#sorry allow me a moment of being completely insane

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Girl, it's not just an emotional rollercoaster it's a full on emotional CARNIVAL 🤣

I love this observation. That's exactly what I felt inherently when I was writing that line. It felt more powerful to me than "I told you so" or the like. It has the feeling of that, but with more of an edge, even though you know he cares about her.

The line is devastating. It ''bites." It's more than just telling someone that they messed up, it's also kinda catty lol.

LMAO I remember someone saw the preview of Part 2 and commented, "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." And I was like, YEP, that's exactly it. Mans playing with his life. 😅😅😅

He really bet it all. And I'm in love with the person who said "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." 😂

That's precisely how I intended it! Now looking back, I feel like I should have had her leave him by himself in his room to sleep in another room. But at the time I was writing, I was thinking that for her in particular, despite this being the biggest fight they've had so far in their relationship, he's still the one that makes her feel safe after a bad hunt. 💙

I think it would have been a bigger gut punch to Dean if she didn't stay in the room with him, but I still think that the her turning her back on him and not letting him touch her kinda hit the nail on the head pretty well too.

Aww thank you! 😭😭 Weirdly enough, that was one of my favorite parts to write? Maybe I just like the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff moments. The "better off alone" thing I thought was implied throughout the later seasons of the show after Dean lets go of Lisa and Ben, so I wanted to explore that deeper here, even though it hurt my heart to write it. 💙

It's not weird, I think that it's really fitting! And I also really like writing the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff too lol. But you're absolutely right, Dean really does adopt that mentality after Lisa and Ben and it is really heartbreaking to see him like that.

Everyone's crying!! 😭 YES ABSOLUTELY SHE DOES -- and she's a verified crier. I see a lot of fics where the reader is tough as nails, "doesn't cry very often," but I wanted to create a reader character who is a badass, but still has a soft heart. (Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL. 🤣🤣)

As much as I do love the readers who are "tough as nails" and "doesn't cry very often" I love the readers who are strong but are allowed to break. It makes them seem more real. Because as much as I believe that there are people who are completely just insane badasses, they've gotta have some kind of emotion or compassion or else they don't seem human. Also "Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL" I'm DEAD 😂

Sorry for jerking the angsty chain again there! 🤣 Poor guy, he went through an ordeal just as much as she did.

Please never apologize for the angst. I LOVE IT! And I really did also love how emotional this fic made me. It was wonderful lol.

Fun fact on her confession! When she says I love you twice, she's actually saying it in two different ways:

I love you, you’d said. I love you ("te amo," you're my love) and I love you ("te quiero," you're my family), more than you can believe and understand.

GIRL WHAT?! OH MY WORD THAT IS JUST SO MUCH BETTER! Thank you for explaining that to me!

Thank you SO very much!! Honestly you don't know how happy it makes me that you're enjoying this series so far -- and spoiling me with such lovely and thoughtful feedback. 🥰💕💕

No, THANK YOU for writing this wonderful fic/series! 😊

Devour Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: Here's Part 2! **Read Devour Me: Part 1

Song Inspo: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique. But really it’s “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez. (You’ll see why.) 🤭

Word Count: 5,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood, character death and violence, smutty smut, angst, Dominican slang, and tons of sexy fluff.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: "Telenovela Style"

Your resulting scream of agony is as unforgiving as the ground when your knees buckle, hitting the hard cement.

Andy grips you with the strength of a monster. 

Then he holds you down as he drinks your blood. 

No matter how you struggle and whimper, you can’t push him off, and you’re getting weaker by the second.

Until Andy is ripped away from your neck, and is taken care of the way all vampires must be. He doesn’t even feel the blade coming. 

When you’re able to look up, Dean stands above you with thinly veiled fury. He doesn’t have time to consider what he’s just done. 

He bends to gather you up into his arms, all the while trying to stamp down the panic clenching his heart. He calls your name, but you can only make weak sounds as your bleary eyes meet his. 

“Dean,” you manage. The ragged wound in your neck is bleeding profusely down your chest and shoulder, seeping into your shirt. He takes your hand and clamps it hard against your neck, even though it makes you whimper.

“Gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, apologetic but firm. “Keep pressing.”

In your stupor of pain, you don’t realize that your screech woke the entire nest. Dean has to lock up his worry; he looks up and finds his brother and Cas already fighting a hoard of angry vampires. 

Dean carries you over to them and lays you down against the wall with the other humans. He keeps a protective line in front of you, but he decapitates a vampire before she can sink her fangs into Sam next.

The two of them work together, and with Castiel’s smiting power behind them, the angel and the two men are able to clear the rest of the nest. 

By the end, only you and two of the women being held captive are still alive. The third girl’s heart just finally gave out. Sam takes the survivors to the nearest hospital. 

Meanwhile, Castiel approaches where you sit up against the inside of the barn, barely awake, while Dean kneels with you, holding you to his chest. He meet’s Cas’s blue-eyed request with a nod. So Cas stretches out a hand and touches two fingers to your forehead. 

You’re healed in an instant. Dean marvels, like he always does when Cas displays his power. Dean is able to breathe a little easier, the vice grip on his heart easing as he touches your neck.

The tan skin is once again smooth, if still stained with blood. You blink back into wakeful consciousness. 

He shifts so he can see your face. “You okay?” 

You meet his eyes but can only nod. His jaw is still tight and tense, and you can’t blame him. 

You know you’ve messed up. Big time. You nearly got everyone killed, including yourself…and now, you have to tell a mother that her son is dead. 

Dean helps you up, holding you by your arms and waist until you’re steady on your feet. You have a hard time meeting his eyes, but when open your mouth to apologize, he beats you to it. 

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says. 

Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you. 

“Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls. 

You tilt your head at him as your irritation begins to spark. Meanwhile, Castiel is the one who backs up as he glances between you and Dean uncertainly.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” you shoot back. “I was a hunter long before I met you.” 

“Yeah, well, color me surprised that you’ve made it this long,” he snaps. 

Your temper flares hotter. “You know, you’re not so goddamn perfect either.” 

“Never said I was,” Dean says. “But when my gut tells me something ain’t right, I need you to fucking listen. Otherwise, we get a day like today.”

His words are edged with grit by the end of his little rant, and you don’t appreciate it. Your lips purse in anger.

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms. 

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely. 

You truly become incensed at that. 

“Oh, you want to take it there?” you ask, as your eyes narrow. “Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Dean won’t admit it, but in that moment, he’s a bit intimidated by the quiet threat in your voice. Still, his fuse is lit, and he’s way beyond curbing his internal filter.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?” he snarks. 

You let out an incredulous breath. Your eyes begin to sting.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shout back. There, understand that?

You turn away from him before your frustrated tears can fall, but you stop short once you notice Castiel dragging out the bodies of the dead…including Andy. Your throat constricts, and you begin to stalk out of the barn. 

Dean calls your name in frustration. 

“What?” you hiss. 

The only thing that makes him hesitate is seeing the state of you when you turn back around. His anger crumbles, and maybe something in him breaks when he sees your tears. They’ve welled up in your eyes, and a few of them carve a path down your cheeks. 

You’re still covered in your own blood, and he hates it. He hates it more than anything. 

Later, you see the state of yourself when Sam returns with the Impala. In the reflection on the backseat window, you see the blood dried down your neck, staining nearly half of your shirt.

You see the black rings of your mascara and eyeliner around your eyes. You look a mess, and you try to wipe underneath your eyes. It’s a fruitless effort.

After you all finish burning the bodies, Dean starts the long drive home. You insist on stopping to tell Rachel Campbell about her son, but Sam says he already took care of it when he drove into town. 

You frown, but you no longer have the energy to be angry. You further withdraw into yourself, and your lower lip trembles as you look out the window. Through the rearview mirror, Dean sees more tears slipping down your face.

What Sam told him (but he won’t tell you), is what one of the survivors said. One of the mated pairs had taken Andy…to “adopt” a son of their own. 

That night is quiet and tense in Dean’s room. You have to wash your hair all over again, and scrub the blood and grime from your body until only your skin remains. But you don’t have the energy to do more than braid your wet hair afterwards and pull on your lucky Journey shirt, which is still full of holes. 

Dean knows that it’s bad when you need the “dreamcatcher,” as he’s called it in his head. You’ve never had a nightmare while wearing that shirt, or so you claimed a while back. 

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence. 

He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room.

So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space. 

He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

In the morning, Dean’s woken by the familiar smell of coffee…and the less familiar sound of loud salsa music. 

What the fuck?

After he brushes his teeth, he puts on his robe and slippers and heads down to the kitchen, where he finds you in a seemingly better mood. You’re mopping the floor, of all things. You’re out of your pajamas, instead wearing a loose shirt that falls off your shoulder and some spandex shorts. 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo,” you sing softly along with the music as you dance from the kitchen to the living room. Your phone is connected to a Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. 

Dean starts to smile, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway to watch you.

At an instrumental break with a run of conga drums and trumpets, you pause in your mopping to do a little twirl as you dance, with a soulful roll of hips and a flair of salsa steps. It makes Dean’s smile kick up into a smirk.

He walks in on purposefully light feet until he’s sidled up behind you in the living room.

“Nice moves, Shakira,” he quips. 

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard. 

Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself. 

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” you ask with a hand on your heart. 

Dean forces himself to smile a little. “Sorry. But might I remind you, not everyone here’s an early bird.”

You give him a wry look.

“You’re the only one around here who sleeps past 10 a.m. Cas dipped out a while ago, and Sam’s on a run.” 

But you graciously grab your phone to lower the music to a more bearable level. Dean doesn’t yet know this about you, but this—listening to music, dancing, cleaning—it’s all your way of coping…and releasing as much of your pain, terror, and regret from yesterday as possible. 

You then look up at him more guarded. The two of you exchanged a lot of unsavory words last night. In fact, it may just be the worst fight you two have ever had in almost three years of knowing one another.  

Dean senses the shift in you, and his amusement fades. He just can't let things stay like this. He won't.

He hazards drawing closer and touching your arm.

“Look…I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I know I was being a dick,” he says. “You’ve just gotta understand something.”

You wait for him to continue with furrowed brows, sensing that whatever he’s about to say is hard for him. 

“There’s a reason I don’t do this. The uh, relationship thing,” Dean continues, clearing his throat. His thumb swipes along your arm. “It’s not just this job. It’s my fucked up life. I tried to warn you before—” 

“Dean,” you say with a sigh, but he raises his hand. 

“Please, just…let me say it,” he says. “You know the spiel. But things can change on a dime. Even on a damn milk run, like a dusty nest of vamps.”

You know that. You know you could’ve died yesterday, and he doesn’t need to remind you of that fact. Before you can start to get petulant again though, Dean continues. His jaw is working, like this next part is more difficult for him to admit.

“Trust me when I say, us being together is dangerous, for both of us,” he says. “For a while I, uh…I started to think Sam and I were better off alone.”

That casts you into dismay. Because you know Dean isn’t lying. He’s really contemplated spending the rest of his life devoid of love, so he won’t have to lose it. 

Dangerous, for both of us.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes. 

And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms. 

“You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing. 

“Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

Your fist clenches in his shirt when you remember Andy, latched onto your neck, and how Dean had to save you. You know he’s remembering it too when his brows furrow, and his gaze falls away. You reach a hand for his cheek.

“I know I fucked up,” you admit. “I was working with my heart, not my head. I just…”

You wanted so badly to help that kid and his mother. You also know that Dean understands; you see it in his eyes. He holds your hand to his cheek and brushes his thumb across the back of your hand.

“I know,” he says. “I really am sorry, baby.” 

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday. 

It’s just…days like yesterday remind you why that could be a very bad idea. 

More of your tears bubble over, and you head willingly into Dean’s arms. “Me too…”

He holds you tighter than ever. His hands rub down your back, tangle in your hair, and he drops his lips onto your hair. You sniffle, wiping your face dry in his shirt. And for a while, the two of you have peace in the relative quiet. 

Music still plays from the speaker though. And when another salsa song starts to play on your playlist, you start swaying. A smile works its way onto Dean’s face. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he teases.

You smile into his chest. “We should go dancing sometime.”

Dean just laughs. “Oooh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you reply, batting your lashes up at him. You slip a hand on his shoulder and into one of his hands. He’s forced to hold you as if the two of you were about to start Fred Astair-ing across the living room. 

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. “Like real dancing.” 

“Not salsa, I’ll tell you that,” he quips. 

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” you reply with a coquettish smile. “It’s just a few simple moves.”

Dean gives you a wan look. “You made it look anything but simple.”

You blush at that, but you meet him with a pout of disappointment. You don’t let up, even when Dean frowns. He huffs at you in resistance.

“No,” he insists. You just brush a gentle thumb along his neck, biting your lip in askance.  

But the longer he stares at your beautiful, hopeful eyes, the more cracks form in his resolve. 

Eventually, Dean breaks with a sigh, and a shake of his head. 

“You’re too much, you know that?” he mutters.

It’s then that you know you’ve won.

So with a happy squeal of excitement, you clap your hands and move to stand next to him so you can show him the basic steps of salsa dancing. 

You make him take off his robe and slippers, leaving in his shirt and plaid pajama pants. Then you instruct him for a few minutes, correcting his footing and getting him to move on a beat. You’re pleasantly surprised that he has some rhythm.  

Dean sighs once again. How the hell did we get here? Heat crawls up the back of his neck as embarrassment starts to set in. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“You’re doing good,” you encourage, with a growing smile. “Now come on, feel the beat in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Once he sort of has the basic steps and turns down, you move to stand in front of him. There you show him how to hold you, how he’ll move forward, and you’ll move back. It takes a little while, but you slowly move through the combinations, then do a little twirl underneath his hand. 

When he pulls you back in without faltering, you give him a beaming smile. “Very good!”

A subtle grin raises his lips at your enthusiasm. He also feels his face heating up at the praise.

But you pause when a certain song filters through the speakers. It’s an old one (and it never fails to make you blush), but you love it.  

“Ooh, yes,” you exclaim with delight, and you turn up the volume.

“What’s this one?” Dean asks.

“Ven Devórame Otra Ves,” you inform him. Not that he knows what that means. You sing along a bit with the first couple of verses while you encourage Dean to lead you in the dance. 

This song is just slow enough for him to attempt it, and the funny thing is, he doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable with the steps now. He’s starting to get a feel for how to move, both with his feet, and with his hands as he guides you by your waist, holding your hand close to his chest. Still, Dean’s also curious about the lyrics you’re singing. 

“What does it mean?” he asks.

You huff in amusement. “You sure you want to know?”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, now I gotta know.” 

You giggle at that, though you correct his steps when he leads with the wrong foot. 

“Okay. It’s about a guy who’s pretty much a player,” you say with a smirk. “His bed has been a revolving door of hot ass, but he keeps thinking about this one woman who used to have him turned inside out…”

Dean’s lips curve at the familiar image you’re conjuring. He manages to turn you under his hand, then pull you back to him in one smooth motion. He looks down at you with a deeper gleam in his eyes. You bite your lip, soothing your hand from his shoulder and down his arm.

As the song’s verses come, you translate for him. And for Dean, your voice in itself is a spell.

“Even in my dreams, he says, I thought I had you devouring me. And I dampened my white sheets remembering you,” you begin. Your words are smooth like black velvet. “In my bed, no one is like you, who draws my body on every corner, without a piece of skin left over.”

Dean is getting hot under the collar as you push away, dragging your fingertips along his back as you turn around him. When you come back into his line of vision, his attention is attracted to the sway of your hips, clad just in those little spandex shorts. He has to clear his throat a bit. 

You eventually return to him with a warm hand against his chest. 

“Ven, devórame otra ves. It means, come devour me again,” you continue, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Come punish me more with your desire. Because I kept my love for you…because my mouth has the taste of your body.” 

You smile at the laser focus of his green-eyed gaze. “Come devour me again.”

You push off with another little spin. When you reach for his hand, Dean yanks you back into him, eliciting a gasp. The move disorients you for a moment, but you giggle and hold onto his arms. Your hands glide up to rest on his shoulders. 

He’s holding you flush against him, and as you shift a thigh between his legs, you unintentionally graze against his hardening length. You look up at him with a smirk.

“You’re a little…stiff,” you say, both flirtatious and teasing. “Let’s loosen you up.”

You shake his shoulders out and try to get him to relax. Dean raises a wry brow, because you know damn well whose fault it is that his body is coiled tight. But you place his hands on your hips as you move back into the dance. 

“Feel what I’m doing there?” you ask. He looks down on you with growing heat.

“If I could do that, we wouldn’t be together,” he rumbles. 

You try to stifle a laugh as he pulls you in close again, just swaying for a bit. Soon enough, you grin knowingly when his hands start to slide lower on your ass. His head bows to yours, ready to meet you with a kiss. 

You stop him with your finger on his lips.

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question. 

“More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking. 

“Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.”

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

You splutter laughing…and that’s when he finally pounces. He claims your lips with greedy passion. His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and ruining what’s left of your loose ponytail. The strands coil around his hand in messy curls while he also gets a healthy grip of your ass through your thin shorts. 

You smile into his lips, even as you acquiesce to him guiding your head to the side, so he can slip his tongue against yours. You grip his arms more for stability while he manhandles you, kneading soft flesh and making pleasant tingles run up your spine. 

After a little while, his mouth burns a hot path away from yours. He noses down your neck, skimming his lips across your skin. It sets your nerve endings on fire and gets you breathing more shallowly in his ear. You cling to the back of his shirt, holding him close. 

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss.

He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.  

A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck. 

“I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

So you slide your hands down, slow between the dips and planes of muscle in his back, and rest at his hips. Your thumbs delve under the hem of his shirt and tease the skin there. 

And you start slow, pressing wet, nipping kisses of your own to his neck while you inch his shirt up. You feel his smile on your neck. His grip on your hip flares to life. Still, he lets you tug his shirt up and over his head. Your loose shirt comes next, revealing the same black satin and lace bra you wore the first time he ever got you topless in his arms. 

A fan favorite. Dean grins. He reaches around to go for the clasp, but your firm push on his chest takes him by surprise.

He falls back onto the couch with a grunt, looking up at you then with raised brows. You’ve got a mischievous little smirk on your face that heats his blood and makes his cock twitch.

You take out the rest of your falling ponytail, shaking your hair out wild. Then you let your hands drift down your neck, over your clothed breasts, and finally to your little shorts.

Dean rubs his palms down his thighs and watches. A smirk forms across his lips as you slide the fabric down the curve of your hips. It leaves you in a red thong, familiar to him by the little tear it has on the front. (Again, his fault.)

You climb aboard his strong thighs to straddle his lap, using his shoulders as leverage as you sink down. You make sure to rub yourself teasingly against his clothed erection. He groans in appreciation. His hands fly to your soft, thick thighs and squeeze. 

“Aw, I like this,” Dean says, half on another moan as you grind down a bit harder on him. 

“Yeah?” you tease. You take his face in your hands and capture his lips with your own. Your tongue invades his mouth, and he welcomes you with a deep hum. It’s slow and hot at first, but Dean feels the loss of you when you break from his lips.

Instead, you treat him with the same trail of kisses he gave you, along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. But you don’t stop there.

Your hands move over his chest with purpose, tweaking over each hard nipple while your mouth burns a wet line down and down his sternum. Dean groans at your ministrations, but lets you leave his lap to slide down to the ground, between his thighs. 

“What’re you up to, baby?” he asks, despite having a very good idea of it. He catches the playful, yet determined gleam in your eye. 

You pause, briefly leaning back up to give him a heated kiss. You part from him with a grin. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Dean stares hard at you as goosebumps break out across his forearms. 

Oh, fuck yeah. 

A giggle bubbles in your throat at the expression on his face. But you continue, taking his pants down his legs first, before his boxer briefs. 

Dean’s body tenses in anticipation. You’ve gone down on him before, but somehow it’s different this time. He feels like every single one of his nerve endings stands at attention along with his dick. And you’re taking your sweet time working him up. 

Even when his cock is finally free, you sooth your hands down his legs first, maybe teasing him a bit as you drag your nails down his inner thighs. Dean makes a strained sound, though he tries to hide it by clearing his throat.

Your gaze flicks up to his with a little smile. He’s holding the back of the couch; his fingers are digging into the old cushion in effort to keep still for you. But his eyes stare into yours like a man starving. You know what you’re in for after you have your way with him, but for now, he’s quite literally under your control. 

So you take him in your hands first. Dean groans as you tease him with light touches, soft movements, your thumb slowly circling over the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. It's torturous enough to make him drop his head back against the couch, closing his eyes tight.

And suddenly, he blinks them open again.

“Shit,” he utters, when you finally take him into your mouth. Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips move over him steadily, and your hands caress whatever your mouth can’t take, even teasing his balls. 

You work him over relentlessly, until he can’t help but spill everything he has to give into your waiting mouth. When you suck off and swallow whatever remains, Dean’s heart stutters like syncopated conga drums. 

