#it's so cold and he's probably hungry. if he's even alive

[sudokuplayer]

i'm so angry and heartbroken and i think this is all i will ever be

[lucid-loves]

Reader getting kidnapped and tortured for information, when Simon and the team save the reader and take them back to base and Simon helps her recover mentally and physically, Simon swears to protect her at all costs? And they fall in love?! ❤️❤️

Thank you for waiting! 🤍

What a Time To Be Alive

Pairing: Ghost x POW!reader (fem!reader, 141!reader, callsign “Spite”)

Word Count: 13.7k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, angst, violence, scars, blood, wounds, killing, fluff, attraction, one-shot, reader POV and Ghost POV, minors DNI, EXPLICIT SMUT, P in V, passionate kisses, fingering, hickeys, mirror sex, passionate sex, gentleness, compliments, praise

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: You were caught by the enemy during a crucial mission. The 141 team had no choice but to leave you, thinking you were dead already. For a year and a half, you were held prisoner and tortured for information. When the 141 finally gets you back, Ghost volunteers to take care of you during your recovery, having felt responsible for your capture. Both of your feelings blossom into something more as you both realize how much you care about one another. 

You were dead. At least, that’s what everyone thought when they watched you get shot in the head. You didn’t blame them for leaving. You would have probably thought the same thing if it was one of them.

No, you were still alive. The metal plate that doctors put in your head after a bad car accident as a teenager saved your life. You were knocked out cold upon bullet impact, but still very much alive. Not that you were doing well, though. 

With a headache and tired eyes, you looked at your cold, stone wall marked with tally marks for the passing days. 547 days were marked, give or take. There were days where you didn’t wake up so you forgot to mark them. You didn’t wake up until some time after you were captured too. Those days weren’t marked.

Your stomach grumbled, making your body’s ache amplify all over. You couldn’t remember the last time your body didn’t hurt. What was once lean military muscle was now skin and bones. You were constantly hungry for food, a combination of you refusing to eat out of spite and being underserved overcooked rice to the point that it was just mush. 

They kept you weak. Underfed and dehydrated. It was probably a good thing they did because otherwise you would rip your warden apart with your bare hands. 

When you first came to after being captured, you had the honor to meet your warden right away. A man that was on the hit list for the 141, Bill Porakov. but made a surprise appearance at the mission. He was the one that lifted his gun just as everyone was boarding the helicopter to go home. 

It was one of the memories you still remembered so vividly. The dirt kicking up from the ground, the blades whipping around the wind, the look back you happened to give by chance before the gun went off. You saw the aim. You traced it back. And before the bullet could hit him, you had pushed Ghost hard. The last sight you saw of them was Ghost falling forward towards the chopper, the rest of the team that was already grabbing his arms to pull him in. 

You saw the brief expressions he gave you when he looked back. At first, he was annoyed, but it didn’t take long for his annoyance to morph into pure horror as the bullet meant for him hit your skull.

When you awoke, you were strapped to a chair. Your head pounded, you were in your underwear, and you were meeting your warden. 

No matter what he did, you never talked. Even when he cut your skin with knives. Even when he dislocated your jaw with a hammer. Even when he took your pinkie finger and a few of your teeth, you never talked. All you did was give a human snarl, angry firecrackers in your eyes.  

It wasn’t until the third month when he realized that nothing was going to make you talk that he switched tactics to solitary confinement. He came by every now and then to try physical torture again. Waterboarding, electric shock. 

It felt like he did it more so for fun than to fish information out of you after a certain point. 

You snapped to attention when you heard whispers down the hall. A few guards were whispering to each other. Trying to ignore the pain of your body, you attempted to eavesdrop. 

“-said to be extra careful today. Maintenance work will have the cameras down for a little bit.”

“Like anything is gonna happen. Her brain is too scrambled to do anything. You know what she did last week?”

“What?”

“She threw her food out. Managed to sling the bowl through the bars and shattered the thing. Then, she just sat in the corner. Didn’t even realize that the food she got was actually good that day. The bitch is paranoid and out of it. One too many things to that thick skull of hers.”

