#reader extracts

[buniibloom]

“갑자기 왜 그래? 먼저 건드려, 왜?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 이제야 포기해, what?”

“If you haven’t been paying attention to MIANSHANG, you’re seriously missing out. These girls don’t just perform — they live and breathe their music in a way that’s almost hypnotic. Peach Fairy’s vocals hit you with this pure, raw emotion, like she’s telling stories you didn’t even know you needed to hear. Cold Lotus moves with such fierce precision that every step feels like a statement, while White Heron’s voice wraps around the melody like a protective hug. What really sets MIANSHANG apart is this weird, almost mystical vibe they carry — like they’re not just entertainers but guardians of something bigger. Their team is tight, with Tang managing the chaos behind the scenes and Silk Moon quietly making sure everything sounds perfect. They’re still climbing, but the way their fandom is growing fast feels like the start of something legendary. Honestly, I’m just here for the journey, because I have a feeling MIANSHANG isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

— Anonymous fan, featured in Starbeat Magazine

📱【假想微博热帖】#绵尚回归女王感拉满#

📌 Post by: @桃花不配仙女 🕓 14:52 ｜📍 iPhone 14Pro Max

💬 [已编辑]

📷 1 image attached

“MIANSHANG is literally not a girl group they’re celestial beings who accidentally signed idol contracts.

Peach Fairy could end wars just by humming. Cold Lotus is the reason I trust no one but her. White Heron invented falsetto. Lotus Chef makes me believe in men. Azure Bite… idk what she is but I would let her destroy my life and then apologize to her. Their existence is proof that mortals can witness goddesses and live. Barely. If I ever see a LUOYIN fan breathe wrong near them I’m lighting incense. 🔥🔥🔥”

—

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🌙 MIANSHANG 绵尚 — 女团成员简介

Member Profiles (Fangirl Style, Because Objectivity Died After Their Debut)

🍑 Peach Fairy

(Vocalist / Visual / Sub Dancer)

Signature Move: Shy smile + tilted head combo that melts fans

Known for: Gentle stage presence, glowing visuals, being “too good for this world”

Rumored background: “Music royalty” lineage, but she's never talked about it…

“桃仙一开口我眼泪直接下来了🥹 她的声音太干净了，好像春天的风。” “When Peach Fairy sings, I cry instantly 🥹 Her voice is so pure — like spring wind.”

“我敢赌她是那种天生贵气的人但自己都不知道😭” “I’d bet anything she’s secretly rich and noble but doesn’t even realize it 😭”

Her fans call her a reincarnated immortal — soft-spoken and graceful, with a voice like a dream. She rarely speaks in interviews, but her kindness behind the scenes is legendary. Some netizens swear they’ve seen her with Macaque… rumors?

★

❄️ Ice Duchess

(Main Dancer / Sub Vocal / Face of the Group)

Signature Move: One sharp head turn mid-dance that hits like a sword slash

Known for: Elegance, resting cold face, intimidating visuals

Rumored background: From a mega-wealthy clan but rumored to have cut ties

“冷莲姐今天的冷艳气场直接把我踹醒 😭 根本就是现实版高冷千金！” “Cold Lotus’ aura woke me up by force today 😭 She’s like a real-life cold heiress!”

“表面高冷实则奶系姐姐，我不接受反驳。” “Cold on the outside, soft older sister underneath. No rebuttals accepted.”

She moves like winter wind — sharp, clean, untouchable. Fans think she doesn’t care, but when she sings in harmony, her softness slips through. She’s elegant to the point of unapproachable… unless you’re her twin.

★

🦢 White Heron

(Leader / Main Vocal / Composer)

Signature Move: Head mic + slow arm raise during bridge vocals

Known for: Gender-fluid fashion, protective big sibling vibes, gorgeous falsetto

Rumored background: May be trans; oldest member; speaks little but smiles often at kid fans

“白鹭哥是我最放心的存在🥺 总觉得他一直在背后守着大家。” “White Heron-ge is the one I trust most 🥺 He always feels like he’s watching over the others.”

“他唱高音的时候那种悲伤太让人入迷了……真的像一个从神话里走出来的灵魂。” “When he sings high notes, the sadness hits so deep... like a spirit straight from a myth.”

The group’s emotional core. Rarely talks in interviews but leaves fans in pieces with those serene vocals and elegant stage presence. There's a quiet sadness in his performances — like someone who's seen too much but still chooses grace.

★

🍵 Lotus Chef

(Main Rapper / Sub Vocal / Variety King)

Signature Move: Mic flip + mid-dance glasses adjustment 😎

Known for: Deadpan one-liners, baking livestreams, being “normal” but lowkey everyone’s fave

Rumored background: Possibly transmasc, loved for “calm idol energy”

“莲厨太反差了吧 😭 舞台上那么稳，直播上给我烤小饼干 🥹” “Lotus Chef is the ultimate contrast 😭 Fierce on stage, baking cookies in livestreams 🥹”

“他真的像是唯一一个正常人但越看越好嗑。” “He seriously feels like the only normal one, which just makes me love him more.”

While the others bring dazzle, Lotus Chef brings warmth. Known for killer raps with philosophical punchlines — and also cinnamon rolls. Literally. His fans include philosophy nerds, aunties, and chaotic stans alike.

★

🐉 Azure Bite

(Lead Dancer / Vocal / Maknae (老幺))

Signature Move: Tongue poke + eye roll mid-verse (fan death every time)

Known for: Teasing interviews, princess-core looks, bratty charm

Rumored background: Royal bloodline? Knows Nezha somehow?? Twin of Cold Lotus??? 👀

“我就说吧，她根本不是人类，是个妖 😭 她的笑太会撩了！” “I’ve said it before — she’s not human, she’s a妖精! That smirk is too much!”

“青咬姐调戏三太子的方式让我嗑疯了 😭 他们到底认识多久了啊喂！” “The way Azure teases Third Prince is making me LOSE it 😭 How long have they even known each other??!”