He shudders and struggles for breath afterwards, watching your every movement—from wiping your mouth to shooting him that satisfied little smirk. 

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before you raise from where you’ve been kneeling on the hard ground. 

Dean manages to lean forward and helps you up by your elbows. But then he pulls you back into his lap and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting with him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he manages to say. His voice is deep and laced with grit. 

He’s still panting heavily. You giggle and press your warming face into his neck. 

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

He brings your face back to him with a hand on your cheek. For a second, he just looks at you. His thumb strokes across your full, thoroughly kissed bottom lip.  

“Say it,” you encourage softly. “Whatever you’re thinking. Right now.”

A smile tugs at his lips. He can’t help but oblige you. 

“You’re too damn much,” he says again, both gruff and fond. Despite how you drive him up the fucking wall sometimes, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for him, what he has with you.

Because this is something he'd almost given up on. Didn't think he'd get to have it. And it almost scares him, how much he wants you. How much he...

“I love you,” he says. His thumb traces along the familiar curve of your cheek.

It hasn’t been all that long, but he knows. You weaseled your way in without even trying. The least he can do for you is be honest.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding his hand in place. You tilt your head at him.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. 

Dean hesitates, but he nods. “Yeah.”

A smile grows across your face. “Eh, I’m still on the fence.”

At his flat look, you laugh and lean in for a kiss. He allows it, a little petulantly. But you make up for it with sweet affection. Your gentle hands stroke down the column of his neck, down his chest. You then lean back so he can see your face.

“Yo te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero, más que tú puedes creer y entender.”

Dean smiles. He doesn’t understand all of it, but he gets the important bits. He hears it in the tone of your voice. He sees it in your eyes. They shine with emotion, but mainly with love. 

Dean kisses your hand. He lets go, just so he can slip his hands around you to finally unhook your bra. He tosses it across the room without bothering to see where it lands.

You do though, and you meet him with a slightly narrowed gaze. 

“Are you making a mess of my clean bunker?” you tease. 

His lips curve as he kisses you again, while his hands each get a generous handful of your breasts. 

“Ah, hello, ladies." He grins. "Miss me?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s such a dork sometimes.

But you hum when his thumbs brush over hardened nipples, then drag deliberate circles over them, and pinch just hard enough to make you whimper in pleasure. The sensation zips through you, enhancing the flood between your legs. 

“I fucking love that sound,” Dean mutters, and licks a hot path in the valley between your breasts. His lips move against your dewy skin when he says, “Do that for me again.”

When he takes a nipple in his mouth and nips a bit hard, you have to oblige him. Your voice rising high is music to his ears.  

So he goes for your panties next. You help him get them off and return to his lap. With a breathy moan, you revel at the feeling of his fingers probing into your wet heat.  

However, you and Dean have been too engrossed in one another to notice the door of the bunker unlocking, and heavy steps down the spiral staircase. 

It’s Sam who’s back from his run. Unfortunately, he soon has to shield his eyes upon reaching the living room. 

“Damn it, Dean!”

You yelp in surprise, but Dean laughs and holds you close to shield you from view. As a bonus, it presses your breasts against his chest. 

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

Sam scoffs. “You’re having a moment on the goddamn couch!”

“Sorry,” you say, though it’s muffled in Dean’s neck. Your face is red hot with embarrassment. 

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and tries not to see anything else on his way to his room. 

But Dean’s chuckle reverberates through your chest as his hand goes to your cheek. He encourages you to pull back, so he can see your face again. 

When he does, he smirks at the scarlet blush dusting your cheeks and neck. You bite your lower lip, but despite your embarrassment, you’re happy.

Your own words replay in your mind when you lean in for another kiss.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand. 

AN: Yay! I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the “Midnight Espresso”-verse! I loved writing this one so much. I know we're just doing fanfic here, but I genuinely put my heart and soul into this one. ❤️

Also, here are a couple of Spanish translations:

(Note: other Spanish-speaking countries may interpret certain words differently.)

[During their fight]: 

“Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Translation:

“You’re shameless. Keep messing with me, damn it. Then you’re going to see who I am (<- This is Dominican slang. It essentially means fuck around and find out what I'm made of.).”

[Song lyrics: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique]: 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo.”

Translation:

“I don’t know tomorrow. I don’t know tomorrow. If we’ll be together, if the world will end.”

Keep Reading:

Next in this series is "Chico Malo" ("Bad Boy"):

Summary: You catch Dean red-handed—with one of his favorite episodes of Casa Erotica.

▶️ Next Story: Bad Boy (Chico Malo)

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[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

hello 🩷recently found and loved your account so i’m here to ask from you!!

criminal minds SSA aaron hotchner x reader

i’d love any explicit smut 😋

ideal trope(s) would be jealousy, established but secret relationship due to workplace like the whole thing stems from AH being jealous af that you’re getting hit on or smth and he can’t do shy about it in public but oh when ur home.. 👀👀👀

hahaha sorry the brain rot is real

thank you if you do this!!

and i hope u never stop writing i’ve been reading ur other posts too i love them sm

༉‧₊˚. 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size!reader

— summary: your new relationship brings out a side of aaron that he had never seen before.

— warnings: established relationship, jealousy (obvi), unprotected sex, rough sex, teasing, couch sex, aaron lowkey bends you like a pretzel, heavy praise, he taps you on the cheek (lovingly ofc), implied creampie, consent king aaron!!, slightly insecure aaron, implied age gap but not specified, body massages and an implied size kink!

— wc: 2018

⋆ a/n: WOW a long smut fic, who would have thought? anywho, i'm trying to break free from posting headcanons because i just know they'll overtake this account. thank you for this request!

masterlist | AO3

Aaron felt his eye twitch. 

His eye never twitches.

The culprit? The maintenance man that won’t stop talking to you. 

He had so much paperwork he needed to complete, the stack of it had begun to tower, but Aaron couldn’t manage to get himself to focus on anything else but you. 

Your relationship was fairly new, so you both had just agreed to keep it low-key for now. It wasn’t like you guys were lying, how could you when you were constantly surrounded by nosy profilers? 

With new relationships came new feelings, and one of them he hadn’t felt since he was a young man somehow managed to resurface right under his nose: jealousy.

Yes, he had his moments of jealousy when he had first gotten with Hailey, but this? This was different. The age gap between the two of you wasn’t that large, but it was considerable enough that when he saw men closer to your age creeping around you, it always put him in a foul mood.

Like right now he just wants to storm down there and kiss you right in front of that stupid kid. The urge was primal and unfamiliar, and quite frankly it drove him insane.

Aaron was sure you hadn’t meant to come off as flirtatious, and who were your colleagues to step in if you looked genuinely interested in the guy? For all they knew you were single.

Oh, yeah, this was going to drive him over the edge, and it was all your fault.

It was safe to say you were excited when Aaron had decided to call it an early night, you just hadn’t expected him to jump on you as soon as you breached the threshold of your home.

He didn’t give you time to think or even put your things down, his briefcase followed along by your purse collapsed to the floor with a surprisingly loud thud!

Your lungs burned and your face was hot, heated between the two furnaces that were Aaron’s large and work-worn hands. You desperately clung onto the sleeves of his suit jacket, the material twisting between your fingers to keep yourself sturdy as he walked backwards.

“A- Aaron wha - what’s going on?” You pleaded breathlessly. You had to slightly shove the man away even though you were met with his uncharacteristic resistance. He just stood there and stared at you like a wild man, pupils dilated and chest rising and falling with every hastened breath he took.

He shook his head and blinked, like his thoughts were escaping him. Aaron couldn’t think when you looked at him like that; your lips kiss swollen with a light sheen of spit, your blouse covered breasts grazing his firm chest.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Was all he could say before reconnecting your lips. 

He continues to walk backwards before the back of his calves meet the couch. He allows himself to drop down with a slight oomf, his needy hands tugging on yours encouragingly until you clambered onto his lap.

He didn’t give you time to show him any hesitancy, his palms gripping your hips firmly and all but holding you down against him. You gasped at the feeling, your fingers scratching at the shaved hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Aaron! What has gotten into you?” The question was a flustered giggle. Aaron’s eyes casted to the side in a rare show of nervousness. 

“It’s ridiculous.” He mutters. “I can bet you a million dollars that whatever you’re going to say isn’t as silly as you think it is.”

“It was that guy. The one that wouldn’t stop talking to you.” It took you a moment to think back on it before you finally understood what he meant. “The maintenance man? What about him?”

“He was flirting with you, and - I don’t know, it made me feel things I haven’t in a long time.”

Saying the actual word jealousy seemed so juvenile to Aaron; he was a grown ass man with a grown ass man job, so what right did he have to be acting like this?

“Oh.” It was long and drawn out. You felt a smirk begin to form on your face and you gently coaxed his eyes to meet yours. Aaron’s gaze was unsure. 

“You know I’m yours, right? I don’t want anyone else that isn’t you, no matter how young, rich or tall.” Your hips begin to grind down on his and Aaron chokes back a groan. His grip on your flesh gets stronger and it draws a whimper out of you.

“Yeah?” He asks sensually, his voice a low purr. He aids in your grinding and your head grows fuzzy. “Yeah.”

He’s quick to reposition the both of you, your back now resting on the couch cushions. He kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at the skin there. It sends a shiver down your spine and your lower half canting up, desperately searching for friction. 

Your hot cunt meets his knee. “Ah! Aaron.” You whined, fingers digging into his shoulders. Your boyfriend has one foot on the ground and the other wedged between your legs.

Aaron rises from your chest for a moment, shoving off his suit jacket and working the buttons on his shirt. You take it upon yourself to take your blouse off, arms reaching behind you to unclasp your bra with learned precision. 

His eyes fall on your breasts and you could have sworn his movements gained a bit of franticness.

“Like what you see?” You couldn’t help but tease, your hands now working to shimmy your pencil skirt down your thighs. “Very much.” Aaron agrees with a lazy half smile. “Here, let me help.” You lift your hips up and he takes both your panties and skirt off at the same time.

The casual show of strength made your stomach clench, and you all but snatched Aaron by the back of his neck back down to your level. A noise of surprise escapes him and you take it as a chance to slip your tongue in his mouth.

Your body begins to heat up, his taking grabs and grips driving you insane.

“Fuck me.” You heave. Aaron pulls away from you, “Are you sure? You aren’t prepared well yet, and I don’t want to hurt you.” You smile softly. “As much as I appreciate your concern about me, I’ll let you know if there’s any discomfort, okay?”

Aaron thinks on your words for a moment, mulling them about in his brain before relenting at the feeling of your sweet, tempting hands stroking his bare chest.

“You always have to keep me on my toes, don’t you?” 

“That was in the agreement.” You bite playfully. He snorts and rolls his eyes, but sits up once more to unbutton his pants. 

With what feels like forever, he’s finally bare for your hungry eyes and clambering on top of you.

Resuming his old position, he wraps your legs around his waist, the tip of his cock poking at your slit. The two of you shiver at the feeling.

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart? You know I don’t mind eating you out; I’m in no rush.” Your cheeks turn warm at his crudeness. “I’m sure, baby. I need you. Now.” With one final search of your face, he begins to push forward.

Your breath catches in your throat and you hold on to his muscular biceps. Your eyes flutter shut at the full feeling of him, your legs trembling and stomach tightening. 

The first initial stretch hurts of course, but with a minute of laying there adjusting to Aaron’s size as he delivers very stimulating circles on your clit to distract you from the discomfort, you find yourself loosening up.

“Move.” You grunted quietly. 

Aaron’s jaw is set tight, the vein in his forehead slightly bulging when he proceeds to thrust experimentally. Your lips roll in between your teeth to hold back the whorish moan that threatens to practically barrel out of you. 

He does it again, and again, and again, until all of his self control is thrown out the window and the only thing he can think of is you; of how tight you are around him.

“It feels so good, baby. So, so good…” You babble, your hands reaching up to grip the armrest of the couch for more leverage. “I know honey, I know. ‘M gonna get deeper, okay?” Aaron groans. You nod wildly, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of your face.

He steadies himself on the knee placed on the couch, lifting your legs up so either one sits on his big, broad shoulders. 

The change in position caused your back to arch, your mouth dropping open into an ‘o’ shape as you struggled to keep your head on straight.“Mphm! You’re so - you’re so deep.” You cried out, tears brimming on your eyelashes. “I know I am, baby. But you can take it right?”

“Mhm! I can! I know I can!” 

“You can take it because you’re mine right? Because you’re my good girl?” 

His praise pushes you dangerously close to the edge, and you’re honestly convinced that the crescent shape of your nails will leave an imprint on the material forever. The couch cushions stick to your skin like glue, the so of skin hitting skin resounded throughout the room lewdly.

A hand lightly slapped your face, your cheeks squeezed between his fingers, puckering slightly.

“I asked you a question, didn't I sweetheart?”

“You did, you did! ‘M sorry. ‘M your good girl, please.”

What you were begging for, you didn’t know; was it mercy? Was it a desperate call for your sanity? Whatever it was could wait, because you were going to cum.

“Gah! God, Aaron, ‘m gonna cum! Help me cum, please.” You begged again. “I got you honey.”

Aaron’s hand slithered down your body before landing on your clit, a calloused thumb drawing it around in firm circles. Your body moved and convulsed violently, your moans growing in volume – you’re sure you’re going to receive a noise complaint in the mail later.

That coil in your stomach threatened to snap, and all you could think to say was, “Cum with me?” 

To be frank, Aaron was ready to cum a few thrusts before, but he was always one to prolong his pleasure if that meant satisfying you.

“Of - of course.” He stuttered, his dominance slowly slipping away from him.

Aaron bent forward just a little more to test how far he could push you, and though you were sure your muscles were going to ache when everything died down, but God, this was so, so worth it.

“F- fuck!” You swore as you came.

Everything disappeared for a moment besides the sound of Aaron’s guttural groan that sounded more like a loud, long-drawn-out whimper than anything when he came too.

You were slowly brought back to reality by Aaron massaging your sore muscles, gently twisting them and rubbing out any potential knots that threatened to form. You knew he'd disappear in a minute to grab something to wipe you down with, but you couldn’t seem to find it within your post orgasmic bliss to care.

“Mm, that’s nice.” You rasped, your eyelids fluttering open to face your disheveled boyfriend. His hair was all out of place in the best way possible, his bare body shining in a clear sheen of sweat. If you weren’t so tired, you think you’d jump straight to a round two.

“I’m sure,” Aaron’s voice was just as hoarse as yours. “I think I pushed your body a bit too far.”

“Don’t get started, Aaron.” You chided lightly. “It was perfect, okay? You were perfect. Now get up here.” 

You dragged him from where he was and laid his body on top of yours.

“Down.” You demanded playfully. “I’m heavy, honey.”

“Don’t care.” You exaggerated the ‘don’t’ and pulled the rest of him down.

“I want to lay like this for a minute.”

“Alright,” Aaron nodded to himself. “I can do a minute.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[radio-fmm]

The phrase “silence is louder than words” never meant anything to Sanji

Until now

You have been quiet. Terribly so. For the last 20 minutes and it’s driving him insane. Somehow he has missed you during this time, even if you’re sitting just a couple steps away

Your eyes are glued to your notebook, a steady hand that clenches at the poor pencil glides thorough the page. Usually, you enjoy this activity, a twinkle in your eye that hangs brightly illuminating the room. But now… you wear a pout, a scowl, eyebrows looking down in anger. Steam almost comes out your ears

You’re upset

I mean, clearly, but Sanji still hasn’t build up the courage to ask what’s going on. Because he knows the answer

When you started dating the cook, you knew his tendencies with women wouldn’t just disappear. But it didn’t made you happy either

You had talked about his behavior several times, asking for nothing more than respect which is the bare minimum really. Sanji had dramatically stated that he had no eyes for no other than his sweet angel which, was true in a way

So when you turned around in the market and spotted him salivating at a belly dancer that just happened to be nearby you weren’t surprised

But you also weren’t thrilled

Sanji adores you. You’re his light, his angel, his rock, his goddess, his life . He would do anything for you, hell, he’ll bring down the stars above if you just asked. But who wouldn’t feel insecure after their partner looks at another woman like that?

He hates himself for it, he’ll allow you to spit and step on him like gum if that’s what grant him your forgiveness. He needs to change. He knows it, he will do it a thousand times over, just for you

Slowly, he makes his way to sit in front of you, your movements come to a halt as you heard him plop down onto the chair, but you don’t spare him a glance

Ouch

“Hi” his voice comes out strained, frightened

You remain frozen, thinking on what to do… lash out? Curse at him? Stay quiet for another hour? Leave?

You just answer

“Hi”

A shiver runs down Sanji’s spine at your answer, the sound of your voice making him giddy, oh how has he missed you

“You’re mad”

“How observant”

“At me”

“Clearly”- finally, your eyes leave your page and find Sanji’s. He looks pale like a ghost, breathing irregular as he awaits his destiny

There’s another silence, this one is different, your annoyed tone sits on top of it leaving a sour taste behind your tongues, a silence that resembles a ticking bomb

“I am sorry” the cook fidgets with his hands, eyes pooling slightly at the thought of what will you do

“Your apology means nothing to me, actions speak for themselves Sanji…” your gaze is heavy, nothing like he usually meets it. You’re so light like the sea breeze, like a fresh lemonade drink on a sweet sunny day. Right now? You burn, hot like a spicy hot sauce that makes your nose run

You shake your head and sigh, a long tired one that makes Sanji’s heart tear at the seams

“I just don’t understand you Sanji… I would never do that to you”

This, this is the moment where you defeat him. Your sad puppy eyes looking up at him, the hurt behind your voice and the truth. Oh the truth of it all breaks him completely, of course you wouldn’t do that to him, you’re the most loyal kindhearted beautiful human being on earth

He swallows

Sanji considers throwing himself overboard for the sea kings to devour him whole, and that still wouldn’t be enough

He suddenly gets up and holds both your hands with such tenderness as he kneels before you

An offering at your benevolent temple

“My love, I know I did wrong and disrespected you and our relationship. No fancy sweet words could ever make a difference. So now I promise you, not empty promise but real this time, that I will change to he the man you deserve”

You shake your head once more. You don’t believe him? Are you finally done with him? There’s nothing he can do I if you decide to do so because he messed up big time

“I know I deserve better” Sanji closes his eyes and scrunches his nose at the statement, your voice drilling through his head and making him dizzy

It hurts, because it’s true

“But I don’t want better on anyone else but you”

His head that had dropped raises to find your face, you’re still mad, but even mad you offer him another chance while holding his hand through it all. Because that’s who you are, you believe in him, you trust him

“This is the last time-“

“Yes! Yes! I promise you my angel, you can kick me out of the crew If I ever even glance at the opposite direction of you, I will be better”

“Sanji” another shiver runs up and down his form, he loves the way you say his name

“Hurting my feelings and getting my forgiveness every single time is not okay. I would only continue to be with you if you show me change”

His golden locks rise and fall rapidly as he shakes bis head up and down. Carefully, he takes your left hand and kisses the promise ring atop of one of your fingers, a reminder of his undying love and devotion

A reminder that your love is stronger than anything else. Even jealousy and disrespect

The cold material meeting his lips makes him giddy. You’re way too good, he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to you

“I am sorry, so deeply sorry sweetheart, and I’ll repay you being the best man, your man”

A giggle scapes you at the absurdity of it all. You don’t know when had Sanji wrapped you around his finger. If it were anyone else you would’ve walked a long time ago

But you know him, at his core, he needs you

And you love him, and he does too

Nami scoffs loudly making Robin laugh covering her mouth as to not drawn any attention, they can’t see your face but they can imagine both of you on the other side of the door

“I swear she forgives him too easy”

“Love is work” Robin says, whispers to the wind and Nami hates it

Because it’s true

[yzashaven]

2023 KINKTOBER︰10﹒01 / 10﹒02

꒰ —♡ B R E E D I N G ﹒ PART 1 ꒱

EVENT MASTERLIST !

FEATURING ! ayato, xiao, diluc, kuronushi x fem!reader

WARNINGS ! breeding obviously, shibari, some anal, cum overflow :0, overstimulation, praising, think that's all + VERY SHORT HELP

NOTE ! like only one of these were proofread LMAO anyway~ splitting this into 2 because i couldn't make the time to finish all 8 of the characters 😭 + THANK YOU FOR 700?!?!?! + sorry to those i couldn't tag :( and for posting this late omg

event taglist— @yukiitaooo @scara6 @peakalatus @kanaedd @returningluv @im-the-ruler-here @scarafixation @kateybuggi @hanni7 @asimpforpeople @ju1yyyzzz @saturnsapothecary @alexiassleeping @cheeze-noo @supercoolusernameomg @shining_dhei @uchihaeirin @black-rxse @3herri-berri @anon-eu @gojoswife201 @abeitriz @chlebek1 @mechanical-lily @breadybuu @dawning-bliss @poisonedmoonl1ght @scaraismybbgreal @nothingfuninthislife @hellithides @eunchaeluvr @doumastip @pandash @cuntz0ne @zomzomb1e @bitchylillyrose @apocalypticchimera @wolfiafan10 @zxdksimpo

—KAMISATO AYATO

he's a very family oriented man, you're well aware of that, so of course it's no surprise that breeding is one of the commissioner's top kinks. even just the mere thought of filling up your cute little cunt with his seed is enough to drive him insane.