“Damn, really? When do think the warden is gonna let her go now that she’s fucked in the head?”

“Probably never. After that incident was reported, he just shrugged. Said she was still a prize, even starving.”

As the guards approached your cell, you pretended that you were asleep. It wasn’t hard to do since you often found yourself pretending to be asleep to avoid guard confrontation. When you heard the sound of your cell door unlocking and opening, you stirred as if just becoming awake. 

“Dinner. Don’t make me clean your mess like last week.”

You slowly got up and limped towards the silver tray, your porcelain dishware exchanged for silver since last week. 

You threw the food against the wall last week because it looked good. Too good. You did get paranoid and thought it was poisoned. A last meal. You didn’t care if it made you look crazy. In fact, you liked how they thought you went crazy. They would underestimate you, especially now that the time was right for your plan. 

On your tray was the usual mush of rice mixed together with cut deli meat. The smallest amount of protein and carbs that would make the grumbling stop, but your body still weak. 

Slowly, you ate, trying to ignore the fact that you had to eat with your fingers that were covered in sweat and dirt. They only let you take a cold shower once a month. One that only lasted thirty seconds. 

God, you hoped that today really would be the day you could start your plans of escape. 

“Prison Fight in Cell Block D! Personnel in Cell Block E and F report to Cell Block D immediately!” a strong voice announced over the speakers just as one of the guards was relocking your cell. They both sighed, but then hurried out to see what the commotion was. 

Except, they forgot to lock your door properly. You’ve gotten used to all the sounds of the prison like a pattern. The sound of your cell door locking was a familiar that never missed, until today. Waiting a few minutes, you made sure that the guards were gone and busy. If this was going to work, you had to be careful. Play your cards right.

You were lucky that you were Cell Block F’s only prisoner. 

Slowly, you pushed the door to avoid the whining creak it always gave. Slipping through, you could feel your hands shake and your head spin. Jesus, you were in bad shape. This was the most amount of moving you had done in a while. 

Carefully, you headed down the hall toward the front desk of the block. Luck really was on your side today. As you peeked through the door window, you noticed that there was no one manning the desk. All that was left was a radio, a cell phone, a transmitter, a computer, and walkie talkies on chargers. You pushed the door open, the task taking more effort than it should have, and you picked up the phone. 

Dialing the secret number you knew by heart, you prayed that it would go through. It rang several times before you reached a voicemail prompt. You nearly wept when you heard Kate’s voice asking you to leave a message. You missed her.

Your voice cracked as you tried to summon it. It’s been a long time since you’ve used it for talking. Nowadays you’ve only used it for screaming. It was hoarse and broken. It hurt to speak. “Th-This is Spite. 5286. I’ve been a prisoner all this time. I-I don’t know where. I haven’t seen the light of day. . .”

“Please, bring me home. If that can’t happen. . .”

You swallowed hard and thought about your next words carefully. “I will hold out for two weeks. If no one comes for me, then I will take my own life by taking Bill Porakov’s life. I won’t go to the other side empty handed.”

Leaving the message at that, you hung up, erased the call history, and cautiously retreated back to your cell. Crawling into your concrete slab of a bed, you curled up and closed your eyes. You felt your cheeks become wet as you now waited for someone or no one to help you. 

Just before you began to drift off. You heard sounds coming down your hallway again. Heavy footsteps that identified your visitor. The warden. 

You felt his eyes on you, sizing you up in the corner of your cell. When he attempted to unlock the door, he noticed that it was unlocked already. Instead of becoming angry at his employees, he simply began to laugh. The other guards nervously began to join in. “Unlocked door and still a stationary prisoner. Have you lost hope finally? Good. It’ll make taming you a lot easier.”

~

The 141 team was getting out of a meeting. A boring one. One that went over statistics and facts about their own work that nearly put them to sleep. They never really cared about their accomplishments or results from a numbers perspective. Besides that, all the accomplishments they made nowadays felt tasteless. Ever since you died, all of their success never felt as good as before. 