She’s the chaos. The baby. The flirt. Nobody understands how someone so pretty can be so petty — and fans love it. Whether it’s playfighting with fans or wrecking Nezha’s life mid-interview, Azure Bite always brings the spice.

★

🍵 Tang

(Manager / The “Teacup General” / Mastermind Behind the Scenes)

Signature Move: Sipping tea with a smirk while juggling five phones

Known for: Goofy smile, unexpected wisdom, and the uncanny ability to defuse chaos with a well-timed joke

Rumored background: Once an indie legend, now the quiet force keeping MIANSHANG sane

“堂哥太可爱了 😭 他明明是个大佬，平时却爱开玩笑，谁能不喜欢？” “Tang is such a dork 😭 He’s a big boss but always joking around. How can you not love him?”

“每次桃仙累了，都是他陪她练声，真的是幕后天使。” “Whenever Peach Fairy’s tired, he’s the one helping her warm up. Total behind-the-scenes angel.”

Tang’s fans call him the “Teacup General” — because he looks delicate but runs a tight ship. He’s the perfect mix of silly and serious, and somehow always manages to keep Peach Fairy grounded, even during the wildest comebacks. Rumor has it he once oversaw LUOYIN's group...

★

🌙 Silk Moon

(Vocal Mentor / Peach Fairy’s Guardian)

Signature Move: Soft, knowing smile + sudden bursts of quiet laughter

Known for: Calm presence, ethereal guidance, and mysteriously deep knowledge of the idol world

Rumored background: Former star who vanished, now known as Peach Fairy's guardian and creator of MIANSHANG

“丝月姐每次教唱歌都像给我讲故事 🥹 她就是那种你觉得有魔法的人。” “Silk Moon’s lessons feel like fairy tales 🥹 She’s the kind of person you believe has magic.”

“她和堂哥关系太好了吧，有时候像一对老夫老妻😂” “She and Tang are way too close — sometimes they act like an old married couple 😂”

Fans swear Silk Moon has a secret past filled with legends and heartbreak. She rarely appears on camera, but her influence is everywhere — from Peach Fairy’s flawless runs to the group’s signature warmth. Some say she’s the soul of MIANSHANG, quietly holding the group together with her gentle strength.

@industry_insider88: “绵尚这波宣传做得好，感觉背后有人撑着，难怪这么快红。”

MIANSHANG’s promotion is on point, feels like there’s some serious backing. No wonder they blew up so fast.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎« 2 »

[hirschkuh-traumvoll]

♡♡♡

alastor loves your tiny fists against his chest when you frown at him but can hardly hide a playful smile behind your pout. “you think i cannot defend myself?” you say, and he darkly chuckles as you hit him. alastor loves when you behave as if you're stronger than him, he finds it cute and… tempting. his large body towering over you doesn't scare you, your tiny fists keep on falling on him, not painfully yet, but you definitely grow heated. “oh, you're a naughty little thing, aren't you?” he tilts his head as his eyes flash bloody red, and you suddenly look up at him. a short squeal escapes your lips as he wraps his strong arms around your body, turning you around and pressing your back against his chest. he firmly holds you by your wrists as you wriggle in his grasp, rubbing yourself against him in a vain attempt to escape. but then he leans closer and whispers straight into your ear, immobilizing you with just the sound of his voice, "curious to know which of us is stronger, huh?" you know you have to do something but right away alastor throws your body over his shoulder and heads for his room. you try to oppose but the door of his bedroom is already slapped close.

consequences ♡→

[comfortless]

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

[writingfics-passingtime]

Empty Threats [sneak peek]

Loki x reader | bickering coworkers with sexual tension | stranded at a safe-house |

“If you were wise you'd shut your mouth,” he says darkly. “Or I’ll be forced to shut it for you.”

You laugh again - quieter, more taunting this time. “Oh yeah? What’s the plan, another lecture about respect?” You prop yourself up on an elbow, searching the air for more sass. “Or... just another bout of empty threats and semi-inappropriate workplace banter?”

Loki shifts to mirror you - rising on one elbow, turning his face so you can see him in the flicker of the firelight.

And fuck... he looks dangerous like this. Hot and dangerous. Hair damp from his shower and curling at the ends, shadows cutting beneath his cheekbones, pale blue eyes locked on you. Like you were something he was backing into a corner.

He tilts his head, and, with a devastating sweetness, he says, “Tease me again, and I will tickle you to tears.”

You blink. “What?”

Loki leans in just slightly - close enough that his breath ghosts over your mouth. “You heard me. One more snide little comment and I’ll have you writhing, gasping... begging. I will take my time. And you will not know mercy.”

Your brain flatlines. Your mouth parts. You should say something sharp - should snap back, keep the banter going - but your body betrays you with a single thud of heat low in your stomach.

He sees it.

Of course he fucking sees it.

Loki's eyes narrow and you know - you know he’s cataloging every flinch, every breath. “It’s poetic, really,” he continues softly. Dangerously. “It's the perfect punishment, don't you think? Intimate, humiliating, leaves no mark. You won’t run to your beloved Captain Rogers with bruises. Just... memories you can’t scrub off.”

Your throat’s dry. You manage to rasp, “You wouldn’t dare.”

He smiles like the devil. “We both know I would.”

You go quiet.

Dead quiet.

And the worst part is, you don’t know whether you want him to or not.

.

.

[imshymorph]

No wonder Johnny is only allowed to work on demolitions and close combat, the ONE time Price let him take the sniper position (because Ghost was out on medical) was a mess.

He absolutely forgot like half of the stuff he needed for his post, not being used to have to carry that kind of gear around. One of the main things he forgot was the little tripod piece to stand his rifle on.

So instead he bent you over and in half like a lawn chair, face down ass up and set the riffle on you. “Be nice an’ still, aye bonnie?” His voice on your ear, his weight keeping you in place.