"you're gonna give me an heir, yeah? right, my love?" ayato seductively whispered into your ear as you tiredly nod your head in approval. he has been pounding into you nonstop for the past 2 hours or so, filling you up with his cum over and over again, making sure that it'll reach your womb. "you feel so good~ this is your reward for being such a good girl for me, so take it. take it all~" his thrusts begin to quicken, urging yet another orgasm for him and yourself before grabbing your ankles to bring your legs over onto his shoulders; allowing him to push his dick even deeper than it was already reaching previously.

"fuck—i'm sorry for pushing your limits, sweetheart, but i won't waste my chance in finally getting to breed you real nice~"

—XIAO

him being a yaksha and practically spending his whole life fighting; xiao never really got to know or experience much when it comes to intimacy. but god, the moment you stepped into his life, it became the thing he couldn't live without.

"o-one more, please..." he groans out, thrusting deep into you at a slow pace, his tip kissing at your cervix ever so slightly. your whimpers and pleas falling onto deaf ears as his gaze was fixated on the way your thighs trembled under his touch as his hands kept your legs spread wide just for him, drunk on the sight of his cock disappearing within your warmth with each buck of his hips. an obvious squelching sound could be heard along with the mix of your fluids overflowing from the sides, "if i pull out, it'll all go to waste, won't it?" xiao mutters out, pulling back until only the head of his cum coated cock remained, just to slam back inside and have you scream his name for the nth time that evening.

"this won't be enough, baby... need to fill you up some more~"

—DILUC RAGNVINDR

trust me when i say that breeding is one of his top kinks, probably around the top 3, i'm sure of it :3 he just adores how pretty you look taking every single drop of his seed; the way you look so perfectly fucked out is enough to bring another feeling of euphoria to him.

"m-my love, so pretty~" diluc's eyes were focused on your trembling figure beneath him, cunt already completely full of his cum yet he's still pumping more and more inside for 'good measure' as per his words. "i know you're tired, i'm sorry—you feel too good for me to... pull out-ah~" the sensitive head of his cock kissed all the deepest parts of you with ease; giving you so much more pleasure, along with the way he was constantly pushing his cum back inside further.

"...so perfect for me, my good girl~"

—KURONUSHI

shibari. his specialty, his favorite. he decided to try a new position instead of the usual mating press you two did; having you situated on the bed with your ass up and face buried in the pillows while your wrists were bound by a red ribbon behind your back.

"that's it, keep moaning for me like that~" kuronushi coos, hips slamming against your body as his cock thrusted in and out of your ass at a steady rhythm, fingers rubbing roughly at your swollen clit, continuing to drive you over the edge. "fuck—your voice truly is the best instrument~ and your moans... the most majestic melody i've ever heard~" he says in between uneven breaths before finally cumming inside you, abruptly pulling out and pushing into your already filled to the brim cunt, a dark chuckle escaping his lips upon hearing you moan at the sudden entrance.

"just made sure to fill up both of your holes, love~"

[ollimus-prime]

HAIIII OLLIE !!!!1!1!!!!!!1!!!!!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ IM LOWKEY SOOOOOO EXCITED THAT YOURE WRITING FOR TRANSFORMERS ON A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT BLOG ENTIRELY MADE FOR IT!!!!1! + you already KNOW who it is — ITS YOUR BOY 😼😼 /ref

i’ve been tweaking so hard over tfone b-127 bumblebae boy bc he’s so auuuhhh — 😭😭 got me on my knees bc my type in men is so golden retriever boyfriends, BUT SPEAKING OF GOLDEN RETRIEVER BOYFRIENDS!!

i hope you don’t mind me requesting b-127 with a fem cybertronian reader who’s just his female counterpart drabble or hcs? like it’s giving yapper x yapper and golden retriever x golden retriever, no freaking doubt both fell for eachother the moment they introduced themselves and started to yap together. OK I TALK TOO MUCH, PLS TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF OLLIE!!! DRINK UP, EAT UP, SLEEP WELL AND TAKE BREAKSSSS!! Loves ya much :)

Yapper Adoration

A/N, not important: Hope you like it, Frankie. I tried my best. Also, it's Gender Neutral, not fem. Sorry! Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: N/A(unless y'all see smth I need to add)

Words: 554

Summary: B-127 finally has someone to talk to

B-127 was first introduced to you via Elita-1. She had met you during her time in waste management, your bubbly and eager-to-please personality strikingly similar to B’s own. Elita-1, knowing she had two loud and boisterous bots that needed constant attention, stuck you together in hopes that you would both get along and stop bothering everyone else. To Elita-1’s delight and slight horror, the two of you stuck together like magnets.

B-127 finally had someone who not only was willing to listen to him, but someone who actively engaged in what he said. Not to mention you had worked similar jobs, causing a bond to form from the toil of sorting garbage and the dream of doing more. You were just as positive and rambunctious as him, causing B-127 to immediately latch onto you as his new best friend.

Not that you minded, of course. You had your fair share of bots who’ve been annoyed by your endless chatter, and finding someone who was similar to you in personality and mannerism was just as freeing to you as it was to B. Neither of you were much willing to separate after your first meeting. Despite Elita’s chiding of you both moving too fast, you had started dating the kind and energetic bot.

You’re also one of the only bots B-127’s met that didn’t immediately think he was insane. Sure, you’ve joked about his ‘friends’ that he made down in sub level 50 before, but he didn’t sense a hostility in your tone like most others seem to have. You encouraged his interests and helped him find new friends, showing support he’s never truly received before.

There’s never silence when either of you are around, both of you capable of listening to the other’s prattling just as much as you converse back and forth. Having someone willing to listen to your interests and engage with them is something neither of you really realized you needed. While you were definitely more socially aware than B was, you weren’t much better at keeping friends around.

You comfort him a lot after D-16’s departure, allowing him to express his feelings in a healthy way while dealing with his quick gain and loss of friends. He leans on your positive attitude to keep his intact as well, and he’s incredibly grateful to have you. He wants to have all of his friends back, but having you to lean on after losing one so quickly makes it easier to manage.

Neither of you ever stop bragging about landing each other, the both of you getting into basic lovers quarrels over who loves the other more. Whenever you’re seen together, you’re almost always touching in some way. Whether it’s holding hands, hugging, or leaning against each other, there’s not much that can make either of you stray far enough to not be glued to the other. It’s mostly for B’s sake, as being alone for so long really had to put a strain on his mental health. Being able to hang onto you is a good reminder you’re not only real, but that you’re not going anywhere.

He’s your best friend through and through, and feels super safe with you. He wants you to know you’re his favorite person and reminds you like, every few minutes. You’re everything he’s ever wanted.

[ghostheartfelt]

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

—✩ PHANTOM TOUCH ✩—

word count —15.6k

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

VIENNA, AUSTRIA.

“Move, move, move!” Price yells.

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

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

Your lieutenant. 

Anybody. 

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

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

Your arms raise to cover your face. 

“Fuck!” 

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

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

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

Thump.

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

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

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

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

Hudson “Scooter” Wheeler. 

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

“I’m sorry, Wheeler.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They moved closer—it seemed to be one person. 

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

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

Your finger grazes over the trigger of your carbine rifle.

A leg comes before the torso, then the face. 

The skull mask.

Ghost.

Relief washes over you immediately—raising to your knees.

“Lieutenant!” You call. 

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

“Thought we lost’ya,” Ghost rasps.

“What’s the sitrep?” 

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

You nod softly. 

“Why’d you hang back?” 

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

“Gh—“

There’s a person behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost.

Where was Ghost?

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

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

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

“Ghost, are you injured?” 

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you.” You bite back.

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

“I eat boys like you for breakfast.” 

Ghost chuckles beside you.

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

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

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

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

“Good fuckin’ luck,” Ghost grunts.

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

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

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

“Hey!” Ghost shouts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Agarwal—blade.”

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

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

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

“English, asshole.” You grunt.

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

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

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

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

“Piss off,” the blonde huffs.

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

“No!” You yell. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your vest and your book.

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

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

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

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

“Thaye…” he susurrated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does the sun go on shining?

You watch Rolmuth pick up a pair of pliers.

Why does the sea rush to shore?

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

‘Cause you don’t love me anymore?

He was going to rip off your finger.

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

“Go…to hell—“ 

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

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

Why do the birds go on singing? 

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

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

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

Why do the stars glow above?

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

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

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

It ended when I lost your love. 

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

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

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

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

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

Why does my heart go on beating?

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

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

“Who…is…your...captain?” 

Why do these eyes of mine cry?

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

Ghost coughs up blood; internal bleeding. 

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

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

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

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

It ended when you said “goodbye.” 

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

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

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

Ghost yells your name again.

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

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

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

Why does my heart go on beating?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your head slumps at the attempt of a nod. 

“Save y’r energy, lovie.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY TWO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was asleep.

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

It felt colder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes flicker to yours. 

“‘M alive, aren’t I?” Ghost says.

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

“You are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He dismisses the two of his men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In my heart, I have but one desire…

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

And that one is you, no other will do…

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

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim

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

I just want to be the one you love…

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

And with your admission…that you feel the same,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The music is starting to garble. 

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

I…—you too—uch.  

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

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

I just want to start…

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

A great big flame…

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

Down in your heart.

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

You see, way down inside me,

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

Darling, I have only one desire. 

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

And that one desire is you, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enough!” The blonde yells again.

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

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

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

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

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

The taste of bile is sickening to your empty stomach. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pissed.

He was incensed. 

More than that. 

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

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

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

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

You still bore into your lieutenant’s gaze.

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

You might drown in your own saliva at this rate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop,” you rasp. “Let’im go…”

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

“No…” you snarl.

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

“No?” He says cockily.

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

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

You hear a click, it wasn’t a gun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears surface the corners of your eyes. 

No, no, no, no…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His radio.

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

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

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

“Thaye…” Ghost croons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t do anything.

He can only watch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleep,” he rasps. “I’ll watch ya.” 

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

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

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

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

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

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Hindi man pulls down Ghost’s gag. 

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

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

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

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

“Stop!” you cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The gun slides across the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bitch!” Rolmuth snarls.

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

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

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

Ghost calls your name weakly.

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

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

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

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

“Thaye!” Your lieutenant hollers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghost?” You lift your head. 

“‘M here.” He replies. 

“I don’t know if I can get up.”

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

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

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

He didn’t have a knife on him. 

Got to be fucking kidding me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can y’walk?” 

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

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

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

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

“I know but—“ 

“No.” 

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

“Stay behind me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six…Five…

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

Four…

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

You groan and push over a bookshelf behind Ghost once you’re both out of the smoke. He takes aim and opens fire at three men, blowing holes in their chests before he rams into the fourth with a loud yell and slams down the stock of his assault rifle into his face until his teeth and nose are finely pressed into the persian rug.

You finish off two more who try to walk through the threshold of the room, turning your head over your shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Two…

You jerk yourself away before you get slugged by a riot shield, ascending yourself and shoving your firearm past the barriers of his lips from behind. You pull the trigger and his head flings as the bullet rings out and creates a sizable hole in the back of his head.

One…

Before his body hits the tile, you take hold of his riot shield and deflect the hail of gunfire from the individual who came emerging from the threshold corner.

You walk forward until his clip is empty to drive the shield into his vest-covered chest, stunning him so you can push it aside and fire your last shot into the underside of his jaw. 

Zero.

Bullets continue spraying throughout the entirety of the house while you make sure you don’t pass out from the amount of blood you’ve lost.

You grab the TAQ-V from off the floor and click a new magazine into it, shoving a spare into your back pocket before pushing into the same room as Ghost.

He’s piling bodies on the floor, wrestling for dominance over a knife. 

You fastdraw another handgun you’d grabbed off of one of the bodies and shoot the man in his knee cap to allow Ghost to gain the upper hand and pierce the man’s temple with the weapon. 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly. 

You nod softly, inhaling sharply as you feel wet blood pool around your uninjured foot. 

They took your shoes for no reason, like they had a use for them.

Maybe it allows you to move around more quietly, but it still disturbed you that they took the time to even peel off your socks. 

“What intel did y’know that we didn’t?” His chest is against yours, head craning down to keep the conversation between the two of you.

“Lieutenant, we don’t…” You pause a moment, your head spinning. 

Hunger, thirst, the cold, the blood loss. There was so much holding you hostage and you weren’t even able to comprehend how you were still standing—limping.

“Well, Seargant?” His voice is low, still holding the same husky British drawl.

“We don’t have the time for this, for now—“ Ghost shoves you aside before you can finish, raising the muzzle of his rifle to open fire on the men entering the room.

“Fuckin’ riot shields!” He pulls you behind a flipped over tattered blue couch that had already gone through its fair share of bullets.

A bullet flies and hits the side of the couch a hair’s breadth from your face. 

“Goddammit,” he curses while replacing the magazine in his gun.

The men brandishing shields push further.

When one reaches close enough, you run in front of the shield and grab the sides before he crashes into you. 

You turn him until his body is vulnerable to Ghost, your teeth ground into each other.

“Ghost!” You yell to catch his attention, head snapping in your direction to fire a single round into the back of his head.

You throw the body off of yourself and yank the riot shield to cover yourself, ducking your head as you recoil your fist and punch one of the men baring LMGs hard twice in the jaw.

You thrust the shield into the next, throwing it into his abdomen as he topples, finishing him off by shooting him down in the chest.

One turns with his M4 raised, but you turn your gun around and bash the stock into the base of his chest, then again into his cheek, swiping your leg across the floor and knocking him down then picking his head up and slamming it down on a thick shard of glass sticking upwards to finish him off. 

Ghost drops the last body, finishing off a magazine into his vest and throwing the weapon aside. You toss him another one, which he catches with ease.

“We’ll force upstairs, look f’r our shit, ‘n leave.” He says as he picks up a frag grenade from off a vest.

“There should be Skimobiles somewhere around here, the ones they were using in the FFO,” you nod.

“A’right,” he groans while rolling his shoulders. “On my mark.” 

He trudges past bodies until he’s at the threshold of the staircase, stepping up slowly with the grenade in one hand and his gun in his other.

You follow behind leisurely, eye down the scope of your rifle. 

He pulls the clip and tosses it up, arm stretching behind to press his hand against your shoulder blade. 

“Oh shit—grenade!” A man yells from upstairs before detonation. 

“Go!” Ghost immediately backs up off the wall and skips over two steps into the corridor, prefiring as he loops around a wall.

There’s already bodies and limbs splayed across the room from the combatants who were hit by the frag.

Your back rubs against the wall as you lean to shoot down the hallway, whirring bullets firing past you.

After a few back and forths between staying flat against the wall and leaning to fire off your gun, bodies drop and you’re able to progress down the hall. 

Ghost is somewhere on the opposite side of the house, you still hear heavy gunfire.

You pause at the sight of another man at the end of the hallway and you recognize him immediately.

The look in his eyes and the scruffiness of his face made your lips stretch in almost the most feral look.

Corbin, that was his name. Callsign ‘Pooch’.

Anger burns in the depths of your lungs and stomach as you grip the wall for support, lunging yourself forward to lift your feet over each body that was littered across the hallway floors.

Sweat ran down the sides of your face and splotched down around the neck of your shirt with the blood.

You watch his face twist into a wolfish grin as he slings his gun over his shoulder and walks towards you. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” He purrs. 

White noise fills your ears.

All you can see through the glossy shine of your eyes is the man who humiliated you in front of your superior. 

All you can see through the blinding red rage is the man who beat Ghost and cracked his ribs, forcing you to watch him retract and twitch at every fleeting fist. 

Even the hail of gunfire is silent in your ears as you drag your injured foot. Everything sounds underwater, everything feels dull.

His fist intersects and meets with your cheekbone causing your head to shift to the left and your body to stumble where you stand. 

You grip his wrist and divert his second punch by lifting your arm and thrusting your knee roughly into his thigh to tamper his movements.

He groans, with grim chuckles following after. “I’m going to enjoy every last second of this,” he coos.

Your body shivers in disgust as you slide your fingers down to your waist, priming the knife stuffed beneath the hem of your shirt. “Go fuck yourself…” you hiss.

His eyes flicker down to your hand and his boot immediately connects with the middle of your torso, sending you across the floor with a loud thud.

Pooch steps between your legs and lifts your upper body by the neckline of your shirt, his knuckles slamming down to beat on your already swollen face. 

Drool and blood pour from your mouth, a strangled gasp leaving you at every punch before he releases you harshly back down onto the floor. 

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, the pressure and swelling in your face and head being all too much for you.

A boot is savagely kicked into the lower pit of your abdomen, making you gag on air.

“Get the fuck up.” Pooch spits. 

You clutch your stomach and turn, slowly feeling for the knife, then quickly lifting the edge trimming of your tank top and grasping the handle, pulling it out and sweeping your leg around and behind his ankles to knock him off to the side.

He yells out swears as you level yourself over him, his legs kicking out to make your chest rest on the soles of his boots. 

Both of your hands grasp the handle of the knife making it easier on your lack of fingers. His hands grip your forearms as you cry out and try forcing the knife down on him.

He kicks his legs up and backwards, upending you over him and sending the knife flying. 

You hiss and give yourself no time to recover, flipping on your stomach and army crawling with your forearms to grab the knife.

He topples atop your body, planting a piercing slap across your face before reaching for the knife and propelling it downwards into you.

Before you’re able to block, the knife breaks through the skin in your stomach, your hand managing to grab his wrist before he’s able to gut you open.

You seethe and let out a sharp whine followed by a croaked cry, your other hand circling his wrist in an attempt to push him away. 

Quickly, you roll your body off to the side and let go of him, causing the knife to pierce into the wood flooring as you grip a console table to succor yourself up.

Corbin abandons the knife and flings himself upwards, swinging his gun into his arms. 

“I’m done playing games.” 

You advance on him, grabbing the rifle and pushing it into his chest before he can aim it at you.

One of your hands grip the upper hand guard while the other grips the bolt and holds the muzzle up.

You yank his body over towards the window behind you, turning your body then grabbing the man by the back of his hair and smashing his head through the glass.

It shatters from contact and leaves cuts and shards in his skin, a loud yell clawing its way from his throat.   

His finger grips the trigger and bullets roll out into the floor as you pull his head back.

You pull the rifle sling from off his shoulder, tossing it aside and disarming him from the X12 tucked into the back of his pants.

He growls at every tug of his scalp as you shoot him in the back of the leg and force him onto his knees.

A loud wail echoes the hallway from the man below you.

 “Shut your fucking mouth,” you snap.

“You don’t get to scream.”

“You don’t get to cry and whine like a little bitch.”

There’s no remorse in your voice, no sense of mercy for the man being held on his knees and whimpering.

You smack the magazine onto the base of his nose, blood dripping it’s way down his nostrils as a struggling noise spills from his lips.

“You…fucking….” he chokes on his own words. 

His entire body violently trembles at the tortured scream he releases as you squeeze the trigger again, shooting Pooch in his shoulder then proceeding to stick your thumb into the ravage wound harshly.

“Bitch! Fucking bitch!” He strains and pants like a dehydrated dog trying to jerk away from you.

You replace your finger with your foot, lowering his back against the floor as you press your toe into the bullet hole.

Another scream tears out of him as you blow another hole into the other side—his chest convulses.

Blood seeps from his mouth, you hold the grip of the handgun with both hands and sob out loud as you empty the entire magazine into his head until his face is unrecognizable to the amount of bullet holes.

You keep pulling the trigger, even as the gun starts to click announcing its out of ammunition.

The entire floor below you is covered in gore; flesh, messings of brains, blood, skin. 

So much.

Your body snaps around as a hand abruptly drapes over your shoulder, your arm raising the gun ready to bash it into the skull of the next man to try and touch you.

“Thaye, Thaye—y’got him! Thaye, he’s dead!”

Someone calls your name trying to snap you of out haze.

Ghost—your eyes soften with glistening tears as he calmly disarms you after deflecting the hit with his forearm, tossing the handgun aside so he can push you into his chest by the back of your neck.

“‘S over, sweet girl.” Ghost says with intonation. “Can’t hurt ya anymore.”

Your eyes are wide with terror, hands bundling your lieutenant’s shirt as you exhale a shaky mewl.

It’s him who releases you first, handing you your custom rifle and radio.

His balaclava is back on his face, along with the skull mask.

“Y’r vest ‘n boots are in the room I came from,” Ghost jerks his head.

You nod softly and shamble towards the doorway in the direction he’d pointed out.

You pause.

A little boy walks out of the threshold—he’s holding a gun far bigger than his head.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Did these men take you from your family?” 

You turn your head over your shoulder to call for Ghost, the sound of a bullet whirring filling your ears.