The team was quiet, walking through base together under a bright afternoon sun. Soap was the first to speak in that thick Scottish accent of his. “How about the bar tonight, lads? I could go for a drink.”

There was no answer for a moment, everyone hesitant to accept the offer. The last time they went out to the usual bar, they did have a good time. Until Ghost glanced over at what used to be your chair. He always did that when he went out to the bar. When he noticed the absence, everybody else did too. 

Ghost took your death the hardest. You gave your life to save his. It was a debt that he could never repay. Besides that, you were one of the best of them. The wittiest sense of humor, the most encouraging and supportive in and outside the battlefield. The best cook too when you were sick of the base’s cafeteria food. 

Drinking only made him forget about you for a short while, but it was always an offer he took up when he was invited out to the bar. “Sure, Johnny.”

“Count me in then too.” Gaz chimed in. Price nodded as well, the both of them having had formulated a plan for the next bar outing. Something that would hopefully bring all of them a little more closure, especially Ghost. 

They were going to propose a memorial. They held one a week after you died, yet it didn’t feel quite right. It was too formal. Too stiff. It was organized by the military. Ghost didn’t even go. They needed to organize one themselves. One that you would approve of better.

They just had to make sure Ghost would attend. A discussion that would be saved for the bar tonight.

Just before Soap could open his mouth to say something, Price spotted Kate running full speed towards them, tears streaming down her face. She was shaking and breathing so hard that it looked like she was close to a panic attack. 

“Kate?! What’s wrong? What happened?” Price already began to ask, the team ready to spring into action. 

She took a few deep breaths, working up the courage to reveal the truth that almost had her faint when she first heard it. “S-Spite. . . She’s alive. . . She’s alive!”

Ghost felt his heart drop. His blood ran contradictory temperatures. Hot and cold. His breath was stuck in his lungs. He lost color under his mask. Then, he clenched his teeth. No, this couldn’t be true. You got shot in the head. There was no way you could have survived that.

“Are you sure Kate? How do you know?” Price calmly tried to reason, not wanting to hold out for false hope either.

Laswell just nodded and opened her phone. In a single tap, your voice came out broken but alive. 

The team was frozen as they listened to your cry for help followed by your fearless determination. If they had any doubts before that it was really you, those doubts no longer existed as you said something only you would say. That you wouldn’t die empty handed. 

“Spite. . . you spiteful bastard. . .” Soap choked, not afraid to shed a tear. 

Kate put her phone back in her pocket and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I’ll have my people trace the call back to the location.”

Price nodded before turning to his men. “Gear up! We got a soldier to save!”

As soon as the order was given, Ghost left the group to go to his room in the barracks. He had to pack. His mind was racing as he began taking a few extra socks from his dresser. He could hardly believe it. You were alive. You, the person always on his mind even after all this time had passed, was still living. 

He couldn’t imagine the shit you were going through. And he felt like it was his fault.

No matter what, he promised himself, he would bring you back home. Even if it cost him his life this time. 

~

You didn’t know how many days had passed. Porakov took you out of your solitary cell to keep in a new prison located in his office. It was a beautiful office with fresh flowers, polished furniture, and a white carpet. In your new cell, a modern door that needed keycard access locked you in the room. The room was all white except for one wall made out of bullet-proof glass for Porakov’s viewing pleasure. 

Somehow, you missed your old cell. 

As you sat in the corner of your new room, you watched Porakov through the glass. He was chatting with someone new. Someone that looked out of place with their white coat and round glasses. A doctor perhaps?

Your captor finally looked at you, making your skin crawl. He gave a malicious grin like a wolf that trapped its prey. The stranger looked at you too, a curious quirk in his brow.

They approached your door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. You kept to the corner, shrinking yourself as much as you could. “Well? What do you think? Can you do it?”

The doctor examined you further, adjusting his glasses on his face. “I think so. It’s going to take some time, though. Can you have this room ready for me within two hours with everything I need?”