I mean he did get the tango, but he also made the two of you almost an hour late to rendezvous —almost having a whole squad sent in your search—, because he had to reward you for doing such a good job.

[the-moon-files]

So I have tried to request this prompt from someone else but I don't think their blog is that active anymore. If your willing I'd love to request the following.

Prompt: Reader is bisexual and gender neutral.

Reader is considered fairly attractive and gets flirted with pretty often by basically whoever gender wise. And maybe reader and Zelda even end up flirting a little bit. Reader would have a similar lackadaisical flirty personality as Warriors has.

I wanted to see how each of The Chain would react to this with the context of them having secret feelings for the reader.

2nd official request, woo look at me go 🏃💨

Sun: Gender-neutral Reader (”you”/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: Zelda (Assuming they meant BOTW), + the classic Chain of Links <3

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing, mild typical loz violence, Mildly Suggestive, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

so i like to think that modern flirting is radically different than their medieval flirting,

like mayyybbeee Wild can handle it, but even then, they have royalty/knights still, so hes still gettin flustered lol

and i like to think u learned that difference the first time Wars complimented ur new/strange modern fit, and u returned the energy?? except 10x stronger (to them)??

youve played the player, and beat him at his own game, the Captain of the knights is sputtering and shit LMAO

(he said smth like, “their beauty is god-like in this otherworldly clothing“ and YOU said smth like he’d “thank you, youd look better in my bed than in armor 👉 😎 👉 ” lmao)

funniest part is, bc its so natural, i can see u immediately shooting off smth and forgetting it instantly, much to the Links collective shock 😭

u go to towns and notice theres always 1 hero around to steer u away from shopkeepers, townsppl, etc so u wont flirt w/them LMAO

(when u finally notice, u just, “ohh i get it now, so im only allowed to flirt with someone named Link, ohhh, okayy” and they just, “NO we didnt say that-!” “No its just their bold flirtations are not for the weak of heart-!” “Yes.” “CAPTAIN-”)

the only one who they cant steer u away from is Zelda.

afterall, they kinda have to inform the Princess/now Queen of the kingdom, whats going on w/them traveling with Link (Wild) around time and space

the sheikah tablet had been disconnecting + reconnecting to Purah’s both fascination and worry

so as theyre invited to eat dinner and explain in the rebuilding castle, everyone’s absorbed in shadow talk or smth, and u can see Zelda’s struggling to follow along, u just casually bring it back to her, as she’s also trying to write notes and theyve moved on too quickly w/o her

“wowww, all these men and not a single one’s gonna offer the lady any, ‘hi, hello, how is the most beautiful girl in the world today?’ “

and the gapingggg from the links shut them right up, while Zelda goes all pink and coughs, and agrees that they should move on to more chill topics lol

and u can crack anybody tbh, Zelda giggles at ur compliments all the time, even in work mode, u can deffo get Wars to blush to his ears, and even Time to look away first in a flirty + staring contest lol

Legend might actually put his hands up like he’s prepared to fight u anytime u try to flirt at him when its just you two, before he realizes what hes doing and stops LMAO

oh and u absolutely get a lot of mileage out of that one lol

the best reactions have gotta be, in order of most to least extreme: Hyrule, Sky, Wild, Four, Legend, Twilight, Wars, Time

Rulie, Sky, Wild and Four fall into that classic, shocked-heart-eyes, full blush up to their pointy ears, etc category when u get them,

they are also very easy to get lmao

Four is the best at recovery, or ducking away, but if its the Colors, its this type of obvious lol, w/the obvious ones like Red and Blue, Green takes a little more to break, and tbh Vio could go toe-to-toe w/u better than Wars tbh before he crumbles under the pressure lol

Legend, Twi, Wars, and Time faces may not change a lot, bc theyre trying to save it lmao, but the way their cheeks go pink and ears twitch is how u know ur gettting to them (along w/legend’s defensive reaction to getting cornered LMAO)

Twi has caved and covered his face w/his hands before lmao

one day youll get Time to break more than an ear twitch, and looking away, One Day.

(Wind is in fact, having the time of his life, watching you absolutely hilariously wreck these otherwise v serious heroes, hes glad u got them to finally relax a little, but also its hilarious seeing Wars and Legend red faces, and occasionally stealing Wild’s tablet to take funny pics of them all to blackmail later lol)

☆

idk how good that was, as im kinda bust at flirty banter between characters, so i hope this suffices ur need to flirt w/everyone lol

also i feel i should apologize for not rlly including pronouns? it just kinda comes w/writing reader stories to put them in 2nd person to both make intimacy for readers w/their little avatar im controlling for them, and to purposefully remove the need for gendered pronouns :/

so im sorry i couldnt quite figure out how to make it where “they/them” got used much, i promise i love all pronouns, its just a skill issue tbh lmao

btw

send any prayers, blessings, or good vibes u got my way tomorrow bc im getting wisdom teeth surgery and i am intimidated✨

ill post more asks (i have multiple asks!! <33) after im lying in bed lamenting my painful fate,

mostly just worried ill react badly to the drugs, also the idea of being knocked out during surgery is a little scary so what can i say

have a great weekend guys!! thanks for reading if u did :)

Peace out,

🌙

[silkenwinger]

Grabbing the Camel pack, you hold it out towards him.

"Proper shite, pet," Ghost says, but grabs it anyway. Taking one cigarette out of the package, he makes a gesture with his left hand. You snicker as you pass him the lighter.

"Seems even commanding officers can be led astray."

"Please. You a middle schooler?" He scoffs as he lights the cigarette and takes a drag in, tipping it over, almost examining it.

"No, but you reprimanded me in the first place."

"That was based on your choice of poison. At least make your own."

"Too lazy for that."

"See what that attitude gets you in the field."

You pout. "I thought you said I did well."

"Speaking for the future."