Ghost wastes no time pulling out his handgun and shooting the little boy in the head before running towards you.

Your right shoulder is screaming at you as time seems to slow down to a crawl. You hear Ghost yell behind you and the gunshot ringing as the little boy falls back and you do too, hitting the ground hard.

The masked man is on his knees in front of you within seconds, lifting your head into his lap.

“Thaye! Thaye, don’t y’fuckin’ die, not now…” He growls, applying pressure down onto your shoulder with both of his gloved hands.

Your lips slant in a tired manner, eyelids feeling heavy. His bloody hand kneads your cheek, smearing gore along your already dirtied skin.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he curses loudly. “Stay awake, love, please…”

God, he was hurting, it hurt to have your head against the burns on his stomach, but he wouldn’t let you die.

“Babygirl,” he says weakly. 

All you can see is an uncleanable amount of red seep and cover your shirt.

Your lungs clutch together inside your chest, labored breaths escaping you with a strained noise.

“I know…I know—keep those gorgeous eyes on me, sweetheart.” He inhales a shaky breath, flipping up your blood-crusted hairs from sticking to your forehead.

You whisper an apology, catching his attention as you grip his waist. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow.

“Don’t. Don’t say sorry,” he says. “You did this, you saved our lives, love.” 

“‘M just finishin’ the job, ‘lright?” His split and bloody lips find a place on your temple, planting a raw and long kiss to your throbbing skin.

“…’least I got to see your face before—“ 

Ghost holds you, squeezing your hand as a slight warning. “Don’t talk like that.” 

It was a demand. 

“That an—“ you spur into a coughing fit, blood spraying onto the man’s vest. “…Order, Lieutenant?” 

“Spare y’r energy,” he huffs. 

“Simon—“ you slur.

“Stop.” He snarls.

Your ragged breaths start to stray, causing panic to surge through the man above you.

“No,” he growls, squeezing your smaller hand in his a bit tighter than before. “Don’t, Thaye,” he says through clenched teeth.

Your body falls limp in his lap, the grasp loosening on his shirt making his heart pound through his chest, a painful pounding that felt similar to acid reflux.

“No!” Ghost yells, desperately palming at your tangled hair in panic. “Fuckin’ massacre,” he exhales shallowly.

One arm scoops beneath the back of your knees, the other across your shoulder blades with his hand holding your arm. 

A loud strained groan claws it’s way from his gullet at the sudden pain inside his ribs as he lifts himself up and off the floor. 

His muscles tighten inside his body, a burning sensation in his abdomen as he clutches you close to his chest, feeling your blood seep into his shirt.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

The gentle rhythmic beeping and steady flow of air through your nostrils was something that felt unreal and forced.

You slowly flutter your eyes open to light slipping in between the beige curtains. Your eyes are half-lidded and threatening to close against your will as your bandage wrapped hands rests atop the metal railing on either side of you.  

It smells of strong floor cleaner and hand sanitizer, a scent that is slightly uneasy on you as you slowly slip back into consciousness. 

Your muscles feel tight in your body; pain racking your shoulder and neck as you crane it to take a look around the room. 

The walls are spinning and the ceiling above you is spiraling making you sick to your stomach. 

On the bedside table to your left—closest to the window—there’s flowers. They’re too withered to try and recognize what kinds, shredding to flakes in your fingers when you caress them between your pinky and thumb.

Your hand drags up to pull nasal tubes out of your nostrils. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe air, throat tightening and lips so still from lack of moisture.

There’s a penetrating migraine in the back of your skull as you carefully swing your legs over the side of the bed, the thin baby pink and spotted hospital gown flowing down your sides leaving you slightly exposed in your thigh region. 

Bare and bandaged feet slide along the smooth cold tile, sending chills up your body as you grip the IV stand with your trembling hand, the other holding onto the bed railing for support. 

You groan and strain as you struggle to lift yourself up, propelling upwards with your palm and grip on the stand until your knees straighten and your standing up somewhat decently.

Where was Ghost? Is Ghost alive?

So many thoughts coursed through your head along with the punishing feeling of dehydration. 

You guide yourself using the wheels on the IV stand towards a counter, your hands gripping the handle of the sink and pulling it upward.

A choked moan manages to break from you as you scoop the water in your hands and swill the rich liquid. 

Water dribbles down your chin, which you wipe away before lifting your head to look into the medicine cabinet mirror. 

Your hand rests on the wall in front of you as you heave.

They cut your hair shorter, not too short but enough so that it was comfortable. Your entire right side of your face being bandaged, stains of blood being a faint copper color.

Bandages wrapped around your neck and reached down your shoulder you’d been shot in.

Your hair had been taken care of neatly while you were in a coma, that was obvious.

Ghost. Where?

You grip the IV stand and hobble towards the door, turning the knob and gripping the threshold with your other hand as you step out. 

A nurse pauses in her tracks, rushing to your side in an instant. “How are you up? Your injuries are critical,” she gasps, palm flattening against the small of your back.

“My lieutenant—…my lieutenant…” you say in an undertone.

“You need bed rest, you’ve only just woken up.” Her voice is gentle yet commanding.

“No,” you bark, shuffling out of her hold. “Please take me to him.” 

The woman bites her lip before nodding hesitantly, hand against your back again to guide you towards his room.

It was only a few doors down from you—when the nurse opened the door, allowing you into the room.

You see the back of Ghost’s head facing in your direction, his hair tousled from the bandages wrapping around his head.

“Ghost,” you call.

His head turns from facing the window to facing you, you hear him murmur your name in reply.

“Y’minx,” he breathes. “Hell y’doin’ out ya bed?”

You carefully walk yourself towards him, the nurse holding her hands atop her chest nervously. The sound of the plastic wheels of the stand makes his breath hitch in his throat, the sound of reassurance that you were alive.

“You okay, big man?” Your voice is hoarse from lack of use, but he’s able to that you perfectly.

“D’ya ever worry ‘bout y’self, love?” Ghost asks with a tinge of humor. 

Heavy casting was on his right leg, bandages and patches on practically every inch of his body—similar to you.

“Sometimes,” you smile softly and push strands of his hair out of his face, your heart slightly shatters in your chest at the sight of him flinching at your touch.

Ghost scoots himself over slightly, wincing at the sudden movement.

You seat yourself beside him on the large gatch bed and his hand pushes you down to lay beside him.

“Wait, Mr. Riley—“ the nurse takes a small step forward.

“I’ll ‘b fine,” he grunts.

Her eyes blink slightly as she takes a few steps back, her lips separating to speak though no words come out. She simply turns on her ankles and closes the door behind her.

Ghost secures an arm around your waist, pushing your back flush against his bandaged chest.

Your eyes trace his tattoos and the muscles of his arms, every scar and blemish.

“Where’s the force?” You ask quietly.

“Left recently,” he mumbles back tiredly, pressing his nose into your hair. “Y’smell like pomegranate—got y’self a damn spa crew while y’were out?”

You laugh dryly, breaking into a light fit of wheezes.

“Not too hard, Seargant.” Ghost’s finger tucks a loose strand of hair from your bangs behind your ear.

Your wet bandages on your hands rub against his knuckle as you hold onto his hand, he seems to pay no mind.

You turn your body slightly so you can get a better look at his face. “Odd seeing you without your eye black.” You quip.

His closed eyes open to look down at you. “Mm, might as well see m’down in me knickers then, eh?” He chuckles huskily.

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes lightheartedly. 

You catch his small glances to your lips, his hand leaving your chest to run his thumb down your bottom lip until that same hand is cupping your cheek lovingly.

His eyes narrow, he’s sleepy, but you still catch yourself propping your body up with your elbow and closing the gap between the two of you. 

Instantly, his head cranes and tilts to deepen the kiss, his fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to press his thumb into the underside of your jaw and drag his fingers along the nape of your neck.

Ghost breathes into your mouth, the taste of mint leaf and citrus enveloping your taste buds as his tongue laced over yours.

The kiss was passionate, you feel his eyebrows furrow showing his desperation as you both kissed softly at a gentle pace and motion.

Your eyes flutter open as you feel his warm lips leave yours with a quiet pop, both of you panting lightly with his forehead pressed against yours. Ghost’s eyes are unable to open for a few moments after you disconnect. 

When they do open, your eyes bore into his brown orbs, the dark purple hue circling under his eyes showing his deprivation of sleep.  

When he feels you buck gently back into his groin, he releases a small grunt, lips meeting yours again for a small chase kiss.

“Not like this,” he says quietly. “I’d take you on this bed right here, right now, but y’ve recently waken up ‘n we’re both still in r’covery.” 

You hum in agreement, his hand finding it’s place on your chest once again with the knowledge of your lower abdomen injury.

“‘N to b’honest—‘can barely feel m’damned balls, feels like ‘ve got whiskey dick.” He grumbles, and you bite your lip to suppress a giggle.

“Simon!”

“Don’ you laugh at me, woman.” Ghost lowers his head into the crook of your neck, biting the skin gently 

“My deepest condolences, Lieutenant,” you purr, catching his lips in another kiss when you jerk his head upward with your uninjured shoulder. He growls against your mouth in reaction.

There’s a long yet short line of silence as you turn towards his back again, your legs tangling with his as you hold your lips against his knuckles.

“Y’have no clue how strong you are.” He swallows the knot in his throat as he speaks. “God, Thaye, they…they told me there was a chance y’d never wake up.” 

“Hey,” you hum. “Stop that, I’m here now.” 

His eyes stare blankly at the wall ahead of you, maybe even the same wall you were staring at—if your eyes weren’t closed already. 

“I just don’ know what I would’ve done if I made it outta there ‘n y’didn’t make it with me.” He says. 

“Y’r the reason I made it out with you in the first place. If y’hadn’t pulled that barmy stunt—“ he pauses, and you feel the rise of his chest and the fall as he exhales deeply.

“Y’survived internal bleeding, trauma to the head ‘n eye, two broken ribs, second and third degree burns, asphyxiation, dismemberment, stab wounds and gunshot wounds..” Ghost squeezes his fist tighter against your chest. 

“So did you, Si.” You coo softly. 

“Christ…” he mutters. 

His fingers interlock with yours best they can, regardless of the most of them being numbs on your knuckles, and it wasn't until your hand rested on his chest and rubbed over the raised scars, that he realized he hadn't been touched so gently in nearly eleven years. It wasn't a new feeling, but it was a feeling that he had craved desperately. 

Never had fallen in love before, but he knew you had bad experiences with it—figuring out that your ex-fiancé had cheated on you while on deployment. Someone had to love you, and he was skeptical of it being him, but it was clear you loved him too and now he was scared you’d stop. 

But hearing your gentle breathing as you slipped back into sleep hunched into his form led him somewhere he’d never been. You cleared his mind and cleared away his thoughts. For the first time, he doesn’t want to look away from what he has the ability to feel.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: thor au, mingyu has superhuman strength (he's literally a god so), mingyu's kinda a dick, re-imagined plot of the first thor movie for fanfic purposes, mentions of movie characters, afab reader, smut, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 2203

a/n: thor was my favorite marvel movie growing up so i loved doing this!!! tysm to the person who requested this and im soooo sorry it took me so long T-T also i havent watched the movies in forever so im so sorry for inaccuracies </3

masterlist

mingyu wasnt too sure where he was.

just moments ago he had been fighting with his younger brother, loki, scolding him over yet another mischievous act, but now he was in the middle of nowhere. well, at least that was going off of his surroundings. in the distance, he could see various signs detailing the foreign words 'new mexico'.

he had just been wandering aimlessly around the desert, not paying too much attention to his surroundings as he tried to make sense of where he was. that was until his entire body was pushed forward by a massive object, making him lose most of his ability to process what just had happened. he was only slightly lucid as he laid limp on the ground, barely processing the girl looking down on him, completely freaked out at having just ran over a man in the middle of nowhere. without putting much of a fight, he allowed you and your friend to struggle your way as you dragged him into the back of your van, probably not wanting to leave any evidence that you'd almost committed homicide.

unfortunately for you both, he passed out quickly after that, not allowing you to confirm any information about him, nor giving you a chance to stumble your way through an apology for almost killing him.

seeing as you almost cost him his life, you decided to bring him to your laboratory, where you would let him rest until he was conscious enough for you to find a way to make it up to him. your friend darcy left you on your own, claiming it wasn't much of her problem since you had been the one driving when you crashed into him.

as you waited for him to wake up, you wondered how and why he had survived your van crashing into him. i mean, he didn't sustain any injuries, simply passing out from the impact. he had even left damage on the van itself upon the crash. looking at him, you realized he was very fit, with muscles bulging from the strange armor he had on. you hadn't questioned any of this until now, being mostly freaked out by almost killing him, but it was all now making you wonder the logistics of the situation.

you didn't have too much time to think, as he began to stir, groaning a bit before actually waking up. he jumped in place upon realizing he was in unfamiliar surroundings, staring at you with wide eyes as he backed away a bit.

"hey-"

"you! who are you? where am i?"

"listen, you might be a bit disoriented after the accident, you're in-"

"new mexico? right? i saw a sign earlier today."

"yeah, it's-"

"okay, but where is new mexico? i need to get back to asgard. how can i manage that?"

"asgard? listen, you must be going through a psychic episode, just let me-"

"stay away! i demand you tell me where i am!"

jesus christ, this man was stubborn. not once sentence could leave your lips before he was making demands. he didn't even give you a chance to apologize either. you weren't sure what he meant by his blabbering, which was still going on by now. asgard? was he hallucinating about norse mythology? had you rendered this man insane?

"we're in new mexico! right by texas? are you okay? you seem kind of disoriented. i'm so sorry about what happened, i-"

"my armor! you damaged it with your machine!", he finally looked down at the scratches and missing bits of his armor, eyes widening once more.

he got up from his spot, marching around your laboratory and grabbing at things with curiosity. he eventually came across your globe, reading out the label before gasping loudly.

"earth?! loki told me of this place. that means you're a human," he was mostly speaking to himself before turning to finally direct himself at you, "human. i am mingyu, the god of thunder. you must help me get back to asgard. can you do that?"

you were speechless throughout his entire ransacking of your lab, but even more so now. was this an insane man you were with in the middle of the desert? you had brought him to your secluded lab out of remorse for what you'd done, but now you were alone in the middle of the night with a maniac. a very strong one at that.

"don't look at me like that," he interrupted your thoughts, "i know im not the god your people typically serve, but i still demand your help. you did hit me, after all."

that broke you out of your spell, your niceness peaking out again, "i'm sorry! i-"

"great! so now you're indebted to me," he clapped his hands together, "how shall we begin?"

okay, there was no way you were helping this maniac with his senseless plan, but you needed to think of a sensible way to tell him to fuck off.

"you're mingyu? the god of thunder? why are you reciting norse mythology to me? i cant get you back to asgard. it doesnt exist," okay, not subtle, but it was a start.

"listen, human. your kind would not understand the depth behind my people. you don't believe me? i'll show you."

and with that, he raised his arm, erected and facing to his side as he stared at you directly into your eyes. he stayed like this for a minute before you chose to question him, only to be shushed by him once more, "just give it a minute, human."

it was about three minutes when suddenly a hammer came crashing through the wall, destroying everything in its way in order to arrive to mingyu's hand.

next thing you knew, you were hiding under your table, utterly terrified at whatever the fuck was happening. was he really the mingyu? but those were all a child's tale, were they not? did you truly have a god standing before you, trying to convince you to come out from hiding?

"human, i- im sorry. i shouldve warned you. come out, please? i'll even forgive you for crashing into me. i just need some help," he sounded so defeated, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him, deciding to come out from hiding as long as he put his hammer down, something to which he agreed to with no hesitation.

"o-okay, mingyu. are you- you're real? shit, okay, never mind. you clearly are. but how can i help you? i'm not a god, h-how am i supposed to help you go back home?"

"there's always a way, human. we just need to find an opening. you see ..." he proceeded to explain his entire plan to you, sounding way more intelligent than he had shown himself to be throughout every interaction you'd had with him so far. he was also standing. very. close. it was hard to pay attention when the damage of his suit allowed you such a perfect view at his gigantic muscles. but you needed to focus! you owed it to him to at least try to help him.

the plan had been settled soon after that, agreeing that tomorrow you'd use your 'machine' (re: car) to drive him to a specific spot in which he'd be able to gather enough energy to summon lightning from the sky, which would render him powerful enough to communicate with gandall, who would take him back to asgard. it was too much for the regular person to process, but luckily for him, the person who almost ran him over was a scientist who was very well read on norse mythology.

after that, you had told him he could hit a shower, located in the habitable part of the lab in which you'd stay at sometimes. you let him know you two should also catch some sleep before tomorrow. you offered up your bed, claiming you'd take the couch since you'd caused him all this trouble anyway. he agreed with no argument, making you frown a little at his lack of gallantry.

he came out of the shower soon after, all while you sat on the couch occupied by a book. you heard his arrival, but didn't pay him much mind until doing a double take on him, realizing he was stark naked, with every glorious inch of skin in full display.

"jesus christ! what the hell are you doing?!", you covered your face with your book, extremely flustered at the sight. how was he so bi-

"what? is there no nudity on earth?", he sat on the couch, way too close to you.

"yes! but not like this! you're supposed to warn me beforehand. i-"

"why won't you look at me, human? uncover your face at once."

you weren't sure why, but you followed his direction, removing the book from your face but keeping your eyes closed.

"eyes open too."

you opened them, looking up as to avoid staring at his nether area. although you weren't looking at him, you could tell he had moved to sit even closer, making you anxious about what he'd do next.

"look at me."

you looked down to find him staring directly at you, face at only a few inches from yours. you couldn't help it when your eyes lowered to his lips, noticing him mirror your actions.

"this?" he whispered, "this is what you want?"

it was an ominous and unclear statement, but you still found yourself nodding, too full of a sudden surge of lust to think properly.

he attacked you with his lips, using full force immediately upon kissing you. he was very intense with his movements, almost immediately pinning you down on the couch, an easy feat for a god with his superhuman strength.

you couldn't help how wet you grew almost immediately, having taken a peak at his massive length when he had first approached you on the couch. was he going to put that in you? you were kinda terrified, but also giddy to feel the insane stretch he was about to give you.

you kept keening against him, softly moaning into his lips as he ground his hips against your own, making him groan in return.

"gods, human. you're so fragile ... so delicate. i'm gonna- gonna break you," it sounded like dirty talk, but there was some genuine concert laced in his tone.

"do it! please ... please fuck me," all dignity had left you the moment you saw him in all his naked glory, so any begging was fair game to you by now.

he chuckled, "yeah? pretty princess wants me to fuck her? think you can take it?", he was quite literally dangling his dick in front of your eyes, hands ripping your shorts out of the way as you gasped at the act.

"sorry, princess," he coo'd condescendingly, "they were getting in my way."

he didnt bother to check whether you were wet enough or not before plunging into you, but you had fortunately been dripping for him by then. still, his massive size had you writhing under him, screaming his name to anyone who could hear you from your secluded location.

"oh? now you pray my name? fuck, beautiful human. didn't know humans could be so pretty ..." he was growing delirious at the tightness of your cunt, combined with your much smaller frame. all women in asgard were as big and built as him. this was his first time experiencing anything like this, and it had him rethinking his return to asgard.

'g-gyu ... shit. i'm gonna cum, please!'

he folded you like a pretzel, not caring to conceal his inhuman strength as he pounded madly into you, feeding off your gasps and squeals. you were making him see valhalla.

"pretty princess ... cum for me. let me have yours and i'll give you mine- shit! gonna breed you. gonna come back here and take care of you every time im lonely. g-gonna keep you all to myself. my pretty secret on earth."

the idea of mingyu popping by to fuck you whenever the literal heaven that was asgard became too boring for him had you keening, now grateful you had ran him over as your orgasm attacked you unexpectedly.

you had never felt such a high, almost feeling like you had astral-projected into heaven. mingyu seemed to be in a similar situation, groaning against your mouth as he filled you up with his endless seed. seemed like he was well-endowed in all areas, being a god and all.

"fuck ... thank you for that, human," he thanked you as he got up, at least having the courtesy of helping you clean up, "now i feel kinda bad about leaving."

"then dont," you werent sure why you said that. maybe the high of your orgasm.