“We actually have everything ready to roll out.” The warden smirked before leaning into his walkie talkie and summoning workers to bring out rolling tables of medical equipment into the room. 

You watched with steel eyes as they set the room up with all the medical equipment. A metal slab as if it came from a vet’s room took up the center. Microchips, a bonesaw, scalpels, and tweezers decorated the various trays. It took nearly no time at all to get whatever torture method Porakov planned set up. 

The doctor began to sanitize his hands. “Such diligence isn’t even demonstrated in regular hospitals.”

“This is a special day.” Your captor responded before leaving the room only to watch behind the glass. As the doctor approached, you braced yourself like a cornered wild animal. 

The doctor eased back, treating you as such. “It’s alright. I’m going to fix you up. Make you feel better. You want that, don’t you? I know you’ve been in pain for a long time.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You simply warned, refusing to believe a single word he said. If he was working for Porakov, that was enough of a reason not to trust him. No self-respecting doctor would even entertain the idea of working for a vile man like him. 

The doctor frowned at your disobedience. “If you fight this, it’s going to hurt way more.”

As his hand inched closer to you, you sprung forward and attempted to bite. He pulled back just in time before you could bite a finger off. He cursed and turned to the glass. “You said she was broken!”

“Seems like she still has a little fight left in her. Apologies, doctor. It’s okay if you have to be rough with her. Teach her who’s boss.” The warden simply encouraged.

With a sigh, he revealed a small gun strapped to his belt. It wasn’t a regular gun. It was a tranquilizer gun. Realizing what was about to happen, you tried to get to your feet as quickly as you could, but it was too late. Your lack of proper body care made you lose your balance. A sharp pain hit your shoulder, a dart sticking out of you. Your vision already began to haze over, your body feeling heavier than ever before. Whatever was in the tranquilizer was enough to make you ragdoll, but not enough to put you to sleep. 

They wanted you awake for this.

Your limp body was lifted onto the table, giving Porakov a clear view of the show that was about to begin. 

It felt like you were beginning to disassociate. Tears escaped as you wished that you were dead instead of being here. Being treated like a rabid animal and a personal show made you sick. Dying alone in your cell would be better than this. 

Something caught Porakov’s attention for a moment. He seemed to be yelling at someone. It looked urgent. Before he left to handle business, he told the doctor to continue his work.

The doctor simply shrugged and focused back on you. He took a scalpel and began to make an incision along the palm of your hand. You felt the chill of the blade meet your hot blood, nerves going off as if you were touching a hot stove. You hissed and groaned at the pain, refusing to give him anymore than this if you could help it. 

But then, he began to dig around under your skin using the tweezers, shredding nerves and muscles like pulling apart thread. As he pinched your nerves directly, you screamed. A bloodcurdling scream that ripped apart your vocal chords. 

Ignoring your cries, he took a microchip and settled it between your flesh. It suddenly clicked for you. He was rewiring you. Finding your nerves like hidden wires to connect to microchips that were programmed to do god knows what to your body. 

Your mind went berserk, screaming at you to get out of there. To fight back. Adrenaline fought tranquilizer for control as your hand was being ripped apart from the inside. Your heart beated within your ears as you find the energy to grab a spare scalpel from the tray and swipe it along the doctor’s neck, letting gravity and momentum carry out your attack.

You heard the sound of him choking on blood, his tools clattering to the floor as he struggled to get his bleeding under control. Rolling off the table, you hit the ground hard with your hip. The breath that was knocked out of you made your head spin. You used to take most pain like a champ. Now, everything felt like your were getting hit by a truck. 

It didn’t stop you from trying to reorientate yourself, your bleeding, open hand clutching your head. When you finally managed to stand back up, the doctor was staggering to get out of the room. Taking advantage of his state of weakness, you took the bonesaw and prepared to ruin his hand like he tried to do to yours.

The doctor stumbled onto the pristine carpet of Porakov, staining it with his blood. As you got closer with the saw, his gurgles became more strained. Begging for mercy. Adrenaline was kicking in full swing now as you became engulfed in rageful flames. You took a flower vase to your left and threw it, hitting him square in the knees. While he was knocked down, you stepped on one of his wrists.