"Ah," you laugh, "gotta start rolling my cigs to please my lieutenant, writing it down."

You swear you can see the hint of a grin on his lower face, but he hides it well.

"I have some recommendations to make. As your supervisor, of course."

[raffe156]

Breakaway State Part 6

Pairing - Price X Female OC “Tank”

Summary - Finally, finally, finally

This one is a little dark towards the end, Not much of Price but this is the bridge chapter for what’s to come an I’m so thankful for all those who have waited patiently I love you all.

Warnings -17+ Angst. Language, Age gap Price (38) Tank (26), Violence, abuse, abuse of power, controlling behaviour, injury, implied torture, death.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Call of duty characters - Only Tank, Luke, Dredd, Mckinley, Crest and Falkirk.

“Thank fuck for that…” Mckinley’s laugh echoed through the van as it pulled away from the base. He turned in his seat, trying to catch your eye, but you only gave him a brief glance before turning to take one last look at the place you were leaving behind. You spotted Kyle just as the van rounded the corner—he would understand.

Once you were on the road, Mckinley couldn’t help himself.

“I hope you lot realize how good you have it,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence.

The van stayed quiet.

“Don’t any of you get any ideas about wearing a Halloween mask, either. I’ll shut that shit down before it starts… I’m looking at you, Dredd…” Mckinley chuckled, but the others remained silent. The lack of response was like a cold slap, and you could see it was starting to eat at him. No one found him funny, and it irritated him. Unfortunately for you, you were right in his line of sight. A nasty grin crept across his face.

“You going to sort things out with your fella before we head out?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you, watching for your reaction.

“Nothing to sort out…” you muttered, knowing exactly who he meant—Luke. You kept your eyes glued to the window, hoping he’d drop it.

“Haha, yeah right. There’s plenty to sort out. From what I hear, he’s playing the field while you’re off fighting in it. But then again, you’re not entirely innocent, are you? Little sleepovers with Price, weekends away with him. Dirty dog.” Mckinley shook his head, clearly enjoying himself.

You could feel the tension in the van rise, and it wasn’t just McKinley—everyone was listening now. You felt Dredd shift behind you, ready to jump in.

“Weekends away?” Crest’s voice cut through the tension, his head raising slightly, his interest piqued.

McKinley smirked triumphantly, like a predator who’d just caught its prey. “Yep, escape-to-the-country style. Up at Price’s house in Hertfordshire—nice and secluded. Found out from his missus, you know, the Doc at the base? The Irish one?”

The words hit you like a punch. McKinley knew exactly which buttons to push, and now, the squad’s attention was fully on you. A few brows raised, and you could feel the heat of their stares.

Dredd, bless her, quickly came to your defense. “It wasn’t just them two! Kyle was there, too. Doesn’t sound like a romantic weekend to me, does it?” She let out a soft laugh, trying to defuse the situation.

“They weren’t together..”

“What was that?” McKinley cupped his ear, feigning ignorance, his grin widening.

“They weren’t together… not that it matters.” The words came out sharper than you intended, your blood starting to boil.

Dredd’s hand squeezed your arm from behind, a silent plea to let it go, but it was too late. McKinley had already pushed you too far.

“Not what the Doc said, though,” he said with a mock sigh. “Ah well, only you and Price know what really went on. I wonder if that’s why you transferred?” He turned back around in his seat, content with himself.

The seed had been planted. To the rest of the team, you were now a suspected homewrecker—and worse, the home you’d wrecked was that of your former captain.

The squad exchanged a few fleeting glances, the tension palpable. No one spoke for the rest of the ride, and the silence in the van was deafening as the weight of McKinley’s words hung heavily in the air.

*********************

“I’m not looking forward to this…” You thudded your head back against the stained headboard, the frustration evident in the gesture.

“Just leave him on read,” Dredd muttered, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to yours, casually rolling a cigarette. “He already thinks you’re gone for a while.”

The motel room was a depressing sight, tucked away near the ship-out base, its stale air heavy with the smell of smoke and spilled beer. The two creaky single beds groaned under the smallest movements, their springs long past their prime. They had definitely seen better days, but at this point, it didn’t matter. As long as the door locked and kept Mckinley out, it might as well have been the Radisson.

“I can’t leave him on read,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t want him thinking he has to wait around for me… He has no obligation to me. I’ve told him that from day one. He deserves more than this. Hell, I might not even make it back—might get taken out, put out of my misery.” You threw your hands up in mock exasperation, but the thought wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded. For you, and for people like you, that card was always ready to be pulled. It hovered, high in the deck, just waiting for the right moment.

“More like put down by Mckinley,” Dredd said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She wasn’t wrong.

Before you could even let that sink in, your phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was Luke. Your stomach dropped, a strange weight settling in your chest. Why did this feel like a breakup? Could it even be classified as that? You’d never made things official. Hell, he didn’t even know what you did for a living. As far as he knew, you were just working abroad, setting up a logistics depot. Was it a breakup? Or just… a break? You hadn’t even thought about what to say, hadn’t planned for this moment.

“You gonna answer that, or you actually going to take my advice for once?” Dredd’s voice cut through the silence as she leaned out the window, struggling to light her cigarette.

Before you could even process, she was already at your side, grabbing the phone and answering it for you. With a flick of her wrist, she put it on speaker, then casually leaned back out the window, puffing smoke as if nothing was amiss.

The phone crackled to life.

“Hey, city girl.”

You took a breath, your heart suddenly heavy. “Hey… you okay?”

Dredd was still trying to push herself further out the window. You glanced at her, then back at the phone. For a split second, you thought about joining her.