"yeah?", he smirked, nearing you once again, "convince me," you noticed his hardness was already back, at a literally inhuman speed.

you weren't sure how you were meant to take him again with no rest in between, but you were willing to take the challenge. you'd worry about how to get the god back to his home tomorrow. for now, you were going to enjoy him while you had him.

a/n: before anyone comes for me, I KNOW this isnt very inaccurate for thor (ive watched the movies too many times) but i wanted to write a short smutty blurb and not go off with too many words so this is what we ended up with

[larkingame]

hello all! been a moment since we last discussed some things, so I'm coming online to discuss the progress of Larkin's development and make a few announcements :)

over the last ten months, larkin has gone through a lot of changes, some of which I've documented here--but most of it I've kept pretty private. I realized that over the few short years I've been developing the game, I sort of grew an unhealthy dependence on my presence within the 'interactive fiction' community that I really, really needed to take a step back from and break, all in order to ensure that I could enjoy working on what originally started out as a passion project for me.

since july of last year, I've completely reshaped and rewritten how larkin exists as a project, shifted it's genre and started collaborating with a few others to ensure it can be of the highest quality it can possibly be. uptop, i'd like to mention @tapeworrmart who's taken on the immense task of putting together most of the game art for me, @khiita and @ann1a-1 who have both taken on the roles of my editors (and also sounding boards for when I am being absolutely insane) and my production manager phillip, who without his assistance, larkin would barely exist. with that, let's do a progress report. the intended demo of larkin, or what i've taken to calling 'episode one' (yes, i said, 'episode,' more on that in a minute) has stretched to just over 200k words worth of content. it stretches all the way from the earliest versions of larkin's original prologue, to the end of the original chapter two. so far, we've completed 3 out of the intended 20 character portraits, as well as some more art that's slowly been in development.

now, on to the announcements. probably the biggest, and the one I am most ashamed of is--due to the fact that I've been slammed with graduate school work and some other external factors, Larkin as it currently exists is not the best that I think it can be. I'm deeply sorry for this, but I want to ensure that you all are getting the highest quality game you could get from me--and right now, I know it's just not that. Which is why I am unfortunately, pushing the release of the demo back until Friday, June 14th, 2024. Patrons will be granted access to the most recent edit of the demo two weeks earlier on Friday, May 31st 2024. In the meantime, I will be working day and night (quite literally) to get what I'm dropping on you up to par and something that I'm happy with.

To make up for this disappointment, I'm planning on repopulating the blog with a lot of content over the coming months, rewriting new versions of old asks, posting art and short stories.

Next on the agenda and also an equally important announcement. I'm changing the rating of Larkin to Mature or 18+ As I've been writing these past few months, working through a lot of themes and figuring out the story I want to tell, I've found that I think the change in rating is entirely necessary. While I don't think I've ever had that big of a minor fanbase--I think that this is just what I am most comfortable doing. There has consistently grown a little bit more of gore, and trauma exploration, which is the main reason for this change in rating, but, this does allow for the inclusion of something that I've been toying with since the intial release of the game. There is going to be explicit sex scenes in this new version of Larkin--all of which, you the player are able to opt out of, or completely avoid if that's something you want--but I just thought a little announcement would be warranted. This does not mean however, I am comfortable with answering thoroughly explicit asks or getting unsolicited sexual messages. The goal is to keep this game blog mainly tame.

Please respect this boundary of mine.

Third thing to be announced. I've also changed the format in which Larkin will be released. Rather than around the twenty-five chapters in one of a series of 'Books'/'Games', Larkin will be released episodically over four 'seasons' with eight-ten episodes of around 200k-250k words each (though, this is just an early estimate--they could grow longer, as I'm basing this purely off the demo/Episode One)

Finally and a little bit of a fun note: there are now twelve romance options throughout larkin, five male, three female, one non-binary and three gender-selectable. With those upcoming asks, you'll hear more about each in the coming days :)

With all that being said, I wanted to lastly thank all of you for supporting me over the years and putting faith and your interest in this project. truly, the support of all of you means the world to me and I can't wait to share more of larkin with you all.

thank you 💖

[workwithmeman]

Pairing - Mountain x Phantom, 1.4k words, mature/explicit

Tags: body worship, phantummy, phantom being a little shit, mountain being desperate, mountain finishing in like 9 seconds oops, first time writing smut sorry, not beta read

Mountain was going to lose his fucking mind.

He knew Phantom had always been pretty - from the moment he had tumbled out of the summoning circle, he was all pouty lips, angled face, and doe eyes. A little gangly and underfed, sure, but nothing that a little love and home cooked meals couldn’t fix. And he was sweet - Lord Below was he sweet. An adorable nativity paired with a penchant to please that drove Mountain insane with a need to fawn, dote on, and love the little ghoul. 

But now that they had gotten back from tour, things had only gotten worse for Mountain. Without the constant exercise of tour and the increase in lovingly prepared rich comfort foods of winter, Phantom had started to grow a little soft around the edges. What once was all prominent bones and sharp edges became gently curvy and cherubic, with softer thighs and arms and an ass that Mountain would love to bury his face in. 

But the kicker, the absolute killing blow to Mountain’s sanity, was Phantom’s fucking tummy. As he had softened, a little bit of that fat had migrated to his chest and stomach, creating the most adorable little pooch that Mountain wanted to kiss, lick, suck - anything that Phantom would allow him to. 

Sweet Satan, he was screwed. 

—-

Mountain’s day started like normal, with him gently untangling himself from Phantom’s death grip on his body and shuffling to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. In the kitchen he found Dewdrop, holding a scalding cup of coffee and heating up the water for Mountain. He offered Mountain a sleepy smile.

“Hey big guy. Sleep alright?”

Mountain grunted in response, holding his cup out to Dew wordlessly.

“Understood,” Dew chuckled, pouring hot water in to Mountain’s teacup. “Phantom keep you up last night?”

“You could say that. Little bug is driving me crazy.” Mountain gently blew on his tea.

“Oh? What did he do now?” Dew leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee. “More video games? Another documentary?”

“Satan, I wish. It’s just fucking him, Dew, I’m losing my mind. I just want to hold him and never let go.”

Dew laughed again. “Wow Mount, never thought I’d see the day someone made an honest woman out of you. It’s a good look.”

“Who’s making an honest woman out of Mountain?” Phantom’s sleepy voice called from down the hall. “I want to help.”

As Phantom appeared in the doorway, Mountain’s mouth went completely dry. In his bat boxer briefs and bat wing hoodie, Phantom looked good enough to eat. Mountain wanted to mark him, claim him, fuck him, break him, and then put him back together again. He wanted to grab him and steal him back to their room and spend hours eating the poor boy out until he cried. Fuck. Mountain needed to get his shit together. 

“Oh, um, hi bug. H-how did you sleep?” Mountain stammered. Phantom chuckled and walked over to him, tucking himself against Mountain’s chest and kicking up a gentle purr. 

“Like a rock. Your cuddles and your tea always make me go out like a light.” Phantom nuzzled against Mountain’s neck before pulling away to the cabinet where the tea was kept. 

As he stood on his tiptoes to reach his favorite box of tea, his hoodie rode up a little, revealing a sliver of dark purple belly, just sticking out a bit over his boxers. Mountain looked up from his sip of tea, only to spit it out all over Dew, coughing heavily.

“What the fuck, Mount, are you trying to infect me with your earth ghoul cooties? Fuck off with that shit,” Dew yelped. He looked down at himself, now covered with a healthy spray of earl grey. “Ah, shit. Now I have to change my fucking shirt.”

Dew walked out of the kitchen past a sheepish Mountain and a bewildered Phantom, yanking off his shirt as he went. 

“You alright there, Mounty? Everything OK?” Phantoms big purple eyes stared up at him, taking his breath away.

Mountain flushed up to his horns. “U-uh yeah, bug. Just choked a little bit. Sorry if I scared you.” Phantom rolled his eyes.

“Just glad you’re not dying, you big dummy. I love you too much to watch you choke to death on leaf water.”

Mountain smiled, tugging Phantom back into his chest. “I love you too, bug. I love you too.”

——

As their day progressed, Mountain slowly became more sure that Phantom was intentionally trying to drive him insane. The way he’d slowly bend over a laundry basket in front of Mountain and turn around and smile teasingly, the way he’d lift his sweater up over his head and make sure his t-shirt was stuck to it, the way he’d brush up against Mountain when they were working side by side. Mountain was ready to grab the little quint by the scruff of his neck and drag him back to their room to not be seen for at least a few days.

It all came to a head at movie night. The ghouls were all gathered in the common room watching some movie Dew and Aether liked, something with bombs and explosions and good special effects. Something Mountain could ignore for something sweeter. Namely, his lapful of quintessence ghoul.

Phantom was lounging against the earth ghoul’s torso, sitting between his legs. Every few minutes he’d shift ever so slightly, pressing back directly into Mountain’s dick. He stretched backwards, bringing his arms around Mountain’s shoulders and allowing his shirt to ride up as he nuzzled into Mountain’s neck.

Come on Mounty, hold me. I’m so cold. 

Mountain could hear Phantom’s voice echoing around his brain.

I know you’ve been staring. Come on, wrap those big arms around me. I can feel you, I can feel you’re hard. I know you want me, Mounty.

Mountain growled slightly into Phantom’s neck.

Don’t start something you can’t finish, little bug. I hope you know what you’re doing.

Phantom only chirped and ground harder back into the earth ghoul. He brought his mouth right up to Mountain’s ear.

“Please, Mounty. Take me back to our room, come on.”

Mountain growled, picking Phantom up and throwing him over his shoulder as Phantom squealed happily. As they walked out of the common room, a there were a few chuckles and groans from various members of the pack, but they mostly ignored the scene happening in front of them. 

Once they reached their shared room, Mountain tossed Phantom into the nest, yanking his shirt over his head. 

“You fucking tease. Whatever am I to do with you?” He crawled forwards, caging Phantom in on all sides. “Hope you don’t like this shirt too much, bug. You’re not getting it back.” 

In one swift motion, Mountain slashed the center of Phantom’s shirt open, revealing his delicate, plush purple skin. Mountain immediately latched onto Phantom’s neck, kissing, sucking and licking his way down the quint’s body until he reached his tummy. 

“Fucking harassing me all day, showing this cute little tummy off when you know I can’t handle it. Fucking drives me insane, bug, madness how gorgeous you are. Could stare for hours and never have enough.”

Phantom whined, squirming against the sheets. “Then why don’t yo-hah-do something more than just stare? Please Mounty, I need it. Touch me, please.”

“Oh princess, you’ve had more than enough touches for today. You always get what you want, hmm? It’s time for me to get something back.”

Mountain straddled Phantom’s calf, slowly starting to grind as he shoved his face back into his soft purple tummy.

“Fuck, bug, you’re perfect. Love how soft you are, how soft you’ve gotten. Love that you’re so strong now, so pretty. Such a pretty ghoul.” Mountain gasped, staring to hump Phantom’s leg more aggressively. He brought a hand down to Phantom’s straining cock, slowly beginning to jerk it. 

“You drive me crazy, baby, your cute little ass and your fucking thighs, love, wanna cover em with my marks. Wanna make sure everyone knows you’re mine. Wanna - ah! Wanna mate you, mark you, show everyone how much I fucking love you, need you, want you, ah-!”

Mountain finishes with a cry, spilling all over Phantom’s leg. Phantom follows shortly after, enamored with the scene of the earth ghoul falling apart. They lay together, panting, for a minute until Mountain crawls up Phantom’s body to kiss him. A comfortable silence falls over the pair.

“H-hey Mounty? Did you mean what you said? Do you want to be my mate?” Phantom asked nervously, tilting his chin up to look in to the earth ghouls eyes.

“With my whole heart, body, and soul, bug. If you want, whenever you want, wherever you want, I’m yours.”

[lullaebies]

Not sure if you still want Jaehaegon prompts BUT a fic/drabble of the way Aegon III and Jaehaera both grieve specifically their mothers would go insane especially with your writing. Them being both extremely codependent yet unable to talk to the other about this one thing, the suppressed guilt, the waking nightmares Aegon would surely have of Jaehaera’s beloved father having his mother eaten alive right in front of him…plus the books say Rhaenyra was so dependent on having Aegon around 24/7 after she lost all her other children, how would that manifest in him now?

Have a really nice day!!!

a/n: ahhhhh i loved writing this prompt. it had been on my mind since i got it and i finally got time to tap into it (as well as other reqs that i'm slowly chipping into!). i hope you will enjoy this dear, and thank you so much for the compliments too <3 it ended up more about Aegon's experiences but there are touches on Jaehaera's side of things. I do write TG side of things more often though so he def deserves the focus I feel!

“Even while we are in the castle, you are not to leave me. Not for a moment, Aegon,” she says, tugging roughly on his hand. 

“Mother, I—” he replies, frightened at the clutch of her grip. He first tries to escape, pull his arm away, but she holds him tighter while his legs try to match her pace. “Mother, it hurts!”

And her grip suddenly loosens. He nearly trips, on the sands of Dragonstone, the dunes he had once built castles with on this shore, with his brothers. Rhaenyra falls to her knees upon it, clutching him against her in an apologetic embrace. “I am sorry. I am sorry…” she swallows

He feels the very air of the island is awry, not the same, as her feet and dress bury into the sand. He holds her back, trying to keep her afloat, though his own throat is dry at what to say. Ser Alfred Broome and his men watching him made him both shy and chilled.

She runs a hand through his hair. “We shall see to that our home is safe, and stay safe, the two of us, yes?” 

Aegon is scared, feeling dwarved by the world, but his mother’s voice is begging, and his only offer to console her, as always, is to agree.

“...Yes—”

The earth beneath becomes hot, as the sun rises above Dragonstone, turning from yellow to gold. Its rays turn into flare, and the sand turns into glass. He screams for his mother to flee — but glass shatters, puncturing his throat as he screams.

He wakes up in cold sweat, his whole body trembling. He is alone on his side of the bed, and the wind blows harshly from the open window, but not enough to dispel the heat from his bones. As if possessed, he lifts himself up from the bed, eyes taking in the dark room.

“Aegon?” Jaehaera stands up. She had sat by a roaring fireplace, making the woods within it crack as they blacken. And for a moment, it is equal parts anxiety and betrayal, tears against the dam that are his silver lash line. His feet thunder before him, grabbing the golden pitcher of wine on their table, tossing it whole at the fireplace. Droplets from it scatter like tricklets of blood on the carpet. The fire sizzles as Jaehaera gasps, but it is not fully put out.

“It won’t disappear, it won’t disappear!” his low voice trembles. His breaths feel like fire courses up his throat, and he feels sick. On the brink of vomiting from disgust — his own home is not safe, his own body betraying him to become flame — he thinks Jaehaera too is running away from him, but soon enough, she finds a glass of water within their room to douse the remaining flame.

The room then darkens significantly. The moonlight remains, refusing to let him become blind for the end, but he closes his eyes, wanting to refuse to its will too. He is not burnt, but he feels fragile ash, left behind in the wind, falling to the floor.

In the complete silence that dominates the room, in the black escape of his closed eyes, he sees his mother, as though she has never left. He hadn’t been allowed to move an inch from her, until the very moment the beast had devoured her. The one moment he wanted to run to her, make her move. The fire devoured her, as did the dragon, but he remained behind, her shadow.

A shadow of a man remains today, too.

The utter quiet that he regains his mind in remains unbroken until he opens his eyes, doing his best to keep any tears unshed. Jaehaera doesn’t dare to move a step, her fingers curling around the empty glass of water as she watches him. His heart weakens again — he should’ve known not to be so helpless in the presence of women just as helpless as he.

Mother, I’m sorry, he wants to return to the dream, to say that to her instead. He cannot, but his wife is here.

“I…” it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know how to begin. He doesn’t want to apologize, when he still feels his mother’s hold on him. But I shouldn’t have scared her, still, and yet again, if he does apologize, he’d have to explain why, to begin with. 

He and Jaehaera don’t speak of these things. For the better of them both, for the sake of their lost loved kin, for the sake of love not being lost again. She knows what had occurred on Dragonstone, as he knows what has occurred in King’s Landing. The histories will not forget, but they ever attempt to do so, regardless.

‘Tis be duty, for the very realm. He would say that to himself, again and again, until his own guilt creeps up on him. Reminding him so — that this is his sin, the need to cling to the daughter of the scorching sun, the last light.

Jaehaera puts away the cup, and approaches him with ghostly steps. If she had liked, she could thunder through the room. She could give him her known scowl and turn away. She could even leave with less than a whisper. Everything is imaginable, when they have went through all imaginable. As a little girl, he heard her weep more than he can count, even from the other side of Maegor’s Holdfast, but she’s no longer that little girl.

She lowers herself to her knees too, and reaches over to embrace him, guiding his head to occupy the crook of her neck. The stone floor is firm, but he feels himself sinking into her. His breaths grow wavering again.

“I’m sorry,” it finally comes out, those words and the tears, and the honest, brutal truth. “It won’t leave me,” he says. “That memory, my mother—” he stops himself, shutting his eyes hard.

It aches so deeply, and it tears him apart, him of the past and him of the future. In this present, this very moment, he doesn’t even know who he is at all. Doesn’t know how to talk, or explain, or do a thing but freeze in time, so afraid of fire.

Jaehaera holds him tighter. Her fingers move soothingly through the nearby white of his hair, when she finally allows herself to speak. “Do you remember the first time you held me?” she asks him. 

He swallows. He remembers, yes. One would expect it to be their first night, but it wasn’t. His first hold of her had been a full year prior, when she had been reduced to tears at a feast. Nothing of his machinations, but of his regents. Their planning, however, had not taken into account that that day had been the anniversary of his aunt Helaena’s death. Or perhaps they had, and only wished to overwrite the day’s meaning. 

Aegon hadn’t realized. Jaehaera had barely spoken a pip to him back then. But then she broke down in tears in the middle of the feast, and although he had been apt to ignore her from their distant rooms, he couldn’t quite ignore it then when The Queen fled the room, and everyone simply stood and watched.

None of his regents could hold him in his place, for the very principle he refuses to ever be reduced to a spectator by ‘loyal’ men. 

And so he went after her — and they were ever so clear with how she looked down the moat, and mumbled about ‘mum’. He had been there when her mother died; it connected quickly. There were no words he could dare speak. No matter how averse to touch he had been, his only way to answer her had been his arms coming around her, and letting her sob within them.

He assumed it would be a futile effort, as holding the hands of those who slowly passed from Winter Fever had been… but she cried until she fell asleep, until he had already been lulled by the night himself, and they both woke up the morning after to the sun’ touching them with only soft rays.

“I know what plagues you, as you know what plagues me,” Jaehaera tells him. “You held me when I cried for my kin and the past. You needed no explanation or clause to console me. I won’t ask it of you either,” she says. “‘It is enough reason to hold you, knowing you need to be held.”

Aegon gathers her in his arms, some will of strength returning to them. 

He can ask her to never leave his side. He can plead with her, that they have to make this home safe, to remain safe, the two of them. He can leave her with no choice but to agree, even if she is doubtful. He can — but he doesn’t think he has to. She knows, and he has reached a place where his belief in it, his own yes, is not laced with doubt.

Aegon closes his eyes, and lets himself weep until sleep overtakes him. Within his drowsiness, as his last tear falls, he can see his mother at the back of his mind, offering him a soft smile. The morning sun will wake him again, but there will be no scorching no more. His last light’s tight embrace assures it too.

[oleander-nin]

A Willful Soul

A/N, not important: Sorry it's so short, these are a bit harder to do. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

Tw: kidnapping, manipulation, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 876

Summary: The yandere ROTTMNT boys find out you're not as scared of them as you should be

Mikey:

When he first starts showing his more obsessive side, he’s slow. He doesn’t want to scare you off. But the moment he realizes you’re completely into it? He loses all self control and goes straight for it.

Is constantly near you, doing things for you, and trying to be as sweet as possible. He isn’t as worried about trying to hide his obsessive tendencies. He wants you to be showered in all the love he can give.

Is more lenient. Instead of being locked in his room, you have full reign of the lair. Instead of being chained to him at night, he just throws an arm over your waist and holds you tight and calls it good. He trusts you. He loves you more than anything.

He’s constantly painting you, cooking for you, and complimenting you. You’re his world, and once he realizes how unbothered you are, he starts getting much worse. He’d keep you close and make sure you knew how much he loves you, and drills it into you how you can never leave him. You were both meant to be.

As the days go by, he starts to fall further and further into his delusion. He gets more clingy and obsessed as the days go on, and you completely feed into his insanity.

He’ll keep you close, never wanting to leave your side. After all, you love him just as much as he loves you. Right?

Donnie:

He’s skeptical at first. He’s very aware his possessiveness and controlling nature is not only off-putting, but down right scary. He thinks you’re trying to play him the fool and trick him into letting you escape. And he swears he won’t fall for it.

That’s not to say he doesn’t take full advantage of your willingness. Whether it’s by giving you multiple trackers, or by completely reprogramming your phone to let him do what he wants, he’ll do it.

He keeps you even closer than he does normally, his overthinking making him convinced this is all an act. It takes a long time for him to finally warm up to the idea of you being genuine. Once he does though? He’s over the moon.

He subconsciously pushes your boundaries, toeing the line of how much you’ll allow, and seeing how badly you’d react if he does cross it. It’s less out of malice and more of him trying to get a gauge on how far he can go.

Is very pleased with the circumstances. He barely has to do any explaining before you’re already on board with whatever he wants. It makes him feel good, knowing how much you love him. He’d do everything for you.

But if it ever does end up being a trick? You’re never seeing the light of day again.