He had no choice but to take it unless he wanted to bleed out, his other hand still holding the wound. Without remorse, you began sawing off his left hand. Within a few seconds, you didn’t even hear the strained mixture of gurgles and screams anymore. You didn’t hear anything anymore as you just sawed away, taking out your time of suffering out on someone you thought deserved to die.

By the time the hand was detached, the doctor was already long gone. Your hands were shaking and you were exhausted. Everything was still mute, the sound of your heavy breath taking over your ears. 

It was the smell of gunpowder that snapped your attention to the exit. It was an undeniable scent. Something big was going on. Perhaps you were finally getting rescued.

You took a step towards the door before stopping altogether, the door suddenly slammed open to reveal a bloody, panicked Porakov. He clutched his side that was staining his uniform in blood. The strap he usually carried was missing. 

Adrenaline came rushing back as you were presented with your chance for revenge. Your step forward brought his attention to you. His eyes widened in fear. The animal was out of her cage. 

Behind him, heavy footsteps approached. The door slammed open again, this time revealing a face that you never thought you’d get to see again. Blue eyes behind a dark skull. Your heart almost collapsed in on itself as you took him in. Even with the black paint around his eyes, you could tell that he was tired despite the rage. 

Most of his anger melted away as Ghost saw you. Dehydrated and malnourished beyond belief. Bloody and sunken in. Eyes full of a mix of emotions that he wished he could ask about.

You looked back at your warden, shaking in his boots like a coward. This pathetic man that tortured you to the point of such weakness was now silently praying for mercy. 

“Hold him down for me.” You ordered Ghost, your voice darker than the depths of the ocean. 

He didn’t think you should be exerting yourself over anything, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny your order. You needed this. He wanted to give it to you.

A bullet hit Porakov’s knee, making sure he wouldn’t struggle too much for what you were about to do. As he screamed, Ghost settled himself in his office chair, tying him down with some spare duct tape he always kept on him. 

You approached the desk, steadying yourself with your hands. Your left hand was beginning to feel numb by the second, nerves shredded like old newspaper after using both hands to work the saw. Your right hand was missing your pinkie finger. 

“I’m going to make you wish you’ve never been born.” You simply stated, taking back up the bonesaw. Ghost silently watched you bring the serrated blades down on Porakov’s fingers, amazed that your desire for revenge was enough to give your body energy. He supposed that that was one of the things he missed about you. Your unwavering determination to see something through. 

For this, you made sure to tune in in order to hear all the cries your warden had as you took all of his fingers. It was a sound you dreamed of hearing. This moment was what you’ve been waiting for. 

Yet, your heart seemed to remain empty as you watched his fingers fall to the rug. You didn’t stop until all of his fingers were gone, but it all still felt so hollow. You thought if you could get your revenge, you would get your closure. So why wasn’t this as enjoyable as you thought it would be?

Sobs filled the space when you were done. The man you resented shriveled in his seat as he wept for his lost body parts. You clenched your jaw, feeling yourself fill with a cold, angry flame. “Lock him in the cell over there.”

“Wh-What?! Y-You can’t! What about food and water?!” He began to shout, squirming in his chair as Ghost rolled him into the cell. You were lucky that he couldn’t care less about doing the military-right thing. To both of you, this was the right thing to do.

“You are going to die cold, sad, and alone in that cell. I’ll guarantee it.” You promised, watching Ghost situate him in the far corner. He noticed the medical tools scattered around along with the metal medical table. The thought of you strapped down, screaming and losing pieces of your life with each cut made him want to beat the shit out of Porakov. But, it wasn’t what you wanted for him. 

He left and closed the room before giving you space to lock it. As the both of you looked through the glass, taking one last sight of Porkav, you said your final goodbye. “Fuck you, Warden.”

Ghost followed behind as you began to leave, your adrenaline dying back down much faster than you expected. You were downright lethargic when you closed the door to the office, locking it behind you. “Break that shit. Make sure it will be locked for good.”