****************************

Price sat at his desk, shuffling through papers that required his attention, but his mind wasn’t on the job. He lacked the patience, the energy—anything really—to deal with the endless stack. But more than anything, he couldn’t shake the thought that you were gone. Not just off base, but probably out of the country. That fact was hard to swallow. Yet, as the door to his office creaked open, there was a fleeting moment of hope—hope that you’d walk through it, storming in with that familiar, thunderous look on your face, ready to give him an earful. You’d tell him what a twat he was, how you wanted to come back, to come home. But no… standing in the doorway, where you should be, was Kyle, holding a mug with a large carp on the front and the words “Master-Baiter” emblazoned across it.

It was another secret Santa gift from you to Soap. The memory made Price chuckle despite himself, recalling the pride on your face as Soap unwrapped it, immediately accusing Ghost of being the culprit and starting one of his usual ruckus-filled tirades. The theme for the gift exchange had been “shit mugs.” Soap had Ghost, who received a blank mug that only revealed its true message—C*NT—when it was heated, drawing laughs every time someone used it. Kyle had drawn Price’s name, gifting him a mug that read “World’s Best Dad.” Price had smiled when he opened it, raising an eyebrow and saying, “Thanks, SON.” Kyle had sworn blind that he’d ordered “World’s Best Boss” instead, but either way, it was perfect. Ghost had given Kyle the “Shit in Bed” mug, and Price had watched with a wry smile as you unwrapped yours, reading the words “Accident Prone” across the front.

“Very funny!” You had swatted his arm, and he’d laughed.

“Glad you like it,” he had said, his grin widening.

“Very fitting, lass,” Soap had added, raising his mug in a mock toast. The rest of you had joined in, clinking mugs and sharing a moment of camaraderie.

The memory faded, and Price snapped back to the present. Kyle was now sitting in the chair across from him, carefully placing the “Master-Baiter” mug on his desk, his face a mix of concern and hope.

“You heard anything?” Kyle asked, voice tight.

“Not a thing, lad. All hush-hush on this one,” Price replied, leaning back in his chair and taking a slow sip from the mug. “Not even Laswell’s got a whiff of anything. It’s one of those ‘need to know’ deals, and right now, we don’t need to know, I guess.”

Kyle’s face darkened, and he started picking at his nail—a nervous habit that only appeared when he was truly wound up.

“Fuck’s sake… don’t ask me why, but I’ve just got a bad feeling about the whole thing.”

“Same, lad… same.” Price’s voice was grim, his eyes distant as he looked out the window. The weight of the situation hung heavy between them.

*******************************************

You couldn’t even remember how long you’d been sitting in the freezing cold truck. All that mattered was staying close to Crest—he was like a human furnace, a welcome warmth in the biting chill. You shifted closer to him in the front seat as the truck rumbled through the quiet streets of Tiraspol. The streetlights flickered on, casting long shadows across the road, and you knew you weren’t far from the safe house.

Crest was a soft-spoken Yorkshireman, a man you knew only in passing. He had served briefly with your first captain, Falkirk, and often spoke of him with a fondness that made it clear the two shared a bond. Over time, you’d found common ground in stories of Falkirk and tales of the infamous 141. Crest, with his quiet admiration, had something of a man crush on Price—something you couldn’t ignore. It showed in the way he’d let his beard grow out, shaving only the center to mimic Price’s signature look. And when he spoke, most of his questions were about Price, with a few curious ones about Ghost thrown in for good measure.

“Does he sleep in the mask?” Crest asked, voice thick with curiosity—he was voicing the question that had been on everyone’s mind.

“He does, yeah.” You smirked, recalling the moment vividly. “Shit me up one night. I’d just come off watch, crashed out on one of the mattresses, and rolled over to find bam—his bloody skull mask, just staring at me. What made it worse was that his eyes were closed, so all I could see were these pitch-black holes in the dark. I nearly had a heart attack, rolled right off the bed, and landed on Soap. He starts shouting, waking up the whole room. Price comes running, thinking we’ve been made, and Ghost just sits up, all casual, asking why I’m on the ground next to Soap.”

The memory made you smile.

“Sounds like a right laugh,” Crest muttered, raising an eyebrow. “But, uh… how does he eat or shower with that thing on? Does he shower with it?”

He furrowed his brow, clearly trying to picture how Ghost managed to drink a cup of tea with that mask on. It wasn’t a pleasant image.

“Jesus, Crest, how would she know if he showers with the damn thing on?” Dredd chimed in from the backseat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Plus, if she’d seen him in the shower, don’t you think I’d be the first to know something so important?”

Dredd’s laugh rang out, her gun was hidden under a blanket, but the tension in the air had lightened—at least for now.

Crest, however, had turned a deep shade of red as the weight of his question settled. He stammered, suddenly aware of how ridiculous it sounded.

“Sorry Tank, I…”

Crest didn’t finish his sentence—he couldn’t. You turned toward him, but it was already too late. The bullet struck without warning, its sharp hiss inaudible in the chaos. You just heard the sickening sound of him choking on his own blood as his body slumped forward, sending the truck veering off the road and crashing into a ditch.

Everything seemed to stretch into slow motion as the truck rolled. You felt a dull pain spreading through your head and wrist, but the rest of your body felt strangely numb, as if it no longer belonged to you. You tried to prepare yourself for what was coming next—find your gun, defend yourself—but your hand wouldn’t respond. The pain in your skull splintered like shards of glass, each jagged piece tearing through your senses.

The last thing you felt before everything went dark was the gradual fading of Crest’s warmth, slipping away from your side.

**********************************

“Well, look who’s finally awake.”

The voice was unmistakable… Soap? You tried to sit up, but a steady yet gentle hand held you back.

“Easy there, kid. Take it slow. You’ve got quite the bump on your head,” Price said with a reassuring smile, helping you sit up.

“Where am I?” you asked, glancing at Price.

“Told you she was accident-prone,” Soap chuckled, giving Kyle a playful smack on the back.

“How did you all get here?” you asked, turning to Soap.

“Guess that means he’s terrible in bed, then?” Price shot a teasing glance at Kyle.

“Yeah, and he’s a C*NT” Soap laughed, his voice echoing through the room as he clearly found himself hilarious.

