maladaptivewritings

[maladaptivewritings]

STREAMER BOYFRIEND! SIMON RILEY X READER

a/n: happy birthday @callsign-arson !! I didn't have much time so here's a short:)

cw: blowjob, cockwarming, fluff, vape, simon is "a big meanie but respects women" type, uh mention of simon saying slur bc some1 might get uncomfortable (?), hes not supposed to be nice anyways

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who streams shirtless and the majority of the fans mainly stays for the biceps instead of the games he plays.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who met you randomly on a special ask stream to celebrate the 150k followers milestone. “Do you wanna see my plushie collection?” He asked for your discord to see the picture afterwards and you two hit it off.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who gets angry and jumpy, shouting slurs into the mic when his team loses. The moment you set down a plate of fruit next to his keyboard and wrap your arms around his neck, asking what he's playing, he leans back into the chair and mutters the answer into your cheek, landing an opportune kiss. His teammates cheer whenever they see you walk in the room, knowing their ears are spared.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who had an OF but quit after you came into his life. It is also not by chance that he discovers you are his biggest subscriber. You will be teased to death.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who begs you to cockwarm him during live. It took two weeks and ten dresses later to have you all dolled up for the camera. Nothing much is shown. It just looks like you're sitting on his lap and totally not clenching around his stiff cock. He leans towards the pc, chin resting on your shoulder, chest touching your back, to access the keyboard and mouse. Sometimes, if he catches you almost dozing off, Simon takes a long hit from the vape and blows into your face. The chat sometimes asks if you're ill because of your stuttering and blushes. Whenever you answer a question from viewers, Simon shifts and lodged his cock deeper, coos when you stop mid-sentence, rubbing your waist and cheeks condescendingly. “Chat, behave yourselves. Lad’s a shy thing.” The way you clench harder after that sends him straight to heaven. That night he broke his winning record.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who squeals like a toddler on Christmas when you shyly ask to suck him on live. You got bolder after the cockwarming stream. So here he is shooting a guy straight in the skull while his cock rests smugly in your warm mouth. He made a small pillow “nest” underneath the gaming table so that your knees won't be sore. When you think he is close to winning something, you sink your teeth slightly and watch as his thighs jerk. Simon yells “Fuck!”, ends the stream and tosses the headphones to the side. He gets soo mean after that. A hand yanks your head back by the neck. His cock pops out with a pop, a string of saliva connects the two of you. Simon rams his cock back in abruptly, your nose comes into contact with his pube. He presses firmly on the back of your head to keep you there, thrusting deeper in your throat until you gag violently.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who streams your shopping trips occasionally because the demand is so high (he asks you first of course!). The chat goes ballistic every time you step out of the changing room and twirl for Simon. He’s sitting on the waiting bench the whole time like a good boy, fists clenched on his thighs. He has never been this focused, not even when he was deep into the fourth battle with less than 3 teammates alive. Somehow, the shopping stream brings lots of profit even though Simon intended to do it for the shit and giggles. It's not your fault that the chat spams donations and gifts for each outfit you try on. You're giggling the whole way back in the passenger seat, knowing Simon can't help but use the money on another shopping trip for you.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who gets called out by the chat because he is getting “soft” one year into dating you. He’s not offended though! He pulls you to actually sit down on his lap when you bring your usual fruit plate on that day. Holds and kisses your knuckles, laughs when you eye him weirdly as if he's on vape (again). Eventually, the chat asks about the wedding date for fun. You're speechless when Simon explains the whole plan with specific dates and locations. Almost as if the wedding is set to complete by the end of this month. At this point, you're not even surprised if Simon pulls out a ring during dinner.

⌯⌲ buy me a coffee?

[maladaptivewritings]

"y-you're gonna kill me, sweetie... freakin' kill me..." clark groaned above you, his hips ramming into you like never before as your legs bounced on his shoulders.

clark kent was a possessive man and he knew it. it was in his kryptonian genes, he swears! he can't control the moan that slips out when he successfully marks you with his scent, or the hand that sneaks into the crook of your back in public settings. he tries to, but he can't.

and you know it. you know it so well that you wanted to mess around with it.

and it was only natural for clark to fuck your brains out when he saw the "C" anklet you had on when you came home today.

it got to him, truly. it got to him because he marked you, because you're his and you're showing it off. because now the entire world knows that you, his beloved, belong to him.

he kisses your anklet, his eyes narrowed and uncharacteristically dark. "you're too cute... way too cute f'me, hmm..." and he pecs and pecs, his soft lips contrasting with the force of his thrusts, fucking into you like it's the only way for him to breath. and it might aswell be.