“Spi-”

“Now, Simon!” You snapped, not meaning to take your pain out on him. In response, he bit his tongue and followed your order. He just wished he could hear you call his name without so much hurt behind it.

As you heard him break the locking mechanism, you leaned against the wall, your vision swirling. Everything began to get hazy and dark, something pulling you into either death or sleep. You couldn’t fight it this time, your body exhausted from all the fighting you’ve spent months doing. 

Ghost turned around as soon as he heard your body hit the floor, out cold. “Spite? Y/n?!”

He took you up in his arms and felt your pulse. Slow, but alive. He didn’t know where your blood began and enemy blood ended. You were so much lighter than what he remembered too.

It should’ve been him to get caught.

Carrying you in his arms, he radioed for evac. This time, you would get on that helicopter and be taken home, safe and sound. He would make sure of it.

~

You didn’t wake up for a while. A long while. By the time you did, you were a fraction into recovering from surgeries already. They fixed up your hand as best the doctors could, they got you on IVs and nourishment. They even had a dentist come in to replace any missing teeth. 

The only thing they couldn’t fix or replace was your pinkie finger. That was something you had to live with for the rest of your life now. A constant reminder of what happened. At least you could wear certain clothes to cover up your numerous scars. It was impossible to comfortably hide a missing finger. 

Ghost never left your room. Everyone took turns visiting you, even in your unconscious state. He stayed, though, the entire time. 

He did everything for you that the nurses couldn’t. Making sure you were comfortable with blankets and pillow changes, making sure you had fresh flowers in your hospital room. He even played music he knew you liked, just in case you could somehow hear the world around you. 

Anything to make up for being the one to take his bullet, he would do.

It was a sight for sore eyes when you finally opened them and saw him. Your throat was parched and sore, but you still spoke out to get his attention from a book he was reading. “Ghost?”

“Spite.” He immediately looked up. Jesus, you could cry. In fact, you did start to cry. 

Tears began to travel down your cheeks. “I. . . I thought I’d never see you again. . .”

He took your right hand in his, a gesture that he has never done before, but not unwelcome. His hand was large, warm, and. . . perfect. “Me too, dove. We thought we lost you.”

“I did get shot in the head.” You justified, already trying to bring some easiness back with some dark humor. 

Ghost missed your humor so much. It was easy to match. “You’ll have to show me how to do that party trick.”

You gave a short snicker. “You just gotta get a metal plate installed in your head. Wouldn’t recommend it, though. Hurts like hell.”

He finally gave a laugh, the first time since he lost you. Squeezing your hand tighter, he prepared the words that he actually wanted to say for when you woke up. “You took that bullet for me. It should have been me, but you took it. I-”

You interrupted him, already knowing where this was going. “Stop. You would’ve done the same for any of us. That’s what it means to trust each other with our lives. You don’t owe me shit for it, okay?”

Before Ghost could reply, the door to your hospital room opened. Your nurse stepped in with some new IV bags and blankets. She was taken aback as she noticed that you were awake. It didn’t take long for the doctor to rush in and for Ghost to get kicked out. 

While he waited, he contacted the team to let them know that you were finally awake. They wasted no time in rushing over to see how you were doing, eager to see who they thought was dead. As soon as the doctor gave them the all clear, you were bombarded with the affection of your team. 

For a moment, it made you forget about the horrors of your capture. 

The fun was spoiled when the doctor came back into the room. The immediate question on everyone’s mind was regarding your stay.

“How long until I can get discharged?” You asked, eager to go back home without thinking too much about it. After the words left your mouth though, you realized that you probably didn’t have a home to go back to. Shit, all of your stuff was probably gone since you were declared dead. . . 

“If everything goes smoothly, we can send you out tomorrow. However, you’ll need a lot of time to recover. We’re going to recommend physical therapy, some new medications, and a therapy recommendation. What you went through is something you should process with time. Do you have anyone that could help take care of you at home?”