Raph:

He’s overwhelmed with joy once he realizes how easy you’re being. There’s no fighting, no yelling, no anything. Just complete willingness to be with him. And he didn’t even have to break you! How lucky is he!

Clings onto you. You’re constantly in his arms. He’ll carry you around the lair, not wanting to put you down. You love him, you deserve to be carried and have everything done for you.

Still majorly babies you. He’s paranoid you’ll hurt yourself. You trusted him so easily, and while obviously you would he’s not doing anything wrong, he’s still nervous you’d do the same with someone else.

Doesn’t let anyone near you due to this. He’ll intimidate and fight anyone who tries. You’re his, and he’s never letting you go.

He likes that he didn’t have to work at making you trust him. You’ll do anything he asks, and he adores it. He doesn’t have to do anything and you’re already completely on board.

It usually ends up with him completely coddling you, not letting you have a say in much. He knows what’s best for you after all, just trust him.

Leo:

Is elated once he realizes. He’s smug, pulling you close and bragging to everyone that even you know he’s in the right. A small part of his mind knows you might be lying, but he’s confident he can change your mind before you try anything.

The moment he figured out you weren’t fighting him, he kidnaps you. You’re obviously just as in love with him as he is with you, so why wait? He’ll just whisk you away now and keep you safe, loving you all the more.

He’s always by your side, pouting every time you look away. You agreed to be his, so act like it. He doesn’t like it when you don’t give him attention.

He shows off a lot to you, trying to prove his love and keep you close. He’s a bit paranoid you might change your mind and start resisting his love.

Is even more hesitant to hurt you if you mess up. He knows you’re not trying to escape or anything, and he doesn’t want to scare you off. His punishments will be much leaner, not wanting to make you upset. He apologizes and loves on you for hours after, trying to convince you to still love him. He never wants you to leave him, and he’d do anything to keep you.

[crow-aeris]

Part 3 of the au my brain worms gave me 😔

Part 1, 2, 4

=====

"I keep forgetting about you being a literal trash rat," Jason scoffs, poking at the single pitiful skillet at sat innocently in the giant pantry. He sighs, taking it out, rinsing it, before setting it on the stove.

"Shut up," Tim sighed, pressing his face into the countertop, "You're such an asshole."

"Language, birdy," Jason scoffed, grimacing as he looked through the fridge, "Is there nothing organic in here? You're supposed to be rich, Tim!"

"It's too much work!" his brother complained, "I can't bother with cooking when there are Batmen and Robins to stalk!"

Jason deadpanned, turning over to pin Tim with an unimpressed stare, "Really, kid?"

He shrugs, "You called me a stalker, Jay, I'm just leaning into it! Also, do you want to deal with Dick or Damian next?"

Jason scoffed, "You're the genius, figure it out."

"You lie to Batman once!"

"Oh shut up," Jason rolled his eyes before deciding to make scrambled eggs, because those were the only thing in the entire fridge that were even slightly healthy. Everything else was either frozen meals, exotic fruit juice, and even more frozen meals. God the amount of salt here is atrocious, "We both know you've lied to all of us at least three times."

It was very telling when Tim didn't respond.

"Alright, you make the plans, I make the eggs, and I'll veto anything that sounds utterly batshit insane."

"Do you want to call your mom first?" Tim offered, "She's probably worried sick."

Jason turned, his expression pinching as guilt churned in his chest... He... He doesn't know if he should. He knows she'll die, that someday she'll overdose and leave behind a shaking, trembling, wide-eyed and fearful son, but- but he doesn't think he could deal with it again. Sure, she's his mom, but he- he doesn't know her, this version of her, at least.

"It's okay if you don't-"

"Shut up," he hissed, shocking himself at how strangled and strained his voice sounded, "I- I don't know if I can."

And Tim, with an infuriatingly patient expression, nods.

Jason sucks in a breath through his teeth. He came to peace with her death all those years ago, the faint memory of his previous life overlapping with this reality's.

But... he still owes it to her...

"...Do you want to come with me?" Jason asks after a few seconds of silence.

"Yeah," Tim responds, "Let me go grab some money, and we can buy something instead."

Jason nods shortly before shoving the skillet back into the pantry before going to wait by the door.

A few moments later, the pair of boys sat side by side on the back of the bus. They made have been at each other's throat all those years ago, but now- god help those who ever try to sever them.

As the bus slowed to a stop, the pair wordlessly stood in tandem and strode off the bus. Years of carefully ingrained memory allowing the pair to work together like a well-oiled machine.

"What are you kids doing out here?" a strange man drawls, striding forward to stand in front of the two.

Jason tensed, shifting forward to place himself between Tim and the strange man, "It's none of your business."

"Don't be like that," the man continues, stepping forward with hungry eyes trawling down Jason's face, "are you two brothers?"

Tim's hand pressed against his shoulder, and Jason relaxed to allow Tim to work his stalker magic.

"Yes, we are!" Tim chirped brightly, his currently tone at complete odds with Tim half an hour ago, "I'm so sorry about my brother's attitude. He didn't get enough sleep last night, you see, so he's just a little grumpy."

"I can speak for myself, Al," Jason huffed, feeling acutely aware of the eyes pinning against his skin.

The man looked interested. It was all Jason could do to keep himself from lashing out at the man for his predatory gaze, "What's your name, kid?"

"I'm Alvin John," Tim says brightly, nudging Jason's side with a careful look, "What's your name?"

"How about your brother first?"

"...Thomas," Jason huffed.

"Why are you two out here all alone? Where are your parents?"

"We were out on a walk," Tim nods, "Don't worry, we're safe! Our mom is expecting us, so we should really be on our way."

"You still haven't told us your name," he interrupts.

"Bright kid! You'd be great if you smiled more," and Tim's hand tightening around his arm was the only thing keeping him from brandishing his pocket knife and pulling a Damian, "my name is Derick Gleisner."

"It was nice meeting you, Mister Gleisner," Tim smiles, "I hope you have a good day!"

"You too, kid."

Jason allows Tim to lead them into the crowd. The pair losing the eyes against their back before heading toward Jason's child hood home.

"Robert Shawn," Tim hisses, barely loud enough for Jason to hear, "arrested on account of human and drug trafficking. Batman will find him six days from now and turn him in to the GCPD."

"You want to use him?" Jason replied tightly.

Tim, to Jason's chagrin, nods, "It's the fastest way, short of breaking into the manor, which would just raise their suspicions. If you want to do this another way, I don't mind."

"You already have plans in place, don't you?" Jason groaned, swatting at Tim's arm with a tired sigh. Tim gives him a side-long look, and Jason's question was promptly answered.

They reached the house a minute later, and Jason pushes open the door with his spare key.

"Mom, I'm home!" he calls, freezing as he received no response, "...Mom?"

Tim freezes suspiciously beside him before cursing under his breath, "Jason!"

"What?" he snaps.

"You were here last time, right?" Tim says softly, "You were home."

Jason nods jerkily, dread pooling in his chest as he sees Tim's expression pinch in worry.

He tears away, the carpet bunching under his feet as he scrambles toward the kitchen.

"MOM?" he calls. She wasn't in the kitchen. Maybe her room? "MOM! MOM, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Jason shoves open the door, scrambling at the doorknob in his haste. He bursts in only to see Catherine slumped over on the floor.

This- this wasn't supposed to fucking happen yet! What the FUCK.

He screamed. His knees aching as he lunged forward to grapple with his mom's body. Her skin cold and limbs stiff- his mom- his mom.

Shit- what- this wasn't supposed to happen yet! It- it was august, she wasn't supposed to die until february. God DAMNIT.

"I've called the ambulance," Tim says from the doorway, "Jay..."

"Shut UP. SHUT. UP," Jason screams, shoving his forehead against chilled cold skin as hot tears burned against his eyes, "Mom...This- this wasn't supposed to happen yet! Tim- what- why?"

"It's... it's most likely because of the disparities between timelines," his brother says, somehow making his technical blabber sound fucking sympathetic, "i think in this timeline, since you weren’t here to stop whatever from happening…”

“…Fuck,” he hisses, flinching slightly as he hears sirens wail in the distance.

“Do you need some time alone?” Tim asks hesitantly.

Jason grits his teeth. He- he doesn’t want to leave her alone- but, but damnit, Tim. Knowing the stupid little fucker would skitter off and do something so utterlyfucking effective yet idiotic. He sucks in a breath, “Just- just give me a sec, kid. I- i need to say goodbye…”

“Okay. Take your time…”

-----

Part 1, 2, 4

and the directory

[comedicjustice]

It’s Kinger’s Fault.

…

Twenty five. Twenty five percent of all marriages end in a divorce due to domestic abuse.

Thirty four of people in domestic abuse relationships end up dying because of it.

Now, don’t take this as me saying Kinger is physically abusive. All of the episodes thus far show that he isn’t a very physical person. Besides that one part when he had a gun- but that’s unimportant right now. Kinger never laid a hand on Queenie unless it was to embrace her in her final moments. He was a good man… but I have reason to believe he was a horrible husband.

‼️SPOILERS FOR TADC EPISODE THREE‼️

‼️YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED‼️

Episode three gave us a lot in terms of character growth for both Zooble and Kinger. While I love a good B plot that’s bound to play in edits with Will Wood songs, I want to focus on the star of this episode.. Kinger.

Kinger is a sweet guy. A little confused due to him slowly loosing his memory, but he plays an important role. He’s a good guy and always has the best intentions for others. Often comforting them when they’re feeling down. As seen with Ragatha in episode two! When Kinger had the bucket over his head and was able to revert back to himself, he found the words needed to comfort Ragatha. Then it’s shown he does the same again in episode three, where he holds and reassures Pomni. Opening up his own troubles to her.

What a sweet guy!! Telling her all this things like-

“You’re very strong, Pomni.”

“Things will be okay.”

“The worst thing you can do is make someone feel like they’re not loved or wanted-”

I’m sorry.. WHAT?! That usually isn’t something you say to someone while retelling your own story and comforting the one they’re currently living. Not unless it’s something you have direct experience with. Let’s go over the facts.

As explained by Ragatha in the pilot: “when you reach your breaking point, something really terrible can happen.” That terrible thing being abstraction.

Kinger and Queenie fell in love and married in the circus.

Kinger can’t remember the string of events leading up to Queenie’s abstraction.

Now how do any of these points tie into one another? I am so happy you didn’t ask! Most may be wondering how exactly Kinger and Queenie fell in love and “married” in the circus. Well, we know that those in the circus remember next to nothing about their personal lives including their names (Besides slight references to things outside their world every once in a while for a good laugh). So it’s unlikely that they entered the circus together as a couple, but rather fell in love and used each other as a rock to combat the insanity. Queenie went into the circus remembering her love for bugs like how Gange remembered her love for body pillows. Both Kinger and Ragatha remember their disliking/fear of bugs. Despite this, Queenie was able to help Kinger overcome his distaste.

Plus, it just made sense for them to get together. They were both apart of the same set.

Now as for Kinger not remembering the events that lead to her abstraction? That part is especially important. Now it’s common for those who harm others to claim they don’t remember anything. I don’t think that’s the case with Kinger. I believe it was more of a disassociation, which is also incredibly common in these kinds of situations. People tend to disassociate as a coping mechanism to the own harm they’re causing. Their brain is unable to handle the stress they’re releasing which leads them to completely placing the memory somewhere out of reach. Thus allowing the person to continue living their daily life.

Symptoms of disassociation actually overlap with amnesia. In which case a person is left with gaps in their memory and cannot recall certain events unless coping mechanisms or creative therapies take place. Kind of like how Kinger surrounds himself in darkness. Don’t you think?

Of course, this all only leads up to my biggest fact.. which is what Ragatha said to Pomni: “when you reach your breaking point, something really terrible can happen.”

And what Kinger said to Pomni: “The worst thing you can do is make someone feel like they’re not loved or wanted.”

As I said before, it is highly likely- might even be a fact that Kinger and Queenie fell in love and married in the circus. Used each other as a rock. From how Kinger described Queenie, she was quite the woman to experience love with. Kinger, however, was her everything. (I’m sure she was everything to Kinger as well, but you don’t realize that sort of thing until it’s too late).

When your everything makes you feel so unwanted.. so unloved.. you begin to spiral. Your purpose of making sure they’re safe and happy has ultimately failed and you become nothing. Kinger obviously did or said something that made someone as brilliant as Queenie feel worthless. Something that made her spiral and become abstracted. We will never know what exactly was done because he can’t remember.

We know he’s trying to make up for it though. His current relationship with the other members proves he’s trying to do better and make them feel wanted. Give them the warmth he couldn’t provide to his own wife. But you cannot undo your mistakes like a messed up code- which he has a collage degree in! Kinger is becoming a better person and is slowly on a path of redemption. Improving himself from a version of him we never got to see and very likely never will.

Kinger and Queenie were doomed from the start. They may have been apart of the same set, but being on opposing teams meant that one had to take the other.

And someone lost their queen…

BUT HEY!! This is basically all speculation and technically a theory. Or the ramblings of a crazy person who once got their hand stuck in the door handle of a fridge. You can decide whether to cry or roll your eyes and scroll. Hope you all had fun reading- BYEEEEEEEE!!!

[back2bluesidex]

Soju Bomb - JHS (18+)

Pairing: Neighbor!Hoseok X Neighbor Fem!Reader

Theme: SMUT, PWP, Neighbors au, f2l au, non-idol au, MDNI

Summary: Hoseok doesn't like soju usually, but he discovers he likes the taste when the drink is spilled on your body.

Wordcount: 2021

Warnings: Explicit sex, unprotected sex (act smart), Hoseok is kinky, reader is impatient, sex on the couch, mentions of military basecamp.

P.S: Soju Bomb is actually a cocktail containing soju and beer. but here in this fic, the word refers something else.

Minors and Karens are not allowed in this blog.

“You sure you don’t want some soju?” you wiggle the bottle in your grip towards Hoseok, asking your friend the question. 

“100% sure. I don’t vibe with the taste.” Hoseok makes a sound of disgust as he sits down with his bottle of overpriced whiskey. 

“Hoseok? Are you sure you’re Korean?” you fake a face of shock only to be hit by a thrown cushion. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Y/N” Hoseok says, pouring himself a drink as you do the same. 

Hoseok is looking extra hot tonight. You wonder what kind of food and air he has been consuming in the military basecamp. His chest is firmer, shoulders wider, skin glows as if he is under strict skincare routine, thighs taut and toned and that short dark hair makes your knees weak. 

You are insanely attracted to your friend slash neighbor and as far as you understand Hoseok, the feelings of attraction are mutual, otherwise why would he spend the last night of his holiday drinking with you? The thought brings a smile to your face but you are quick to shove it down. You know now is not the time, you should wait for his discharge to finally ask him out.

You raise your shot glass to your mouth, place your lips on the rim and are about to take the first sip of the night but Hoseok decides to speak up, “There is this medical staff in our base camp. She asked me out last week.” 

His words pierce their way through your ears and cause a shock wave. You cough out the soju and spill the remains of the glass all over yourself. The delicious burn of the drink is shadowed by the burn that you are currently feeling somewhere in your heart. 

“Fuck hoseok! Did you have to- ugh!” you whine, trying to wipe your face, “what did you say? Are you going out with her then?” 

Hoseok has been trying to keep his sanity intact since the moment you walked into his apartment. However, his eyes keep on wandering all over your body, especially when that thin material of your tshirt and those obscenely short sleeping shorts are doing a very poor job in hiding your alluring body from his hawk-like eyes. 

But the scene that he is witnessing right now.. Is something different. Your pupils are blown out due to shock, your jaw, throat and collarbone are wet because of the spilled drink and your t-shirt has become a little bit transparent due to the wetness. 

He licks his lip completely forgetting about the question you have thrown at him. 

“Hoseok, I asked you something?” you whine again. 

Hoseok stops racking his eyes through your body and sits straight, “Huh? Ah- sorry. No… I said no.” 

Your muscles relax at his answer. “Oh okay.” You mutter softly. 

“Let me get you cleaned.” Hoseok stands up from his side of the couch and walks towards you. 

“No, I can-” you open your mouth but 

“Let me clean you up, Y/N'' Hoseok interrupts you, settling down on his knees right in front of you. 

Before Hoseok can understand what he is doing, he finds his mouth being latched to your jawbone, already sucking in the remnants of soju. 

You are at a loss of words. Trying to contemplate Hoseok’s choice of actions brings you only failure, especially when Hoseok is on his knees right in front of you, his mouth is attached to your throat and he is licking the soju off of your skin. 

You sigh in containment and he takes that as a sign of affirmation to keep going. 

One of his hands cradles the side of your face as another one wraps tightly around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His mouth descends further and reaches to the juncture of your throat and shoulder. He nips at your skin and you moan softly. 

Your hands find their way through his short dark hair, tugging and pulling those as if your life depends on it. Hoseok’s mouth knows what exactly to do, he surprisingly finds the spot that gets you all weak and bites down at it softly. You feel hotness pooling through your hole already. 

Hoseok ain’t doing any better. The soft whines and moans that you are making and the way he can feel your nipples pebbling against his chest, makes his shorts tighter with each passing second. 

He rapidly licks up every single drop of soju that you spilled on your body. His tongue glides through your skin making you feel dizzy. 

Hoseok tugs at the end of your tshirt, “should I clean you up more intimately?” His voice is sultry, a few octaves lower than his usual jovial voice. Your skin is sticky as hell and you don’t know how to reject his offer. So you choose the next best option. You pull your tshirt up and slip out of it. Hoseok’s eyes descend from your face to your exposed bare chest as his hand reaches out to fondle with your tits. 

Standing up from his knees, he pushes your body down on the couch. Then he climbs on top of you. He places each of his knees on either side of your body and hooks his fingers on the waistband of your shorts. 

“May I?” Hoseok is nice enough to ask for your permission but you are nothing less than a horny desperate bitch wanting to be fucked out of senses by your hot neighbour. So you nod your head frantically. Hoseok chuckles and murmurs, “cute” before tugging down your shorts and discarding that somewhere on the floor. 

Then he does something unexpected and, well, very kinky. 

Hoseok reaches for the bottle of soju and hooks two of his fingers on the mouth of it. Titling it towards your almost naked body, he shakes it with a mild pace. A decent amount of soju leaks through the gap of his fingers and spills all over your body, wetting you even more than before. 

Your jaw drops open. You find words to collect and finally say something but you fail when you perceive Hoseok’s eyes going darker staring at your naked, wet body all ready for him. 

“Fuck.” he curses, “never knew I would be this desperate to taste soju ever in my life.” he mutters while undressing himself leaving only the boxers. His tshirt goes flying in the air to keep your clothes company.  

Before you can admire his sculpted body, he dives down. 

His hands find yours as he clutches your wrists and pin those above your head. His mouth reaches for your lips to share the very first kiss of you two. It starts off as soft and sweet but quickly elevates into rough and passionate. You taste whisky and urgency on him. 

Licking the seam of his lips, you ask for entrance, which he gives you willingly. 

Finally, Finally you are getting to taste Jung Hoseok and he definitely tastes better than your imagination. 

Hoseok has been fantasizing you for years but never has he ever thought he will get you like this, all wet, naked and spread out on his couch like this. Now that his dirty dreams have become real, he can’t help himself but taste every inch of your skin. 

His mouth leaves your lips and starts dropping down your throat. He sticks his tongue out and licks the drops of soju eagerly. 

“Umm.. soju tastes good when it’s on you.” he hums in containment. You moan his name out. His next destination is your tits. He holds both of your wrists with his one hand and brings the other one down to grab one of your tits, while his mouth takes your other nipple inside of it. 

He gives your nipple a few small sucks, blows on it and then starts sucking on it hard. The wet sloshing sound that his mouth makes, causes you to whine and moan loudly enough.  

Hoseok rolls and plays with the other nipple and forces your eyes to shut down with all the ministrations. 

It’s been so long since you have felt this good in anyone’s hands. Or maybe it’s just that Hoseok really knows his way with women. 

His tongue glides further down your body and starts lapping up the drink from your stomach. In a moment he is placing the fat of his tongue flat on your stomach and in the next moment his pretty lips are pouting and he is vacuuming the wetness from your skin, either way, Hoseok is ruining you very very badly.   

His mouth reaches to your clothed mound and he asks again, “may I?” 

“Yes. fuck yes.” You shout out. 

He soon leaves your wrists alone and uses his hands to tug down your underwear. He regards your slick folds with his darkened eyes for a moment and then he mumbles, “This cunt. Thoughts of this cunt kept me up night after night. And it’s still better than what I imagined.” 

“You imagined my cunt?” you ask, smirking up at him.

“You have no idea, doll.” he smirks. 

The nickname causes your cheek to turn pink but you don’t have time to dwell upon that when Hoseok is stripping himself off and standing naked in front of your eyes. 

The size and girth of his cock makes makes you wonder if he is going to fit inside you or not. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll stretch you out.” hoseok replies as if reading your thoughts. 

“No. No need. I need you inside me. Right now.” you breathe out. 