Your eyes shifted to the corner, where Ghost stood motionless, his presence looming. He hadn’t said a word, just observing in his usual quiet, unreadable way.

“Where’s Crest? Is he ok? I didn’t even see the shooter?” Your eyes pleading with Ghost to give you answers. How were they all here?

“Well we all know your mug is a perfect fit eh fairy liquid!” Kyle laughed.

“Will someone tell me what’s going on please?” You glanced from Price to Ghost, your voice cracking, a lump in your throat forming.

Price cupped your face, his touch firm yet oddly soothing. Though his touch wasn’t necessary, it was comforting, and your reaction made that clear. You almost melted into his palm, the warmth of him seeping deep into your bones, filling you with a sense of safety.

You glanced up at his wide smile, and just as you were about to return a weak one, his hand slipped away from your face.

“You need to wake up, kid…”

“What? … I am… I’m…”

The words felt heavy on your tongue, but something in the way he spoke made the air shift—unnervingly cold, like a warning you couldn’t quite place.

The icy cold water struck you like a violent slap, ripping the breath from your lungs as you jolted upright, gasping in shock. But before you could even steady yourself, you were dragged down by a force and the deafening clank of chains.

Collapsing to the ground, your eyes shot forward, locking onto the heavy iron door looming in front of you. Just beside it, a dark figure stood, holding a bucket with a sinister stillness.

The room was cold, the air thick with the stench of damp concrete and stale air. You turned slowly, the harsh scrape of your shackles echoing in the silence. Looking down, you saw the heavy chains binding your wrists, the cold metal biting into your skin. They were bolted to the concrete floor.

Your mind raced, adrenaline surging as the questions piled up. How had you missed the shooter? You’d let your guard down, gotten comfortable—no, lazy. That was the mistake. Crest… where was he? Had he made it out? Was he alive? Dredd—had she escaped? Had she managed to slip away, lay low until things cleared up? Maybe she’d gotten back to the safe house, or even to the backup house. But the uncertainty gnawed at you, each thought more unsettling than the last.

Did McKinley know? The thought hit you like a jolt of cold electricity. This mission had been clear from the start—if caught, you are not acknowledged. There were no backup plans, no rescue team, no second chances. You were disposable.

You were on your own.

The realization settled in like a heavy stone in your chest, and for a moment, everything felt impossibly still. No one would come for you, no one would speak your name. If you didn’t get out of this yourself, there would be no one to blame but you.

Before you could ponder your fate any further, a second figure appeared in the doorway. The sound of footsteps echoed through the cold, empty space, each step deliberate, measured. A tall, thin man made his way toward you, his movements almost unsettlingly calm.

In the dim light, you could just make out his features: dark eyes, sharp and unblinking, and hair as black as coal, stark against his pale skin. He was impeccably dressed in a suit—clean, pressed, and entirely out of place in the grim surroundings. His presence made your pulse quicken, your instincts screaming that he was not someone you wanted to meet.

And then, the realization hit like a gut punch. Staring at you with cold, calculating eyes was one of the world’s most wanted criminals—the very reason you were here in this godforsaken town. Vladimir Makarov.

The name alone was enough to freeze your blood. His reputation preceded him—ruthless, cunning, and without mercy. Every mission, every brief, every intelligence report had warned you of him. But no amount of preparation could have ever truly prepared you for the man standing in front of you now.

“Good morning, Tank. How very nice it is to finally meet you…” Makarov’s voice was cold, each word laced with a mocking sweetness that made your skin crawl. “…I’m sorry about your friend.”

His words cut through the silence like a knife, but you couldn’t help the sick, twisted laugh that bubbled up in your throat. It was probably hysteria setting in, a coping mechanism for the absurdity of the situation. All those years spent hearing about Makarov—the Russian scumbag that Price had been gunning for relentlessly—and now, here he was. Standing right in front of you, casually offering some sick version of politeness.

Good morning, like he wasn’t the very reason you’d been dragged into this nightmare. Like you weren’t sitting here, shackled and broken, Crest dead, Dread MIA, all because of him.

You almost wanted to laugh again. Almost. But it died in your throat, the weight of reality sinking in. This wasn’t some briefing room or war room banter—it was real. And Makarov, for all his cold composure, was here because he wanted something. That much was certain. His eyes never left yours, calculating, waiting for a reaction, a weakness. The mockery in his voice was a mask, but beneath it, you could feel the tension—the thinly veiled threat of what was to come.

You had no doubt he was enjoying this moment, savoring the control he now held. But what was it that he wanted? Information? Revenge? Or something more personal, something that would break you in ways no one could predict?

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as he took a slow step forward. You could almost feel the weight of his presence pressing down on you, and despite everything—despite the pain, the fear—you refused to let him see how much it rattled you.

Not yet. Not until you knew what game he was playing.

The figure in the doorway bent down, reaching for something on the floor. It was square, bulky, and heavy. With a cold, deliberate motion, the man placed it down next to Makarov. A car battery. The heavy thud of it hitting the ground felt like a warning, its significance sinking in with a quiet dread.

“Let’s see how strong Price makes his toy soldiers, eh?”

[ranaitsan]

my second ruthven draw!!!

If you like it💕 you will sure like ❤my novel☕ read my novel in my blog😺👋👋

[sapphic-serenade]

god imagine being fingered by yosano

i don't know. i just think she knows how to use her fingers. she'd curl them the *right* way and it would feel sooooooooooo fucking good man. and she would be quietly cooing and mocking you in your ear, demanding you not to cum yet. her thumb slowly circling your clit- oh my fucking god

[tylersnecktattoo]

With no safety net-Chapter 1

Summary: Tyler, a black market mercenary falls for his friend’s cousin Amara. But how will it go when two people who carry so much shit from their past date each other? How will it go falling without that safety net?