You became silent and bit your lip. Before you were assumed to be dead, you didn’t really get along with your family. Knowing your family, they probably rejoiced over your death before immediately going over your will. You would’ve loved to be a fly on that wall. 

And now that you were apparently still alive, you wondered how they would respond to asking for your stuff back. That was going to be something.

With no family, no home, and a list of things to do now that you were back, you began to get a headache. Just as you were about to explain the situation, though, Ghost chimed up.

“I’ll take care of her.”

Your eyes widened at the idea of Ghost being by your side for essentially twenty-four hours a day. “I already told you that you don’t owe me shit.”

He shook his head. “I’m not volunteering because of guilt.”

Now Price was the one to speak up. “It won’t have to be all on Ghost. We can take turns visiting and keeping an eye on you. Hell, we’ll take care of the hard tasks too while you recover.”

Feeling your headache become stronger triggered by new stress, you give up quickly. You were too tired to argue. “Fine.”

“Great! We’ll continue to monitor you and ensure you’ll be ready for discharge soon.”

~

You awkwardly waited in Ghost’s car as he prepared your wheelchair. Your legs were weak, but not unusable. For a brief moment, you argued with him about using a cane to help you walk. He was pretty insistent that you still took it very easy to the point that it was hard to say no.

Once he opened your car door, you got into the chair and looked up at the tall apartment complex. You wondered which floor was Ghost’s as he wheeled you in. 

“You’ll be using my room while I sleep on the pullout couch. If you need help getting around anywhere, just ask. Price and Kate will visit later to discuss some options.” He explained as if he was going through a checklist. 

“Options?”

He shrugged. “Job options. Living options.”

As he pushed you into the elevator, you began to panic. Job options? Did they intend on letting you go? Yeah, you were pretty fucked at the moment, but you just needed some time to get back in shape. You really don’t want to lose your job. Despite everything that happened, you still wanted to be part of the team. 

With each ding of the elevator indicating a passing floor, you got more and more nervous. Ghost looked down at you, noticing how hard you were gripping your seat. His eyes couldn’t help but notice your missing finger on one hand and limp strength for the other. A sting in his chest had him look away.

He wasn’t letting you live with him out of guilt, but he was still sorry that this happened to you.

The elevator doors finally opened on the highest floor, revealing a long hallway leading to only a few doors. At the farthest end of the corridor, Ghost reached the apartment. A blast of refreshing A/C hit your senses first. The further he wheeled you in, the more you began to notice more.

His whole place was tidy and organized, a fact that contradicted what you remember about him. From what you remember, the guy was a mess. His desk at work was always crowded with paperwork, empty mugs of tea, and sticky notes meant to remind him on what to do next. 

The sweet smell of pipe tobacco and vanilla spread across the environment, a few plug-in air fresheners scattered around. It made your anxiety melt as you became more familiar with the scent you used to smell everyday on Ghost. 

He parked you near his polished dining table and placed a laptop in front of you. Your old laptop. “I’m gonna get some lunch started. I figure that you want some time to see what you missed?”

You nodded and booted up the laptop with your better hand. Your hand with damaged nerves needed some therapy focus before it could be fully functional again. “Thanks, Ghost. I appreciate this.”

“Of course.” He responded as he wandered off into his kitchen. A little window viewing the dining room allowed him to monitor you while he cooked. As we figured out what to make, he stared at you from a distance.

Color was returning back to your face. You were still light, but he would put some meat back on those bones soon. There was a shine back in your eyes that brought him back to those fun nights at the bar with you. He remembered your smile, your laugh, your gaze.

He remembered how you used to talk about cooking, one of your favorite things to do, whenever he had a moment alone with you. It was one of the things that made you light up. Ghost would sit there for hours, listening to you talk about what you’ve made, what you want to make, a new technique you want to try, how you should be in charge of the mess hall.

Deciding lunch, he shifted his focus on cooking, already predicting that it wasn’t going to be half as good as your cooking.

While you heard the sound of pots and pans clanging together, your hands ached. There was a phantom knife in your hand, waiting to start chopping vegetables that didn’t exist. For a moment, you willed your hands to move like you were entering prep-mode. 