“You sure? You can take me?” he makes sure you are not taking his cock lightly.

“Yes. Now please quit waiting and fuck me.” you whine. 

Hoseok chuckles at you, “so impatient”. He then climbs on his previous position and lines his cock right on your entrance. 

One of his hands holds you down by your waist while the other one reaches for your clit, and starts drawing small circles on it. 

“So wet. All for me, Doll?” His husky, lust dripping voice makes you shiver.

“Yes. Hoseok. All for you.” you reply. 

“Love it when you call my name like that.” he briefly mutters before pushing his shaft inside you. 

You suck him in like your cunt was made to accommodate his cock, and Hoseok can’t wait to drill you down already. 

“Fuck, Hoseok” you curse his name as your eyes start rolling back due to the pleasure mixed pain you feel. 

“Yes, doll. Gonna fuck you so good.” He rolls his hip in order to produce the first thrust. 

You moan some incoherent words as Hoseok starts moving rhythmically. The friction of his cock on your wall is so unbelievably good that you feel like you can cum already. But then Hoseok starts stimulating your clit again and pushes you on the edge. 

“I- I won’t s- stay long if you keep doing this.” You manage to voice somehow. 

“Cum then. Cum on my cock.” Hoseok says, keeping an eye contact with you. 

But you don’t. It’s your first time with him and you want to finish together, also, you are not quite there yet. 

However, you probably spoke (or thought) too soon because Hoseok starts taking up a faster pace. His hips move relentlessly and slams his dick inside you harder and harder. 

With his fingers still abusing your clit, you start squeezing him. 

“Fuck, Y/N”  Hoseok groans. And with one more thrust, you are cumming. 

“Oh my god! Fuck!” you pant heavily. 

Hoseok follows right behind. He cums inside you, filling you with his seed to the brim. 

Falling on top of your body, he snuggles his nose in your neck. A sigh of containment releases from his mouth as he takes in your natural phenomenons. 

You wrap your hands around his body to keep him close.

“So.. why did you reject that medical staff?” You place your playful question. 

“Because.. I have a soju bomb that I have a huge stupid crush on.” Both of you giggle laying there naked in each other’s warmth.   

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @soraviie @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel

[milkytheholy1]

Day 4: Kunoichi

You had been training for so long, perfecting every movement, every swing of your fist, every high kick. Months had passed with you still not being allowed out on a mission, it was beginning to drive you insane and the others had started to notice.

You could use the bo staff as strategically as Donnie and throw a si through the air with power like Raph. Skirting nunchucks around your body almost became second nature to you just like Mikey, and as for your preferred weapon, the Katana, you were considered by Casey to be nearly a master.

And yet the new sensei in town, Leonardo, wouldn't let you step a foot out of the sewer if it didn't mean he couldn't be there to protect you. It drove you to aggravation, knowing you were good enough but not getting a chance to prove it.

That was until one night.

"Leo, we can't keep doing this! We're outnumbered, and it pains me to say this, but we're outmatched. We need help!" Raph shouted, bursting through the lair's entrance with an injured Mikey. Leo and Donnie immediately bolted to the two brothers while you stayed behind and surveyed the scene. Donnie's eyes were frantic as he checked over Mikey's battered and bruised body, "W-what happened?"

"The Foot, that's what happened. We did the patrol like YOU said-" he turned his head to Leo, who at this point was looking very guilty, "-And they sprang on us from nowhere, it's like they'd been watching us for hours or somethin'."

"You didn't know you were being followed?" Leo questioned, no concern in his tone. A gruff hum bled through Raph's lips, his expression souring at his so-called brother's apathy. Relinquishing his hold on Mikey to the medic on the team, Raph was quick to find his way to Leonardo.

"I was busy, besides, it's your fault for telling us to split up!" he jabbed his finger into Leo's chest. Leo opened his mouth to respond but a lighter, more feminine voice came out instead, "Alright you two, enough." Two blank expressions turned to you.

"Raph, were you followed to the lair?" You asked calmly, he nodded his head 'yes', "I took a different route, but those dipsticks ain't stupid, they'll find the lair."

You hummed "Then the only option we have is to fight them, let's make sure they don't leave this place, no one can report back to Shredder." Leo immediately objected, "We? What we? There is no we? You are going home and we'll be dealing with this."

"But I'm ready, I'm never gonna become a real Kunoichi if I don't fight an opponent that isn't my sensei. Leo, I'm not fragile, I can handle i-"

"Enough! I gave you an order, as your sensei and as your friend!" His eyes were stern, he had never been so sure of a decision in his life. You fought back the urge to cry, not out of sadness but out of anger. Who the hell is he to tell you that you're not ready, that you can't fight like the big boys? Like hell you were just gonna head home and wait by your phone for a message to say: We're okay, maybe dying, jk lol. See you tomorrow.

Walking up to the turtle in blue, you stared into his ever-heroic eyes with a fire in your heart, "I'm staying and there's nothing you can do to stop me, and I'm telling you that as your pupil and your friend. Trust me, Leonardo. Trust me like how I trust you."

He was awestruck, completely at a loss for words, even Raph had noticed his lack of response and smirked. Stuttering for a moment, Leo finally came back to his reality, "O-ok."

You waited for what felt like years, an eternity even. But it was all worth it. After that day everything changed, you completely decimated the invading Foot, showing to Leo once and for all that you could handle yourself. He slowly started letting you on more and more missions, so many that now you go out on your own.

"I'm sorry I was such an ass back then," he later whispered to you, it was a few years later but was still happily accepted nevertheless. You had spent an evening under the stars, crime-free for the night and up for a chat with your best friend.

"It's okay, I'm just happy I proved you wrong." You beamed, jabbing him in his arm. He chuckled, his mask creasing around his eyes, "Yeah..." he hummed out, voice trailing off, "You really did prove me wrong."

"Don't say it like it was impossible to do!" you cried out, Leo burst out laughing, "I didn't say that-"

"You implied it!" you jumped to your feet, pretending to be very offended by this revelation. Making a show of it, Leo promptly begged for your forgiveness, "What will it take to make it up to you?" he pleaded. You rubbed your chin in deep thought, a crooked smile presenting itself on your lips, "Say I'm the best Kunoichi that has ever existed."

Leo sighed, a small smile hidden behind his facade, "You-" he started, resting on his knees and taking your hands into his, "-Are the best Kunoichi that has ever-" the moonlight danced shadows around his face, "-Existed."

[ghost-in-the-hall]

The Confessional (Falk Maria Schlegel x Fem! Reader SMUT)

Hello! This was not part of my plan at all! So... Surprise! I was tagged in this wonderful comic by a few of you (OP your art is amazing, I'm still giggling and kicking my feet over it, if you would like me to remove the tag for your comic please let me know ❤️). If I wasn't insane about Falk before, I am now. I haven't written smut in a while, I'm a little rusty, so, please bare with me. If you would like to be added to my tag list please let me know, enjoy!

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MDNI, 18+ CONTENT, age gap (reader is in her mid 20's, Falk is in his late 40's), misuse of religious ceremonies and general sacreligious theming, mutual pining, Falk being kind of a pervert, solo masturbation, Falk just really likes reader in dresses, slight power imbalance dynamic, priest kink, oral (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering, praise kink, heavy use of 'good girl', soft dom! Falk, reader refers to Falk as 'Father' and 'sir' a few times throughout, submissive reader, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks), slight breeding kink maybe?, creampie, lots of aftercare, general fluff as to be expected from me cause I am the softest of bitches

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link! ~ Tip Jar!

“Good afternoon, Father.” You groan slightly as your friend jabs her elbow harshly into your ribs. Your eyes snapping up as Father Falk steps up to the side of your table. He greets each of the siblings you are sitting with by name, his kind smile widening slightly as his attention turns to you. He holds your gaze momentarily before quickly snapping himself from his thoughts. He stood and talked with your group for a little while, asking how everyone's studies were going and cracking a few jokes. Every so often, he would single you out specifically, softly stating your name in a way that made your heart pound in your chest.

“It was wonderful seeing all of you. Don't be afraid to stop by and chat sometime if you'd like.” He smiles as he gets ready to head off. Your cheeks grow warm as you catch him looking you over one last time before leaving.

“He so has a thing for you.” One of them pipes up immediately after he's out of earshot.

“Will you shut up? He does not.” You respond immediately with a groan.

“I'm sorry, did we not all just see him check you out?” There was a collective murmur of agreement amongst your group. “You've had a crush on Falk for forever, and he clearly likes you. You should tell him!”

“I'll think about it, okay?” You snap back just to get them to drop it. “I have to go; I’m on chapel duty tonight.”

“Well, that gives you plenty of time to think then, doesn’t it?” She jokes. You roll your eyes, saying your goodbyes before heading off to complete your nightly chores.

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Falk sighs as he enters his office, falling back against the door as he shuts it behind him. The sight of your flustered expression still burning in the forefront of his mind brought a smile to his face. He shook his head, unwilling to entertain the thought at the moment. There was still work to be done; he couldn't allow himself to get distracted. He removes his formal vestments, washing off his ceremonial paints before sitting at his desk. He leans back in his chair, staring out the open window as his mind wanders. Falk has had his eye on you for a while, always trying to keep a respectful distance. But, to put things simply, he found you too captivating to resist for long. He noticed all of your coy smiles and bashful glances, your lips always so pretty and perfectly glossed. Part of him wondered how that gloss would look as it smeared over– Falk shook his head, clearing his throat as he shut down the thought. Part of him felt guilty having such sinful thoughts about you. You were a kind, respectable young woman. Yet, he always ends up back at the same place, his hips stuttering as he ruts into his palm, your name shamelessly falling from his lips, sweat coating his brow as he imagines how his fingers would sink into your pillowy hips. He curses as he finishes, his head tipping back as he struggles to catch his breath. He cleaned himself up, taking one last look at the paperwork on his desk and deciding it wasn't worth the trouble; he wouldn't be able to focus on it right now if he tried. He headed toward the chapel; he had to set up for mass in the morning anyway. The physical movement would be a nice break from the monotony of signing forms and a welcome distraction from his racing thoughts.

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You sat on your knees inside the confessional, tracing small circles over old leather seats with a polishing cloth. You always dedicated the utmost care to the chapel whenever it was your daily task. You would be here a lot later than most of the other Siblings, taking time to care for the woodwork and the other less prominent cleaning areas that still needed some love. You heard the door open, figuring someone was coming in for late afternoon prayer. “Schwester, you’re here late.” You froze at the sound of Father Falk’s voice behind you.

“I could say the same for you, Father.” You glance at him over your shoulder, his tall frame filling the door frame of the confessional. He peers at your work curiously, making you giggle. Falk’s heart raced at the melodic sound. “No one ever remembers to take care of the leather.” He holds out his hand for you to take. Your fingers tremble as they ghost over his, letting him help you up from kneeling on the floor. He smiles as he studies your smaller form, trailing a knuckle along your jaw.

“Always so dedicated.” He coos. “This is why you’re my favorite.” He chuckles at your flustered expression. You take his arm, letting him guide you through the empty chapel. “I need to choose some music for mass in the morning. Would you like to help me decide?”

“Of course.” You smile softly at him, your skin glowing under the kaleidoscope of colors flowing through the stained glass windows. The dark wooden walls made the room feel eerie, the only source of light besides the sun and the sporadic groups of candles still lit from this morning. The altar itself becomes a tomb of darkness, the large brass pipes of the organ shining like teeth from some glorious eldritch monster before you. Falk’s hand slips into yours, noticing your apprehensive expression.

“You look nervous, little maus.” He chuckles.

“The chapel just feels a little different at night, Father, that’s all.” You respond.

“I can assure you,” he turns to face you, bringing your knuckles to his lips, “the only thing that bites in here, Schwester, is me.” He chuckles. You swallow thickly, knowing the statement was supposed to be a joke, but the thought was enough to have heat pooling between your legs. He separates himself from you to prepare his music, leaving your attention to wander around the altar. You couldn’t help but stop and admire the carvings that adorned the mensa. “You can touch it, you know,” he chuckles, watching you study the wood closely with your hands neatly tucked behind your back, “I promise you’re not going to burst into flames or anything.” You shoot him a teasing smile before allowing your fingers to trace over the intricate work.

“It’s gorgeous; I’ve never gotten to look at the carvings up close.” You remark in awe.

“I’m surprised you haven’t,” he slowly strides closer to you, “Father Charles loves to romanticize the old rituals they used to perform.”

“I wonder what it would be like to sit up there.” You state blankly, not expecting a response.

“Would you like to see for yourself?” You nod slowly, waiting to see just what he would do. He stands before you, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. Two warm hands find their way to your waist, his palm curving perfectly to the contours of your hip. You tensed under his touch, your heart pounding in your chest. You're lifted from the floor and set on the edge of the mensa in one swift movement. The wood was cool under your fingertips; Falk couldn't help but study how your plush thighs settled against the dark, nearly black surface. You looked out over the endless rows of pews, imagining what they must look like full of spectators.

“So this is what they saw in their final moments, huh?”

“Final moments?” Falk repeats back under his breath. He chuckles, his hand trailing across your cheek as he brushes some stray hair from your face. “What kind of rituals do you think these were?” He asks softly, a playful smile on his lips.

“Sacrifices?” You respond slowly, shooting him a confused glance. He shakes his head.

“No, Mäuschen, these ritually focused more on…” he trails off, his eyes raking over your much smaller frame in a way that made heat pool in your core. “Pleasure.” He finishes finally. He can't help but smirk as he notices the way you squeeze your thighs together in response to his words. He stands in front of you, placing a hand on either side of your hips, caging you in his arms. You're forced to look up to meet his eyes, warm golden brown irises that almost glow under the low candlelight. “A Sibling would be brought in here for an evening of indulgence, expected to confess their deepest desires so they could be cared for properly. But, of course, that was only experienced if one found themselves to be a favorite of a particular High Clergy member.” His words from earlier ringing in your ears, ‘This is why you're my favorite.’ You swallow thickly, unable to break yourself away from his gaze.

“Why, um,” your voice shook slightly as you spoke, “why did they stop doing these rituals?” Your heart pounded, your skin feeling hot as you desperately tried to ignore the arousal that burned in your core.

“They haven't.” He responds bluntly with a sharp smile. “If I were better prepared, I would offer to demonstrate.” Your grip tightened on the table at his statement; Falk chuckled softly as he decided he'd had enough fun flustering you for the evening. “Come here Mäuschen, we still need to choose that music.” He helps you down from the mensa, his hands lingering on your waist for a little longer than they should have been before you both finish your chores in the chapel for the evening.

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You were finding it impossible to get to sleep. Your mind kept wandering back to your meeting with Falk earlier that night. How he could easily move you around as he wanted, how large and strong he was compared to you, you could still feel the way his hands brushed against your thighs as he easily caged you in at the mensa. You squeeze your thighs together, the throbbing between your legs quickly returning at the thought of him. You hadn't realized until tonight how massive his hands were, still feeling their warmth on your waist. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking about how his hands would feel traveling across your bare skin. You slipped a hand under your shirt, squeezing your eyes shut and letting out a soft groan as you massage your breast, your other hand toying at the waist of your pants. This wasn't the first time you had thought about Falk like this, but who could blame you? From the moment you two had met, he had absolutely captivated you. You had never met someone so sophisticated and mature who treated you with such respect. He was a romantic, handsome, and, if the rumors are true, incredible in bed. You try to stifle a whine as you start to rub slow circles on your clit, your fingers already slick with your arousal. His name tumbled softly from your lips as you chased your rapidly approaching high. Your hips buck into your hand as you carefully slide two fingers inside of yourself. You tried to imagine how deep his long fingers would be able to reach, the thought alone enough to make your eyes roll back in your head. He would treat you so well; you just knew it. Your moans grew louder and more desperate the closer you got to your climax. Your back arches off the bed, his name falling repeatedly from your lips like a prayer as the tightly wound coil inside of you finally snaps. Maybe now you will finally be able to sleep.

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Falk stood frozen outside of your bedroom door. He came down here to apologize for how he had acted earlier, saying something like he had to you was out of line. He should know better. He was just about to knock on your door when he heard your voice moan his name. He stills, knowing he should leave but unable to move from the spot. He doesn't dare even breathe, listening closely to see if he could hear more of your sweet sounds. His mouth grows dry as he listens to your soft whines; he wonders what sounds he might be able to coax out of you. He would love to take his time with you, meticulously toying with every part of you he could get his hands on just to see how you would respond to his touch. His member pressed painfully against the confines of his pants, the throbbing only growing more intense as he listened to your soft sounds grow louder as you approached your climax. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, his whole body rigid as he listens to your gasps and cries; he can hear your bed frame creak in time with the thrusts from your fingers. He had to suppress a growl in his throat at the thought of how much better you would feel if it were him taking care of your needs. His heart leaps into his throat, all the air getting punched out of his lungs as he hears you cry out for him. Your fervent moans bordering on screams as you repeatedly call his name through your peak, a delighted sigh trailing off the end before you fell utterly silent. He hurriedly straightens himself up and heads away from your dorm, not wanting to risk anyone catching a glimpse of the situation. He hurries back to his room, his heart still hammering in his chest as your sweet voice rang in his ears. You were thinking of him through the heights of your pleasure; his face burned as the realization of what he had just done occurred.

Falk sat in bed, thumbing through a novel he had read dozens of times, just looking for a distraction. Getting to sleep proved impossible, his mind always managing to wander back to the sound of your sweet whines. He snaps the book shut, removing his reading glasses and placing them on his nightstand. He massages the bridge of his nose with a soft groan. He turns off his lamp, nestling himself into his pillows before staring at the plain white ceiling. His whole body buzzed with arousal; he lay rigid in bed as he resisted the urge to give in to his temptations. However, with the day he had with you, it was nearly impossible for him to resist. “You perverted old man.” He chuckles, chastising himself. “What would she say if she knew you were thinking about her like this?” He knew he should feel ashamed, but after hearing your needy cries for him, he was sure you wouldn't mind; you may even be flattered that the thought of you alone was enough to get him off. He rests a hand on his bare stomach, fidgeting with the waistband of his fleece pants. In moments like this, he thought of you more often than he would care to admit, but he simply couldn't help himself. The sweet smell of your perfume, the curves of your body, the flirtatious glimmer that always managed to find its way into your eyes, you could bring Falk to his knees without much effort at all. He hissed softly as he finally rubbed his hand over his clothed member, wishing desperately that it could be you taking care of him instead. He took his time, imagining how your body would feel in his hands and what sweet sounds he could coax out of you. His mind wandered back to the sight of you on your knees in front of him in the confessional, the way your pretty sundress rose up to show the plushness of your thighs, making his cock twitch. He slowly pushed his pants down his hips, his erection slapping against his stomach as it was finally freed from its confines. He gives himself a few tentative pumps, groaning at the welcomed friction. All he could think about was how pretty you would look riding him, how your heat would pull him in, how cute and pathetic it would be when your legs finally gave up, your thighs trembling from over-exertion, allowing him to flip you over and fuck you stupid into the mattress. He curses, growling your name as he finishes, his hot release coating his pale skin. The otherwise silent room was filled with the sounds of Falk’s heavy breathing as he came down from his high. Cleaning himself up and settling into bed again, he lay awake, wondering if you were still thinking about him.

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Sitting through Mass the following morning proved to be a nearly impossible task. You couldn’t look at Falk without the thought of him towering over you as you sat on the mensa flashing through your mind. You squeezed your thighs together, silently praying that Mass would end soon so you could find some sort of distraction. Your breath freezes in your lungs when your eyes meet his, “we ask that you please stay for monthly confession. Of course, a simple check-in will suffice as well.” He continues his closing remarks. You wiped your hands on your thighs, your palms suddenly growing clammy. You knew there was no need to confess that you had been having such indecent thoughts, but you could feel the admission resting on the tip of your tongue. Something about being in the confessional made it utterly impossible for you to keep any secrets. You dwelled in your seat for what felt like hours as you watched the rest of your fellow Siblings slip into one of the five confessionals. You had no idea who you would be met with on the other side of that door. By the time you approached the confessional, you were one of the last people left in the chapel. The wooden door creaked as you pulled its heavy circular handle. Slipping inside, it only took a moment before you were plunged into darkness, your eyes slowly adjusting to the booth's low light. Your knees land on the plush pad, your breathing shaky as you trace along the lattice pattern of the screen that separates you from whoever sits on the other side.

“Forgive me, Father,” you suck in a deep breath before continuing, “for I have sexualized an older man.” Your cheeks burn as the admission tumbles from your lips.

The figure on the other side of the screen straightens up, clearing his throat softly. You could feel his eyes on you despite not seeing his face. “Is that so?” Your blood turned to ice in your veins; it took everything you had to not bolt out of the confessional as you realized it was Falk on the other side of that screen. “May I ask who the object of your lustful thoughts may be, Schwester?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. Falk had realized who had stepped into his confessional the moment you began to speak. Your confession itself was enough to send a shiver up his spine; he began to wonder just how much you would be willing to admit to him.