Pairing: Tyler Rake x OFC Amara

Warnings: mentions of smut

Word count: 2.1K

CHAPTER 2

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CHAPTER 1: “tell my why I get this feeling?”

“Come on, we’re already late!” Amara shouted from the hallway as she finished layering her fragrance with some final sprays of her vanilla perfume and put her coat on before grabbing her gift bag.

“Okay, okay! I’m coming, woman, calm down” her best friend replied in a teasing tone as she checked her makeup for the last time.

Amara was invited to her cousin Dylan's get together. Normally, she wouldn’t be in the mood to hang out with him and his friends since the hangouts only consisted of her listening to Dylan and his macho friends talking about stuff she wasn’t even interested in, but she couldn’t let him down when she already had turned him down too many times before. So she brought her friend with her to be able to survive this soon to be, unbearable night.

Amara’s face lights up when she sees her friend finally coming out of the bathroom. “You look absolutely stunning, Court” she says as she hands her friend’s jacket to her

“Yeah as if I don’t have a goddess of a friend standing right next to me” she says back as they exit Amara’s apartment

“You’re still delusional, I see”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’re pretty damn gorgeous but it seems like your dumbass doesn’t want to realize it” she argues back and gets in the passenger's seat once they reach Amara’s car. “And my name isn’t Courtney if you don’t end up getting a guy’s number tonight” she states as she raises her finger at her friend before putting her seatbelt on.

Amara lets out a snort as she begins to drive. “Getting guys at my cousins little get together is the last thing on my mind right now”

“Come on, you're 25 and you don’t have a boyfriend. That’s like, genuinely sad. And alarming. It’s been almost two years since Chris. You gotta move on, Amara”

“Okay, first of all, there’s nothing wrong with being single at 25. Second of all, if I decide to start dating again it will not be with Dylan's mediocre ass friends that can’t even hold a five minute conversation with me without pissing me off” she blurted before turning her puzzled face to her best friend, “And when did you start getting all therapeutic on me? I’m dealing with myself just fine”

Courtney just sighs because she knows that’s a lie by how defensive Amara is acting. “Look, I’m just saying, you’ve been through hell and back but you can’t let that ruin it for you. Not everyone brings bad luck with them, you know” She takes a pause before sarcastically saying, “What, you’re gonna let the severe trauma of losing your parents on the same day and having a cheating ex fiance going to hold you back for popping that pussy?”

Amara tries to contain her laugh that is threatening to come out because she’s supposed to be irritated at her friend, but she gives in with them both feeling comfortable with this level of banter. “I fucking hate you”

“Yeah, yeah whatever helps you sleep at night” she jokingly waves off as they’re looking for a place to park the car and finally find an empty spot. “Are you sure I look okay?” Courtney asks as she checks herself on her phone's camera.

“Tryna look good for the Walmart version of Jacob Elordi again?”

Courtney snorts out a laugh and playfully slaps Amara’s arm. “His name is Sebastian and yes. So last chance, do I look good or not?”

Amara takes a closer look at her face and smudges off some mascara that has moved its way to her eyelid and says her final words of assurance to her friend before they get out of her car and walk up to Dylan’s porch. Amara rings at the door, mentally preparing for a whole night of having to be social. Shortly after, the door opens and she’s met by her cousin and his excited grin.

“Long time no fucking see, cuz” he says and pulls her in for a short embrace before letting them in and giving Courtney a familiar handshake. He takes their jackets and hangs them before turning to Amara again. “Whatcha got there for me?” he says as his gaze is plastered on the gift bag in her hand.

“Just a little something”

“I bet on my whole bank account it’s a perfume set” he says and takes the bag to open it, to see that it in fact, was another perfume set. “I swear, that perfume obsession you got in junior year hasn’t left you for shit” he says as he holds out the Versace set.

“It’s not like you ever complain though?” Amara playfully says

He chuckles, “Touche. Thanks, really” he says and gives her an affectionate squeeze on her arm before leading them to the living room where everyone was sitting and chatting over the background noise of a football game from the TV, including Tyler. He had known that Dylan would bring his cousin and that he spoke very highly of her. But as soon as she walked in with her friend next to her, he was caught up. Dylan didn’t mention that she was so beautiful.

Where had she been all this time and why the hell hadn’t Dylan introduced him to her earlier?

He could tell that he wasn’t the only one being mesmerized by her beauty as practically everyone rushed up from their seats on the couch and went to greet her, but they kept it respectable though, because Dylan had indeed warned them to behave when she and her friend would come over. Many friendly handshakes and shallow hugs towards her and her friend later, he stood up from his seat to greet her too.

God, she was gorgeous. She had these black doe eyes that you just wanted to look at forever and the way her plump lips smiled as she greeted everyone and the way she had freckles scattered across her cheeks that made her face look adorable. And let’s not get started on her hair. It was the most beautiful and unique color he had ever seen, a mixture between copper red and brown that ran down so softly down her back. He was done for. He was down. Real bad. He finally caught her attention as he walked up to her, towering her by his 6 foot 3 height as Dylan introduced her to him .

“Amara, this is Tyler. Remember that Australian guy I talked about last time we met?”

“Yeah, right.” she said in a recognizable tone. “Nice to meet you” she shot him a friendly smile, locking her gaze with his.

Now, she was never a crushy person but she’d be fucking dumb if she said this man wasn’t fine. He was a hunk and he knew it. And he definitely knew what he was doing when he put that button down shirt on, hugging his muscles in all the right ways and revealing a bit more of his neck with a few buttons loose. Fuck, that trimmed beard too. She was a sucker for beards.

He shot her a smile back, with almost a seductive look on his face. “Nice to meet you too. You got a beautiful name”. He tried to stay as cool as possible so it wouldn’t look like he was genuinely going crazy like he was as soon as he got a closer look at her with that whiff of her fragrance too.

Yep, she was definitely interested now. She knew that wasn’t an innocent compliment and that deep, husky voice with his Australian accent was too hot to not be attracted by. But she wasn’t down that bad though, it would take a lot more than his attractive demeanor to get her to really swoon over him, or any man for that matter. And Dylan probably sensed the tension as he cut them off, not wanting to go through the same hassle that happens every time his friends tried to flirt with her as he thought she wasn’t interested.

“Alright so now when everyone’s here, let's sit down” he says as he leads Amara to the couch, not even bothering to include Courtney as she has made herself comfortable with her guy a long time ago, too impatient to wait for Amara. As Amara gets seated between Dylan and the armrest of the couch, she shoots a “I thought you were going to stick by my side?” look to her best friend across the room, who currently had the time of her life flirting with her charming brunette as she shoots back a “There’s no way in hell I’m gonna stick by your side and get in between whatever you and that tall blondie have” look, making Amara hold back her grin as she understood what Courtney was saying just by the look she gave, a result of them knowing each other too damn well for their own good. As she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Tyler just had to take a seat on the couch that was facing her sideways, being completely in her sight at all times. It’s like he was doing it on purpose, choosing the closest seat next to her, the armrests of their couches touching each other.

Oh, this was going to be a night to remember.

The night went on and Amara just sat there and listened to the conversation being spoken, occasionally smiling and laughing with everyone else, not being aware of the glances Tyler stole from her everytime she showed any sign of smiling just to see that dimple pop out every time on her left cheek. She was divine.

And Amara wasn't any better herself, giving him quick looks from time to time when he wouldn’t know she was watching and admiring his neck tattoo every chance she got. She couldn’t quite make out what it was supposed to resemble as she never got a good look on it, but it looked like three stripes running up his neck sideways. Were they arrows, maybe? Well, whatever they were, it undeniably made him look hotter. So extra points for that. He just went from looking kinda fine to fine.

Other than stealing glances from Tyler, Amara’s night continued by just listening to conversations. Courtney had left doing God knows what with the Walmart version of Jacob Elordi and Amara just couldn't wait until she got home and started to regret that she even chose to come. She was never much of a talker anyway, especially not in front of many people and especially not when the whole room was filled with so much testosterone and boring topics that were typically guy talk. It seemed like Tyler wasn’t much of a talker too since he rarely talked. In fact, she hadn’t heard him fully speak since their interaction. Another few points to the hot Australian. She never liked it when a man was overly talkative anyway. Maybe he could get it if he ever decided to shoot his shot at her.

Time went by and people started to leave as she got tired of all the babbling and got up from her seat to go to the kitchen on the other side of the house so she could find some sense of peace and quietness, lying about going to grab a drink and come back despite Dylan stopping her and saying that the kitchen is too warm because some problems with the ductwork. Of course, Tyler saw this as the perfect opportunity to get closer to her so he decided to follow after her, but not right away though. He didn’t want to come off as too desperate even though he lowkey was. But she couldn’t know that.

When the right amount of time had passed he got up from his seat, leaving the living room.

“You’re also going to the kitchen?” Dylan asks him with a teasing grin while pointing his beer bottle at him before swinging it to his mouth, knowing exactly what Tyler’s intentions are. “Look, I’m not gonna stop you or anything but just know that my cousin- she’s no weak flower, and she won’t hesitate to put you into your place if she doesn’t like you or if you make her uncomfortable. She’s not easy”

Why did he find that extremely attractive?

Smirking, he made his way to the kitchen with his desire to have her stronger than ever. Usually, he’d go for the tall and blonde bombshells that he barely had to fight for. But there was just something about her that just drew him in and made him forget about the blondes he’d call beautiful, because their beauty was nothing compared to her. Fuck, she had only spoken four words to him and he was going fucking crazy for her. What the hell have you done to me?

——————————————————————

next part !

[sillyb1lly35]

why cant lesbians ever be normal

isla girlie just say you love her we all know

[sunwukong-jabberwocky]

Sun Wukong

vs

Tyler Rake (Extraction) Jason Bourne (Bourne series) Ethan Hunt (MI series) John Rambo (Rambo series) Grey Man (Netflix) Jack Reacher (Amazon) James Silva (Mile 22) 007 (Daniel Craig) Aaron Hallan (The Hunted) Eggs (Kingsman series)

[divorcedwife]

i really wish i was healthy enough to donate blood cause i actually kinda love having my blood drawn. also it’s a good gesture and saves lives but mostly it would be enrichment for me

[nahoyasboyfriend]

The air is thick and damp. It smells like mold & iron. your head is pulsing. Your eyelids feel like they're glued together. You feel queasy, and there's a tacky liquid drying up on the side of your head. You croak out a groan. Slowly, you crack open your eyes. It's blurry, dark. You attempt to blink it away.

A bright ring light clicks to life, "ah, you're awake."

You have to turn your head to get a clear view of the owner of the voice. It's a man— a fairly attractive one. Black hair & a pair of dark, hadal eyes. A mask tucked under his chin. Your eyebrows knit together, heart steadily picking up, who is he? How did you get here?

You try to vocalize these thoughts to avail, the gag muffles them. He doesn't seem to regard you after that, turning away to carefully organize something on a metal plate. Your eyes are drawn to his coat. it's a pristine white, clashing with the dull browns of the dilapidated room. You tug pitifully at the restraints around your hands, trying to weasel your way out.

You don't realize he's looking at you until he speaks, "you're not going anywhere."

You freeze, looking at him with wide, dumb eyes. He slides closer in his chair. He places a mouth prop on, forcing your mouth to open wider, then removes the gag. He reaches behind him to grab something that you can't see. When it comes into view, you quickly realize it's a scalpel. You let out disjointed protests, jerking away from him, hands flexing against the wrist restraints. He smiles, sharp and cruel.

Letting out an amused hum, he takes a long look at your terrified face.

"To be honest, I'm normally really good." He says, almost reassuringly. "Though, it's gonna hurt because you're not numb."