"c-clark, i– ah—! ohh... shit, fuck.." you couldn't even form proper sentences, your lips wobbling at the sensation of him knocking at your cervix. he so desperately wanted to claim you, fully and inside out, and the cute jewelry you had on your ankle was definitely helping.

his heavy balls tightened everytime it reflected the light, shining like the most precious of diamonds. "mine.. all mine..." he mumbled before he nibbled at the "C", his eyebrows bending in pleasure as he neared his end. his pace quickened while one of his hands migrated to your clit, rubbing tight circles to get you off.

you mewled, back arching when you felt the heat of his digits on your bud. the sight of him, blushing and drooling, utterly drunk on his possession—drunk on you—had you quickly approaching your climax, but it's when the first rope of his cum slipped its way into your womb that you finally let go.

you both cried out in your orgasms, his cock twitching with every pulse of your cunt, hips sporadically fucking his seed into you.

"mine, mine... mineminemine—" he chanted, as if repeating it would make it any more true than it already was.

[maladaptivewritings]

clark kent fucking you in a delicious headlock blurb       

clark kent is, without a doubt and zero argument, a big man. broad shoulders that strain against every button down, hands that cover almost the entire expanse of your lower back—capable and strong ones, a tad bit shy and always polite, thighs like steel that pin you in place before you even think about moving. try as he might to fold himself smaller, to soften his edges and fade into the background like his ma raised him to—mindful, considerate, never in the way—clark can’t help it. he takes up space. his size announces him before his voice ever does, though he naturally tempers it with stammered apologies and the kind of gentle smiles that almost make you forget just how much room he commands.

so when you floated the idea of being bent over the kitchen island—his cock buried to the hilt, his impossibly huge arm cinched around your throat in a headlock—he was… startled, to put it mildly. clark’s spent a lifetime taking pride in good manners. always referring back to what he was raised with: careful hands, gentle voice, good manners. he knows his strength can overwhelm; it isn’t bad, but it demands considerate restraint if he’s going to do right by people.

so why does this feel so ruinously good?

why does the give of your body under his hold light up something deep and hungry in him, make “be careful” melt into “hold still” on his tongue? why did it feel so sinfully good to not be careful with you? to hold you there and feel your pussy flutter around him every time his forearm tightened? the manners said be gentle; the way you moaned said harder. and when you nodded—breath hot, eyes glassy—he gave in, grip unyielding, hips snapping, all that carefulness burning off until the only thing left was the slick, brutal rhythm of him using every inch of space he takes up to ruin you just how you asked.

all of manners to the wind with the heat of your pulse against his forearm, the shock of your gasp, making his self-control fray into threads—until all he can think is yes, like that, take me, take all of me?

and it’s no help that every slick, relentless pump of his cock bullying your pussy into another—second? third? you’ve lost count of your orgasms—rips the sense right out of you. your body just melts, pliant and dumb against him, every nerve buzzing with the sharp edge of overstimulation. drool spills past your parted lips, pooling at the corner of your mouth before sliding down in a hot, glossy trail over the thickness of his flexed arm. it streaks his muscle, glistening, mixing with the sweat already there, and clark watches it with a guttural sound—like he wants to lick it up, like he wants to mark you with every mess you make.

and when your lashes flutter, eyes rolling back as another wave crests and breaks, he only tightens his hold, fucking you through it. because if it makes you shudder and clench around him like this—if it wrings those broken little sounds from your throat—then there’s no way it can be wrong. not when it feels this good.

[maladaptivewritings]

Price gets a pretty little bimbo assistant. And he hates it.

He didn't even want an assistant in the first place. But Laswell had insisted, saying he needed at least someone on the team to do their paperwork. So John had given Soap the job of hiring. Not caring who he got. He figured they wouldn't last long anyways. So it wouldn't matter.

Soap had already made his decision the second he saw you. Almost drooling as you opened the door with those long painted nails. Teetering in ridiculously high heels. A vision of slutty femininity. All short skirts and cleavage.

You were positively ditsy in the interview. Not at all qualified. What made you even consider the job was beyond him. But you were hired anyway. Johnny practically giddy as he leads you to his Captain's office. He got such a wonderful view of your ass in that tiny skirt when you bent over the desk to shake his hand. And John got such a wonderful view of your tits.

But the second you spoke John was grumpy again. You were too bubbly. Far too happy to have this job. What the hell was Soap thinking.