Your wrist quickly gave out within a few motions of pretend chopping. Not to mention that your left hand refused to curl your fingers in right. 

When will you be able to cook like you did again?

When will everything feel normal again?

The knock on the door snapped you out of your pity party. Ghost answered it and directed Price and Kate to you, as promised. Kate gave you a pearly smile and Price gave you a warm pat on the shoulder. 

They took their seats and then immediately dived into the grit. Ghost eavesdropped from the kitchen. “We don’t want to bullshit you, Spite. There are a lot of things that need to happen before you can return to your job. We can’t even give you desk duty until you do a few things first.”

You crossed your arms over her chest, not liking where this was going. “Like what?”

Kate passed over a manilla folder containing various paperwork sheets and tests. “First, we would need to interview you. Ask you about what happened while you were imprisoned.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “You wanna know if I opened my mouth about anything.”

“We know you didn’t and you never would. A team sent with us when we came to rescue you collected whatever evidence and intel they could get their hands on. They found recordings of your interrogations. We’re going through them now to make sure you kept certain things confidential.” Price reassured, already sensing that you were beginning to stress out.

You understood why it had to be done. It just made you sick to your stomach that your torture was being looked at solely for the purpose of checking to see if you were a good soldier. “Who’s reviewing the recordings?”

“Professionals. But they want your testimony too.” Kate vaguely elaborated, trying to move past this already.

You didn’t let up, though. Instead, you asked for something that shocked the both of them. Even Ghost who was chopping onions paused mid-cut. “Can I choose someone from the team to review them instead?”

“Why would you want that?”

“I don’t want a couple of strangers viewing something as intimate as my torture. I would rather have someone I know I can trust see those recordings.” You justified, not thinking much about the weight of that request. 

Kate and Price looked between each other, silently debating on if they should honor your request. There was a concern of conflict of interest, but then again, the 141 got a few special privileges. Price cleared his throat. “Who would you want to see the recordings?”

The obvious answer should have been Kate, but it wasn’t. In fact, you really didn’t want Kate to look at any part of your torture. You didn’t even think she could stomach it. She was capable and tough like the rest of you, but she worked more from the shadows to save her from horrendous bloodshed. 

There were only three people that you felt like could handle it. Price, Ghost, and yourself. Like hell they were going to let you see your own footage though. “Would you and Ghost mind?”

Price gave it some deep thought before nodding. “I can do it if that’s what you want. Ghost?”

Ghost wasn’t surprised that Price knew he was eavesdropping. “I’ll do it.”

Kate immediately closed that part of the conversation. “Well that’s that. Next, we have to retest you in multiple areas. Physical, mental, shooting range, the whole works. Some of the intelligence based tests can be done sooner, but the rest will have to wait until you are physically fit again.”

“That could take weeks.” You grumbled, already getting impatient with your recovery process. 

“We have time. Outside of work tasks, anything that should take priority in your personal life. Besides the basics, of course.” Price switched topics, hoping that will brighten your mood a little. 

You did like bossing them around when you had the chance. With a smirk, you began rattling off all the things you needed them to do for you. “Contact my lawyer and family. Gotta get that sorted out and hopefully get some stuff back if my folks haven’t tossed anything out yet. And if I don’t have to be the one to do it, the better. That’s probably the first major errand. Most of the other things will have to wait until the basics are done.”

“I do want my favorite brand of coffee here. Sorry, Ghost, but your coffee is shit.” You spoke a little louder, making sure that Ghost could hear you. Doing so made your throat already feel sore, but it was worth it when you got to here a chuckle back.

“Tell me how you really feel.” He smiled beneath the mask as he pushed the diced veggies into a large pot filled with chicken stock. The aroma of chicken soup was making you salivate. 

Kate and Price eased up from your humor too as they added your coffee request to their list. After a few more minutes of chatter, they said goodbye so you could enjoy lunch. It was a good thing too because you were hungry and your voice was getting sore.

Ghost finished up the simple chicken noodle soup. