to his dorm, he was asleep in his bed. She sat down in the chair he was in and looked out the window, the sun was settling . She looked at Harry again and smiled.

~

Y/n had woken up early. It was 5 in the morning and Harry was still sound asleep. For once in her life she didn’t freak out about getting ready for school, she sat there and waited for Im to wake up.

“What are you doing here?” She turned to see Harry sitting up wiping his eyes. “I’m here for you”

“Look y/n I’m sorry okay…I’m an asshole for doing that to you, for breaking your heart but I really do love you, I understand if you don’t care or just don’t feel the same way anymore or even if you ever did, I just want you to know I’m sorry”

He didn’t look away once, which made y/n know that he was telling the truth. She walked towards him and kissed him.

Harry was taken back but kissed her back. “I love you, yes” she said breaking the kiss. “And you hurt me, but I don’t think I’ve ever loved some more than you.”

Harry looked at her and smiled, in the first Time for a week he smiled and it was because of her.

OKAY THIS FUCKING SUCKS, LOVE YOU ALL IF YOU LIKE THIS IT JUST SOUNDS SO RUSHED BUT REALLY I WAS SITTING HERE FOR HOURS TRYNA THINK HOW TO END THIS. Hope you like it or even if you hate it then yeah idc but I’ll still love you dw

[bihansthot]

Hello again, sorry for bothering you again. I know it is early in the morning, and your not open for requests. This is an idea if your interested. This can be a pairing of Bi-Han x Syzoth, or Fem reader x Syzoth x Bi- han.

~~~~~~~~~~

Scenario:

Syzoth is sick due to the cold, or constantly being out in the bad snowy weather. Since he's been hanging out with the cryo mancer alot. Mabey he tried to hide that the cold bothers him since he's a zetarian? They most likely know and he was unaware they knew. The problem at hand is that he's very sick and keeps going to see Bi-Han, despite told not to. Bi-Han concerned about his well being and annoyed he doesn't rest.

~~~~~~~~~~

just something wholesome. Again, you don't need to write this, just an idea ^^. I love your stories btw UwU.

Here’s a little something :3

“Sy, you need to rest, you’re too cold,” Bi-Han gives his boyfriend a stern gaze as he catches the Zaterran outside again.

“I’m not made of glass Bi-Han, I-I’m f-fine, I-I wanted to check on y-you and the s-s-s-students,” he chatters, obviously bothered by the cold temperatures of the Lin Kuei Temple.

“Is that why you’re stuttering and stumbling with your words? I can hear your teeth chattering from here Sy, you’re being ridiculous, go back to my room and warm up,” Bi-Han all but demands.

“I-I’m not g-going to get used to the cold if I’m never in it,” Syzoth argues, pulling his robes around him tighter.

“You’re never going to get used to it! You’re cold-blooded Sy! It’s your biology, you can’t help it any more than I can help being a cryomancer, this is so fucking stupid. Obey your Grandmaster,” Bi-Han all but shouts at his poor, chilled boyfriend.

“You’re my boyfriend, not my G-grandmaster B-Bi-Han,” Syzoth hisses in annoyance at his lover��s arrogance and temper.

Bi-Han sighs his shoulders lowering slightly, “I-you’re right, I’m sorry Sy, I’m just worried about you, you aren’t made for his weather and it worries me, please go back to my room and warm yourself? For me?”

“Fine,” Syzoth sulks and turns to leave, dragging his feet through the snow, he had just come outside to spend time with Bi-Han, not to be scolded by him.

“Sy are you ok?” You ask when the Zaterran enters the room unexpectedly, you get up from your cozy seat by the fire to check on him when you see how flushed his nose and cheeks are.

“I’m fine sunshine, I just, Bi-Han doesn’t get it, I’m a warrior too, I should be out there helping train the new initiates not stuck inside reading your human books or browsing TikTok,” he sulks as he makes himself comfortable by the fire, secretly desperate to warm himself.

“Sy, he’s just worried about you, he just does a shitty job of showing it, do you know why he’s so worried?” You ask joining him in his nest on the floor, wrapping your warm body around his to help warm him faster.

“Why?” He sulks, reluctantly nuzzling back into your warmth, and can’t help but make a happy little chirp.

“He cares about you, like really and truly, if he didn’t he wouldn’t care if you were out in the cold, he’s trying to take care of you in his own way. He knows you and I aren’t built for the harshness of Arctika’s winters, it’s too much for us to handle, he just wants you to be warm and safe, it’s not that he doesn’t know you’re a capable warrior. He knows that, believe me, he just wants to keep you safe because he loves you, even if he’s not ready to say it yet,” you reassure the Zaterran, stroking his short brown hair as he curls into your warmth.

“He does? Well I mean, of course I know he cares about me, he wouldn’t let me stay with the two of you if he didn’t, at least I don’t think he would,” Syzoth perks up a bit at your words.

“He definitely wouldn’t let you stay here or let you near me, or let you near him for that matter if that wasn’t true, he just wants you warm and safe,” you let him know.

“Qīn? Sy? Are you here?” Bi-Han calls as the door opens and a rush of cold air pours in causing you and Syzoth to shiver slightly.

You can’t tell if Bi-Han let the outside wind in or if it was the temperature drop he encompassed, “we’re here, under the blankets,” you answer Bi-Han as you poke your head out of the blanket pile.

“Are you two keeping warm?” He asks kneeling down next to you to press his icy lips to your forehead.

“I’m pretty toasty, yeah, how are you Sy?” You ask the Zaterran, giving him a light shove silently encouraging him to apologize to your Polar Bear.

“I’m,” he pauses to sigh, “I’m much better now, I’m sorry Bi-Han, I should have listened to you, it’s too cold out for me.”

“Damn right it is, the two of you need to stay inside where it’s warm, you damn near gave me a heart attack Sy, you were turning blue, I was going to carry you inside if you kept ignoring me,” Bi-Han scolds softly. “I-I have to apologize too, I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I just get so worried about you, about both of you, that sometimes I lose my head,” he admits sheepishly.

Sy presses a kiss to Bi-Han’s chilled cheek, “we both messed up, but I forgive you.”

“Did you boys kiss and make up now?” You smile knowingly pleased at the surprising maturity from Bi-Han, it wasn’t often he’d actually admit to making a mistake.

Bi-Han pulls Syzoth into his lap, wrapping his cold arms around the Zaterran, pressing open-mouth kisses to his neck, “I think so, but maybe we should kiss more, just to be safe.”

An excited shiver runs through Syzoth and he chirps happily, “I think we probably should,” he answers pulling you over to the two of you.

You just giggle as you’re pulled into a sloppy three-way kiss, life is perfect sometimes, and you couldn’t be happier today was one of those days.