[maladaptivewritings]

begging clark kent to put you in a headlock and give you the nastiest, toe-curling backshots of your life. he’s so hesitant at first, ever the attentive and caring partner, but he inevitably gives in once you pull out the little pout and puppy-eyes knowing damn well he can’t resist.

he’s gentle and slow at first, so damn slow, nose pressed to the top of your head as he breathes in your intoxicating scent and ruts into you from behind. when you start trembling and begging for him to actually use you and leave you feeling it in the form of aching hips and the inability to walk the following day, clark picks up his pace. he lives for the feeling of your nails digging into his bicep and saccharine moans filling the room.

“more, clark,” you whined out, back arching just a little more as a way of enticing your gentle-giant of a boyfriend. “‘s not enough.”

clark simply shushes you, pressing his chiseled torso further against your back. “be patient for me, sweetheart. you can do that, can’t you?”

but, being the minx you are, you just had to bring up him.

“bruce would give it to me how i want it.”

it wasn’t too long after that comment had left your mouth that you had found yourself writhing in pleasure — as much as you could with clark’s heady weight keeping you pinned down right where he wanted you. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and your jaw went slack as his powerful thrusts began to pick up the pace, leaving your mind empty with nothing but him, devoid of anything except clarkclarkclark—

“ah, ah,” clark tutted, free hand going to grab your jaw. his deft fingers squeezed your cheeks together while a mean smirk rose to his lips. “don’t go dumb on me just yet, pretty. we’re just getting started.”

[maladaptivewritings]

In honor of our liege, may he find peace.

[maladaptivewritings]

The two of you sat in silence, the ledge overlooked the sinking sun as he lit up to smoke.

"Why are you up here?" You mustered out, voice hoarse.

"Same as you, I guess." His voice like gravel as he watched the sky fade into night.

Most had gone home by this point. They'd be laughing at the bars or eating dinner with family.

Simon took his cigarette to his lips, a sigh of relief as his day winded down. His abysmal eyes turned to you as you readjusted.

"Need a light?" The metallic gleam of his lighter reflected what was left of the sun as he reached out.

You waved your hand off, hopeful he'd leave soon. Instead, he just pulled up his sleeves and laid back on the rooftop.

"Kid, you ain't leaving unless you're walking back with me." The statement felt like a threat as he relaxed. His eyes on you.

It was hot. The base had felt humid for the past few weeks due to the heat wave. Despite this, you wore a hoodie no matter what, even in training. He knew what was up.

His predatory gaze still was on you. Locked tight as you squirmed.

"I- I was just getting air, y'know." Your words falling from your mouth, dripping with uncertainty that he'd take the lie.

His watch showed the two of you had been in this stalemate for nearly an hour. He was locked in to this challenge. This wasn't his first go around, but normally, he'd be hearing about these things after the fact.

He could've just called for some backup, had a crisis counselor show up, and told you how great living is; but that wasn't him. The look in your eyes, something identical to what he'd see in the mirror for years.

"Can't jump at this height, just be a hospital trip...and with that hoodie, they'll check." Blunt and course as always as he sat up.

You were startled. No one had been that frank about this, and while it was true, why should you listen to him.

He just rolled up his sleeves, and if you squint, you'd find uniformity it some of those scars.

"Some people will smoke or drink. Others will do dumb shit to feel alive. I like tasks..." Simon tried to relate as he mumbled through his words.

His childhood was hell enough, but war is brutal. As he stared at you, awaiting your next move, you simply just cried.

Wailing, your breaths getting locked in your throat along the way. You wanted to disappear, try to erase your existence, and here was this oaf trying to keep you here longer.

"There's, there's no use." Words being cut by harsh breaths as he rubs your back.

Face bright red as this man holds you close. And for once, you didn't feel alone. You felt so tired.

You'll stay on that roof for a few more hours, as he calmed you down. That didn't stop him from sending you to a med unit after the fact.

[maladaptivewritings]

cure 97

[maladaptivewritings]

Both Johnny and you had horrendous sleep schedules. He stayed up most nights watching reruns of football matches he'd missed while deployed and playing games through the night, knowing he'd need to be back on base in 5 hours. On the other hand, you were on graveyard shifts ; 12 hours of watching patients and praying they stayed asleep throughout the night.

Johnny hated this schedule. By the time he was unwinding, you were off to work, and not to mention when he'd return at odd hours from missions. The flat you shared eerily quiet compared to his companions despite the time he'd return, with you gone or asleep.