“I have a feeling you already know the answer to that, Father Falk.” You respond boldly, making him chuckle. What a clever little Maus you were.

“Well, I’m truly flattered if that’s the case.” You found yourself smiling, fidgeting with your fingers as your heart began to race. “Although I wish I could have seen how cute you must have looked confessing that Mäuschen.” He grew silent for a moment, debating whether or not he should push his luck and ask what was really on his mind. “How often do you think about me, Schwester?”

“More frequently than I would care to admit, Father.” You lean in close to the screen, and Falk can feel your warm breath against the shell of his ear. “I’m ashamed to say I… I was even thinking about you last night.” The nervous tremor in your voice was just enough to drive Falk insane, a primal hunger growing deep inside of him as he listened to you describe the deepest fantasies about him. Your soft, melodic voice made him ache with need, wanting nothing more than to feel your bare skin under his fingertips, allowing you to give in to every single impure thought you had ever had about him. “I feel terrible; I hope there’s some way I can make it up to you.” You stifle a giggle as he clears his throat, adjusting himself in his seat. Falk’s hands were fisted in his vestments, your words leaving him unable to think straight. Your legs trembled, both due to growing tired from kneeling and from the arousal that was quickly pooling in your core. Falk’s stomach plummeted at the sound of you exiting the confessional. He still couldn’t say what he wanted to tell you even after all that. That thought was quickly swept away at the sight of you slipping through the door on his side of the booth. 

“Well, this is certainly a surprise.” He chuckles, reaching out to take your hand. He runs his thumb soothingly over your knuckles, studying you briefly before tugging you closer. His large hands travel over the curve of your waist and down the outside of your thighs. “What do you plan on doing now, my brave little Maus?”

“What’s my repentance, Father?” You ask with a seductive grin. He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly stretching across his features.

“On your knees, Schwester.” He orders gently. You do as he asks, your eyes never leaving his as you sink to the floor between his legs. “You want to repent, do you?” You nod, hazy eyes fluttering shut as he reaches to cup your cheek. You had done nothing wrong, and Falk could tell from your expression that you knew that. He traces his thumb along your bottom lip, your willingness to let him have complete control over the situation making the urge to claim you as his grows even more significant. He pushes his thumb past your lips, groaning as your tongue glides over the digit. “Such a pretty little thing you are, Maus.” He looks at you hungrily, his free hand working on removing his vestments. He pulls his thumb from your mouth with a pop, taking a moment to undress himself as much as necessary for the task. You hum contently as he rests a hand on the top of your head, your cheek resting on his muscular thigh as Falk takes a moment to just drink in the sight of you. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, hesitantly reaching out to run your hand over his member, which was only separated from your palm by the thin cloth of his boxers. Falk quickly covers his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle the hiss that threatened to escape him at your gentle touch. He didn’t want to come undone before you so easily, but that proved a much more difficult task than he anticipated. He cups your face in his hand, keeping your eyes locked with his as you familiarize yourself with the contours of his body. His erection was hot in your hand; you felt his fingers twitch against your jaw as you traced your finger along one of the thick veins that trailed up from the base of his cock. He curses under his breath, his hips bucking slightly under your hand. You tug at the waistband of his boxers, silently asking permission to remove the only barrier separating you from him. You swallow thickly, your eyes tracing over the tattoos that wound up his arms as he removes the last of his clothing. You slowly peel yourself out of your dress, Falk’s breath hitching at the sight of the lingerie set that perfectly hugged your curves underneath.

“I figured I should make things a little more even.” You remark with a seductive smirk. Falk sits up, reaching behind you to undo the clasps of your bra with ease.

“I definitely won’t complain.” He chuckles, guiding the thin straps from your shoulders, the lacy fabric falling to the floor. He allows himself a glance at your nearly naked form, groaning at the sight of your beautiful body on display for him. His finger trails along your jaw, his lips hanging just out of your reach. “Can I kiss you?” He asks softly.

You can’t help but giggle slightly, “I mean, you’ve practically seen me naked; I don’t think kissing could hurt.” He lets out a chuckle of his own in response.

“You have a point Maus,” he rakes over your features with a hungry expression, “I’m just glad I finally get the chance to taste you.” Falk’s lips crash into yours; you can't help but let out a delighted sigh. Your fingers trembled as your hands ghosted over his skin. He hums against your lips, covering your hand and pressing your palm to his chest. You could feel his heart pounding. He pulls back from you slightly, his lips brushing over yours as he speaks. “You don't have to be nervous, Maus; I'm all yours.” He whispers before pulling you back into another mind-numbing kiss. You smile as you feel his body tense under your touch, your hands slowly trailing down his torso until your fingers bump into his boxers. Your lips leave his, trailing across his jaw. He groans, his hands coming to rest on your waist. He squeezes your hips as you place a kiss on his neck. Your fingers dip into the waist of his boxers, easing them down his hips as your lips trail down his body. Falk couldn't take his eyes off you; you were so captivatingly beautiful that he didn't dare look away. He bites his fist as he tries to stifle a groan as you wrap your hand around the base of him. Anyone could still be in the chapel; anyone could step into the confessional at any time, but the risk of potentially getting caught only made you want each other more desperately. Your eyes never leave his as you wrap your lips around the tip of his member. He squeezes his eyes shut, biting hard into his bottom lip as his head drops back. “Good girl.” He praises you softly, cursing under his breath as you allow more of him to slide over your tongue. You squeezed your legs together, the quiet moans that you effortlessly pulled from him making it impossible for you to ignore the throbbing need that was quickly growing in your core. His skin was hot against your tongue; you wanted to savor every single sound you coaxed out of him, making sure to take things slowly. He cradled the back of your head carefully in his hand, wanting to touch you somehow. You noticed his breathing quicken, the groans tumbling from his lips coming much more frequently than when you had started. “Mäuschen,” he calls softly, “be careful, I’m not finished with you yet.” He chuckles, easing you off of him with a hiss. His head hits the back wall of the confessional with a soft thud as he sits, catching his breath. His thumb soothingly stroked your cheek, eyes finding yours with an expression nothing short of pure adoration.

“I’d like to take you back to my room if that’s alright.” His request hung heavy in the air for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You’re not worried about people seeing us?” You ask. It’s not like it was uncommon for Siblings to be seen slipping into High Clergy members' quarters; if anyone happened to see you, they probably wouldn’t care anyway. But, there was something about his invitation. Falk wasn’t inviting you back to his room for some meaningless one-night stand.

“Why would I be worried? Anyone who sees us is just going to know you’re mine.” He tilts your chin gently with his knuckle, offering you a sharp smile that sends a shiver down your spine. “Stand up, meine hertz.” You do as he says, allowing him to place his hands on your waist to pull you closer. Your breath hitches in your throat as he presses a kiss to your pulse. His fingers ghost over you, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin as he memorizes the curves of your body. Electricity danced across your neck, each kiss making your mind grow cloudier. Your legs threaten to give out underneath you as he sinks his teeth into you. You let out a soft whine, your fingers tangling in his hair as he assaulted your neck. “Beautiful.” He traces around the dark purple mark with his finger.

“I'm hoping there's more where that came from.” You giggle in response. Falk smiles, his fingers massaging your hips as his lips find yours in the quiet intimacy.

“Coming from the woman worried about people seeing us together.” He teases with a chuckle.

“Oh, I was worried about that for your sake.” You can't help but smile as he steals a few chaste kisses, unable to deny himself such a simple pleasure now that he's gotten a taste of it. “But, if you're okay with people knowing about us–”

“Us?” He offers you a devious smirk. “You want there to be an us?” He asks curiously. Your face burned as you realized the confession you let slip out into the darkness.

“I-um,” you stutter, searching desperately for any response but coming up empty-handed.

“A pretty little thing like you interested in an old man like me,” he chuckles, grabbing your chin between his thumb and finger, “it almost sounds too good to be true, Mäuschen.”

“I definitely wouldn't consider you old, Father.” You respond with a soft laugh. Falk smiles, his hand warm against your cheek as he carefully caresses the side of your face. His eyes slowly trail over your features, memorizing how you looked at him; your pupils were blown with lust, yet your gaze held a softness, an admiration, that Falk couldn't miss. He guides your lips back to his, your body immediately melting into his embrace. He shivers as your fingers trail over his chest. He found your hesitancy adorable, enjoying that he knew he would have to control the situation, given your apparent nerves.

“Get dressed,” he mumbles against your lips, “I want to get you out of here. You buzzed with excitement as you righted your clothes, taking a deep breath to steady your pounding heart. You turn when you hear Falk softly call your name, stepping closer to him to allow his hands to slide over the curve of your waist. “Beautiful.” He states softly as his eyes hungrily rake over your body. His large hands wrap around the back of your thighs, steadying you as you lean down to kiss him. He feels goosebumps erupt across your skin as he slowly slides his hands upward, his calloused palms hot against your body as he slides over the curve of your ass. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, carefully guiding them down your legs. “You're not going to be needing these.” He chuckles, stuffing the delicate fabric into his pocket.

“You dirty old man.” You tease him with a smile, sliding your arms over his shoulders.

“Your dirty old man.” He corrects with a smirk and a smile, his hands returning to their task of distractingly running over your thighs. “How about we get out of here, Maus?” He asks in a seductive tone.

“Yes, Father.” You respond with a coy smile, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. Falk chuckles in response, enjoying seeing you relax into such a happy, flirty state. You giggle as Falk hugs you from behind, pulling you flush against him as he leans down to press his lips to your cheek.

“Little minx.” He whispers, reaching past you to open the confessional door. You let out a soft squeak as a gentle smack lands on your ass, prompting you forward and making Falk chuckle. You step into the empty chapel, your heart pounding in your ears loud enough to drown out the soft clacking of your shoes against the tile floor. Falk was by your side instantly, his hand slipping into yours as you were met with the same warm, comforting smile you were used to seeing from him. Being with him puts your nerves at ease; the way he speaks so kindly towards you, how he gently places a hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the way of oncoming people, allowing your mind to swim in all the possibilities of what might be in store for you upon your arrival at Falk’s quarters. His actions let you know he would take good care of you; that fact alone was enough to make your knees weak. His body parted from yours to unlock his door, quickly slipping the heavy wrought iron key into the lock before retaking your hand. He tugs you into the dark entryway—your heart races as you lose sight of him when the door shuts. You're eventually able to make out the faint shape of his silhouette; you freeze as he suddenly closes the distance between you. Your back presses flush against the cool wood, Falk’s lips crashing against yours. He wastes no time picking up where you had left off, his fingers ghosting over your thighs as he gathers the flowy fabric of your dress in his large hands. “Keep this on for now, Mäuschen.” He instructs gently. “You look cute.”

You grab him by his collar, pulling his lips back down to yours. Falk lifts you from the ground with ease, guiding your legs around his waist as he effortlessly carries you to his bedroom. He sets you gently on the floor. His hands move to unbutton his shirt; you stop him as a seductive expression spreads across your features. “Can I?” You ask softly, toying with the top button of his shirt. He nods quickly in response, his hands falling away as he watches you, slightly in shock that you would do something so bold. You slowly unfasten every button, Falk struggling not to grab you and toss you on the bed, the feeling of your knuckles so delicately brushing over his torso making his skin burn with need. You push his shirt off of his shoulder, your hands trailing down his strong arms as you push yourself into him. He curses as he feels your tongue glide over his neck; he tangles his fingers in your hair, groaning loudly at the feeling of your sharp teeth pressing harshly into his skin. 

Falk chuckles, grabbing your face in his hand. “I see someone else is a little possessive as well, hm?” He smiles, a devious glint in his eye. He winces dramatically as he prods at the mark you left behind. You lean closer to him, eyes never leaving his as you gently kiss the spot.

“You’ll have plenty of time to make me all you want later, I promise.” He smiles teasingly.

“And why can’t I do that now?” You challenge.

“Because,” he starts in a low tone, tilting your chin up with his finger as his lips hang just out of reach. “I’m much more concerned with caring for you, Maus.” He steps forward, guiding you backward until the back of your knees bump against the edge of his bed. “Lay down.” He orders firmly.

“Yes, sir.” The words tumble from your lips before you can thoroughly think them through. You freeze, cheeks burning as you wait to see how he would respond.

“Sir?” he asks in response. You fall back against the mattress, and Falk's larger form easily cages you underneath him. He studies you hungrily, running a knuckle down your pulse. “I could get used to that.” He chuckles, watching the way you squirm underneath him. “Is that alright with you, sweetheart?” He asks softly.

“Yes, sir.” You respond in a similar tone.

“Good girl.” He whispers with a sharp smile before he pulls your lips back to his.

Falk kissed you like a man starved, the sweet taste of your lips intoxicating as he sought to consume you: body, mind, and soul. He wanted you to think of no one else, only him. The way your hand fists into his hair as he sinks his teeth into your plush thighs, leads him to believe he's doing a pretty good job. Simply put, Falk believed you deserved to be worshiped, the ground you walked in sacred, just for being allowed to be under your foot. Giving you anything less than his very best would be a sin. You shiver at the feeling of his long fingers holding over your exposed skin, pushing your dress up to your hips to put you on full display for him. He could have spent hours marking you as his. Every dark purple mark he added to the growing collection just looked so pretty against your soft skin. You jolt as his thumb brushes over your clit, letting out a soft whine as you try to push yourself into his hand. Falk chuckles, cupping your sex with his hands as he brings his face up to yours. “Needy little thing, aren't you, Maus?” He smirks. You let out a soft whine, your nails digging into his broad shoulders as he begins to slowly circle your clit. “Is this what you wanted?” You nod, quiet moans tumbling from your lips. Falk slowly his motions; he can't help but chuckle as you adorably pout up at him. “Use your words.” You swallow thickly, his commanding tone making your heart pound.

“Yes, sir.” You respond quickly, and Falk smiles sharply. His lips crash into yours; you moan into his mouth as his fingers suddenly pick up their pace. He used the chance to slip his tongue inside your mouth; you let out a pleased hum, your body arching off the bed to push into his. He studies your features with a smug expression as he pulls back, your pupils blown and your lips puffy from the intensity of how he kissed you.

“You just lay back and look pretty; I'm going to take good care of you.” He states softly. He lowers himself to his knees at the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around your hips to pull you closer to him. Your legs rested over his shoulders, his fingers intertwined with yours. You cursed, your thighs squeezing around his head as he wasted no time allowing himself to taste you. He groans as you roll your hips, dragging the sweet taste of your arousal across his tongue. His fingers pressed harshly into the curve of your waist with bruising force. Your fingers slide into his soft hair, your breath catching in your throat as Falk lets out a low growl. Your back arches off the bed, tugging harshly at his strands as he licks a long firm stripe over your clit. Your soft moans only spurred him on; it wasn’t long before he could feel your thighs beginning to shake as they squeezed tightly against his ears. He hums against you, causing you to let out a strangled whine. You groan as you feel him gently press his fingers through your entrance. He pauses as you tense, allowing your body a moment to adjust to the feeling of how deeply his long, slender fingers hit inside of you. He praises you softly, his free hand pressing into the plush of your stomach to hold you in place as he rapidly brought you to the edge of release.

You moaning his name was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. His heart raced as you reached out for him, pulling him closer as your moans gradually became louder and more desperate with every thrust of his fingers. He presses his thumb to your clit, making you cry up as your nails dragged down his back. He hisses softly at the feeling, no doubt in his mind that thin red scratches would be littering his pale skin. Falk’s voice sounded foggy and far off as something inside of you finally snapped, pleasure crashing over you as you screamed his name. Your cries were muffled by his lips being crushed against yours, swallowing all of your moans as he drew out the peak of your climax as long as possible. Your body still shook as he eased his fingers out of you, effortlessly taking hold of your waist and guiding you into his lap. Your arms slide over his shoulders, your arms fluttering shut as your lips easily find your way back to his. He holds you up with one arm, using the other to shove off his pants clumsily. He moans as he feels the heat of your sex press against him. His hands slide over the curve of your ass, guiding your hips slowly back and forth over his cock. “How are your legs feeling?” He purrs teasingly, your hips keeping the same slow, languid pace as he massages your thighs.

“Shaky.” You admit with a giggle. You pull your lip between your teeth as Falk leaves a trail of kisses across your jaw.

“Think you have it in you to be on top, Mäuschen?” He whispers in your ear.

You start to nod before you pause, remembering Falk’s instructions. “Yes, sir.” Your voice trembles in anticipation.

“That’s my girl.” He praises softly. You shiver as his large hands travel over the curve of your waist, pushing your dress over your head at an agonizingly slow pace. He marveled at how your skin was molded under his thumbs; you were so much softer than he could have imagined now that you were in his hands. You curse as you ease yourself onto his length, your thighs trembling as you settle yourself in his lap. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, trying to muffle the lewd sounds that fell from your lips as he filled you so perfectly. Falk groans at the feeling of you squeezing around him, pushing down on your hips to ensure he is as deep inside of you as possible. “You are… Perfect.” He growls in your ear, making you whine as he rolls his hips. You slowly started to move yourself, Falk’s head thudding against the headboard as he struggled not to fuck into you. Everything about your body felt like it was made just for him: the way his hands fit along the curve of your waist, how easily your lips met his as you sat in his lap, you were everything he could have hoped for, and so much more. Falk’s heart stops as you take his face in your hands, angling his face upwards. His eyes meet yours, your gaze hazy and filled with need. If his heart weren’t hammering so hard in his chest, he would have sworn he had died. You were so beautiful, covered in deep purple love bites and marks from his teeth. You were the closest thing Falk had ever seen to an angel. He wraps an arm around your waist, his larger form allowing him to flip you underneath him easily. He pushes your knees to your chest, and your back arches off the bed as a strangled moan escapes from your throat. One of his hands wraps tightly around your waist, holding you in place as his hips snap against you at an animalistic pace. The other soothingly stroked your cheek, brushing away the tears that had started to gather along your lashes with his thumb. He presses the digit past your lips, the salty taste of your tears mixing with the sweetness of his skin. He leans down close to your ear, tilting your hips up in the process, causing him to hit a spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. He presses a kiss to your cheek before growling, “I have to make sure I fuck you stupid, so no one else will be able to satisfy you.” He chuckles, cradling your head in his hand as his lips trail along your neck. You were putty in his hands, every inch of your body burning with pleasure as he seemed to know exactly how you wanted him to touch you. He curses, resting your head on the pillows as he wraps both hands around your hips. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, gradually losing their tempo as he neared his climax. He falls forward slightly, his hand slamming against the headboard as he catches himself. Your skin seemed to glow under the low light; the thin sheen of sweat that had accumulated on your body made you shine in the darkness. Falk’s breathing was ragged, your moans and cries of his name melodic in his ears as he kept up his harsh thrusts. Sweat dripped from his brow, various tones of grey splattering across your bare torso as his ceremonial paint melted from his skin. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him as deep inside of you as possible. He lets out a sound between a chuckle and a growl. “Careful, Mäuschen.” He warns, his gaze darkening slightly as he studies you hungrily. “I might not be able to pull out in time.”

“Who said I wanted you to.” Your response hit Falk like a slap in the face. He tangles his fingers in your hair, crushing your lips against his as his hips slam into yours fervently. You screamed his name, your body going rigid in his hands as he mercilessly pounded into you. He wanted, no, needed to claim you as his. He curses under his breath, moaning out your name as his hips stutter to a stop. His kisses quickly become more tender compared to the ferocious energy they just held. He holds you in his arms momentarily, allowing both of you time for your breathing to settle. He takes your hand, soothingly rubbing his thumb over your knuckles and bringing them to his lips. He talks you through every little motion as he moves to get you both cleaned up, instructing you to relax so he can handle things. He handles you so delicately, pausing any time he notices you show signs of discomfort. He can take a moment to massage any tender muscles or readjust your position so you’re more comfortable. He crawls under the covers next to you, an arm circling your waist as he pulls you flush against his chest.

“How are you feeling?” He asks softly, soothingly massaging your waist.

“Incredible.” You sigh blissfully. Falk smiles, burying his face against your neck. “I…” you trail off, nervously fidgeting with the edge of your pillowcase. “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time.” Your confession hangs heavy in the otherwise silent room.

“So have I.” He finally responds after a few seconds. “Schön, would you… Would you like to stay?” You feel him squeeze at your waist, trying to pull you closer.

“I would.” You respond quietly. Your attention wanders to the clock on the bedside table, suddenly remembering that it was still the middle of the day and you had tasks you were expected to attend to. “Shit, I’m going to be late–” You’re cut off by Falk pressing his lips to yours, your eyes fluttering shut as you let out a delighted sight. He pushes you back into the mattress, fingers tangling with yours as he pins your hands above your head.

“You can skip out just for one day,” he asks breathlessly in between kisses. “Can’t you, Maus?” He didn’t give you any time to respond before he crushed his lips against yours again. You gave in without much of a fight. After all, spending your afternoon like this was worth the risk of getting in trouble.

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