It had been a month since the two of you could have a weekend to yourself. Your eyes were tired as you launched yourself onto the couch as you finished your last shift for the week. Body sore from walking, Johnny sat beside you, his calloused hands slowly finding those tight muscles you despised so much.

"Poor lamb," his voice cooed as you melted in his hands.

He watched as you slipped in and out of sleep on the couch, the TV still blaring some football matches still, and yet you were content for a moment.

So he cuddled up. He didn't care that the bed was just a few steps away, just that he had you in his arms for once.

[maladaptivewritings]

tummy bulges with simon riley are sometimes just him cramming himself inside you cause he likes the way it looks. the guy holds the plush of your stomach so stares like he's got nothing but you and time, rolling his hips until he can't push any further and that little bump appears. showing you how deep he is.

si feels even deeper when he takes a palm and presses the small mound, his other hand swiping at the tears gliding across your face and shushing your whines.

"what's all this blubberin' for? right where 'm s'pose t'be." he talks as if he isn't fucking buried in your hole, tip kissing your insides and stretching you so wide you can't speak.

he's even got the audacity to change the angle, lugging your body towards him to drag a pillow under the small of your back before letting you flop back down and wail at the different, better feeling.

it feels so good. too good and you try to push him away. just for a second to blink away another round of tears but he just shoves away your pitiful grabs, grunting with a slight scowl.

"quit it," he mumbles, plunging his cock again until he can see the subtle poke of his head inside you. "trying to watch."

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[maladaptivewritings]

Ghost makes the mistake of trying to keep up with soap at the bar and gets fuck-off levels of drunk.

Which is usually fine, he can be pretty funny for blackmail material so long as someone makes sure he doesnt fall over. Unfortunately ghost has decided that no one is allowed to touch him because as he says to price "ahm spoken for! Get yer mitts offa me!"

As adorable as it is, ghost is still a big guy who can throw around his weight even when drunk. Easily shrugs gaz and soap off of him, growling that hes "married to a damn amazing spouse! Ah wouldnt fuck it up for a night with you!"

It gets to the point that price desperately calls you to pick up your husband, because ghost is starting to make a scene. You arrive just as ghost is starting another speech about being taken when he locks eyes with you and melts. Nothing else in his world as he makes little grabby hands, hugging you the second youre within range. "Babbbyyy!" He whines "I missed you! Where did you go?"

You just chuckle, used to ghosts antics. A quick kiss to his forehead has ghosts brain rebooting only to fall all over again when he sees you "honey," he grips your face gently, reverently "you are so hot. So so beautiful and so fucking hot."

You snort, nod along and expertly remove ghost from the seat. You give the lads a wave goodbye as ghost waxes poetically over how sexy you are, trusting gaz to send the video later.

[maladaptivewritings]

simon riley doesn’t cum easily. he’s old enough to be your dad and he’s been fucking girls since before you were even a thought. it’s something he’s proud of—most girls are lucky enough to get foreplay and twenty minutes let alone hours of teasing, touching and fucking that’ll have them forgetting their own name. it’s something he even warns you about, almost holds the idea over your head when the topics of sex and your virginity come up.

“‘’m a grown man, sweetheart. much worse than the boys your father warns you about. wanna get you ready first.”

and he does—when the day comes and your laid out on your pretty silk sheets, topless and wearing nothing but your cutest lace panties—just for him. he spends an hour with his mouth between your legs, fingers inside you, hands all over your body. he spends so much time ‘getting you ready’ that when it’s finally time for him to sink his cock inside you—

he stills.

you blink up at him, shifting at the pressure of him just sitting inside you.

“simon?” you whisper, shuddering as your pussy clenches around him over and over—desperate for him to move, touch, something.

“need a minute,” he grunts, eyes squeezed shut. his fists clench and unclench next to your head. his hips twitch. he throws his head back when you try moving for him—

“don’t.” he snaps, must harsher than he meant, hand flying down to still your movement, “‘m gonna blow my load if you move again sweetheart.”

you blink. you frown. you think. then you grin. “but you said-”

“shut up.”

tags: @avgdestitute @3m3lia9 @km-ffluv

lmk if you wanna be taken off of or added to my cod taglist <3

[maladaptivewritings]

None of the men in 141 would care if your tits were two different sizes btw. Also they would think hip dips are hot and would not give af about cellulite or stretch marks because they're fit men who work out often and have stretch marks and cellulite of their own.

[maladaptivewritings]

stalker!simon riley who breaks into your house, but it's clear he underestimated you because the next thing he knows, he's on the ground with a knife to his neck.

how was simon supposed to know a delicate thing such as yourself could make a grown fall to the ground and wield a knife while still looking so pretty and soft? not to mention, it's pitch black because the lights are out for the night.

and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't hard as fuck.

[maladaptivewritings]

your kisses get more adventurous until you’re on your knees, lips parting for him like it’s instinct.

at first, it was very cute. the way you'd press those soft, clumsy kisses on his mouth anytime you got a chance like you had discovered something magical.

he loved the way your ears would twitch and how you'd squirm whenever he teased you by pulling away too soon. the way you chased his lips for more made his cock swell every time.

he loved how innocent you were about it—how you'd kiss him with no technique, just pure, unfiltered want, like you couldn't get enough. how you'd sometimes forget to breathe, going dizzy and dazed against his mouth until he had to gently break away, chuckling as you gasped for air.

well that was until things took a turn. you were getting bolder. every time he sat down, you were in his lap, your mouth trailing lower—kissing down his throat, over his collarbone, along his happy trail and fuck, it was killing him. you were making it impossible to get any work done.

but this? this was new. you were on your knees between his legs, your fingers toying with the buckle of his belt in an attempt to kiss lower, those big curious eyes looking up at him like you weren't about to ruin his entire fucking life.

"kitten," he warned, voice already rough. "don't."

you ignored him. of course you did.

your lips brushed the fabric over his hips, your nose nudging lower and his self-control was hanging by a thread. he should stop you but the way you looked at him made him only grow harder.

"fuck," he hissed as you mouthed over the growing strain in his pants. "you're gonna be the death of me."

your nose pressed against the thick outline of his cock and he nearly busted in his pants like a teenager going through puberty. your tongue darted out, experimentally licking over the fabric and he groaned.

he shouldn't have given in but before he knew it, his belt was clinking as he unbuckled it, his cock springing free. it was thick and heavy against his stomach. your eyes widened, a soft chirp of surprise slipping past your lips. 

your tongue darted out again, hesitant but curious, lapping at the salty bead of precum gathered at his tip. he groaned, his fingers threading through your hair. "that's it, kitten," he rasped. "just like that. so good for me."

you didn't really know what you were doing, but the way his thighs tensed under your hands, the way his breath hitched when you licked the tip again, made something warm and pleased curl in your chest. you wanted more of those sounds. you wanted to make him happy. you wanted to make him feel good.

you nuzzled closer, your lips parting as you kissed along the length of him, slow and deliberate. you wanted to hear him praise you like that again. so you opened your mouth wider, your tongue flattening against the underside of his cock as you licked him from base to tip. that spot between your thighs was tingling again. you squirmed in a failed attempt to seek relief.

"fuck," he choked out, his thighs tensing. "yeah, just like that. love your pretty little mouth on me."

you purred at the praise, the vibration traveling straight to his cock, his fingers tangling in your hair. "christ, sweetheart. you're gonna kill me."

then you took him into your mouth.

it was clumsy, your lips stretched around him, your tongue pressing awkwardly against the thick vein on the underside. you didn't know how to move, how to breathe, but you tried, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked experimentally.

his head fell back with a groan. "fuck, fuck—you love my cock, don't you, kitten? been curious since you seen it in the shower, huh?"

you hummed around him, the purr in your chest vibrating against his length, and he nearly came right then. "such a good little thing, purrin' for me like that. s'like you were made to suck my cock."

your purrs grew louder as you bobbed your head, your lips sliding messily along his shaft. drool dripped down your chin and simon was transfixed at the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock. he had spent months fighting it and it felt so good to finally give in.

"such a good girl," he panted, his hips rocking up slightly. "gonna make me come just like this, huh? just from your sweet little mouth?"

you nodded eagerly, your mouth watering at the thought of his taste.

and that was all it took. he came with a groan, his cock pulsing against your tongue, his release flooding your mouth. you chirped in surprise you lapped at the hot fluid that filled your mouth.

when you finally pulled away, your lips were swollen, your chin slick with spit and cum. you looked up at him, dazed but happy, your tail flicking lazily behind you as he scratched that spot behind your ears.

"fuckin’ perfect," he murmured, dragging you up into his lap. "my perfect little kitten."

find more of this adorable duo here!

[maladaptivewritings]

𝘿𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙

A Private in a Kortac camp is the bane in Ghost's side, but he can't just let them get picked on.

TW: Age gap, power imbalances, bullying, war y'know, cursing, fire

Y/N: A private hoping to be in Demolitions, and has the callsign Soot.

The buzz of electric and the insects that swarm around you pull you from your trance. The cigarette sat between your fingers, and before you knew it that serenity was gone.

Gunfire.

The distinct noise from a few yards away, and before you knew it you were full sprint. Confusion and chaos as one of the depots becomes a beacon.

Fuck, you pull up the fabric of your shirt and run in. It was still early enough some poor soul could still be in there, debris falling as you weave through the way. Thick cloud of smoke embrace you, eyes watering.

There, passed out on the ground was a young man you'd seen join the camp maybe a week ago. Tossing him over your shoulder, as the heat slowly reminded you of your mortality. Fire-fight outside, you'd take the risk when seeing on of the shattered windows from the blast.

You take the leap, the promise of fresh air was worth it. Gasping for air you pull the poor ginger from his near death and lay on the mud behind the furnace. His coughs harmonizing with your own, neither of you couldn't run or fight in this state. You drag him into the underbrush like an injured dog, you knew of some places around camp to hide for a brief second. Most used for rendezvous' between soldiers but this time it'll work.

"Stay-" your voice shakes as you drag him, "Quiet."

He nods his head frantically, barely understanding how in just a moment a run for barrack supplies turned to this.

Rain slowly creeped in, the light from the fire fading in the distance. The tree trunk the two of you sat in, hollowed out by some animal years ago kept you dry enough as you tended to his wounds. Superficial at first glance, scrapes and burns but the damage to both of your lungs was an anxiety that was building as the adrenaline slowly faded. Your arms aches, and you could bet you were at least 10 yards from camp.

You don't know when you fell asleep just that the sound of the forest greeted you, daybreak fast approaching and the weight of your injuries coming into fruition. Pulling yourself and the private up, you forced your way back to camp.

Legs shaking, and sore arms as you made the last few yards. the walk filled with winces and curses muttering between you and your new friend.

"Ok lighter," A name of convivence, as you look for a familiar face before you. "I need you to watch my back while we get into camp." The nameless soldier nods, as you wander into the main road of the base. It was eerie, a ghost town as the two of you meandered towards the infirmary.

Sunlight finally broke , and so did you.

[maladaptivewritings]

His eyes are locked on you, neither body wanting to move. The moment paused as he attempt to find a way to convince you that this man in your home is not a threat. Hell, how he'd say in less than an hour it'd be filled with more.

He watches the baseball bat in your hand, smart bird, you had a sock on it. His eyes taking in the giant shirt you wore, and with how you held your weapon... cute.

He looks like everything you'd fear waking up to, your drunk night in now leading you to this. You kept asking yourself if you manifested this watching those horror movies. You keep your ground, hoping he somehow will become fearful of someone nearly a foot shorter.

Doe eyes staring daggers at the predatory figure that lurked hidden in the shadows of your home.

"Come out..." Voice hoarse from bar, your attempt to be strong was paired with weak knees.

"Can't" His voice rattled you, he shifted his weight as his words escaped him.

God you wanted to just walk off, like this was all one bad dream. You knew better; You were stubborn and just paid your rent .

"Look, go upstairs...we won't bother love" His eyes saw the wave of hesitance cross your face.

"We?"

'Fuck' The thought rang across both of your minds as he spoke.

You came at him, bat in hand.

He just knocked you down, brute-force as you hit the floor. The shaggy rug barely helped your fall.

He leaned down, his gaze not just a assumption as his onyx eyes met your own. The old and worn Baklava hiding the rest of him, his slow blinking eyes analyzed you. He could check how far out his team was, try to leave you be and hope that you'd remember it all as a bad dream.

It was too late for that, as you sat dumbfounded and drunk in front of him. He leaned down and scooped you over his shoulder.

"Timeout" He chuckled to himself as he walked you upstairs and searched for a room to lock you in. He had less than a half-hour before his men arrived as he tossed you into your bedroom.

Fear took hold, reasonably as you were thrown onto your bed. Preparing the fight for your life, you were quickly proven wrong. This amassing figure grabbed a remote turned on a movie and looked back at you. Your eyes glossy

"You'll be staying in 'er, and quiet alright?" Nodding he left the room, you heard more enter and leave through the night. Men rambling about something or someone.

You listened though, and you sat watching some dumb movie until you fell asleep.

Irked about the mess, Ghost after the incident bitched out intel for giving a wrongfully assessed estate. He ensured that the house remained as it was when he had left, hoping you'd assume it'd just be a dream.

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wip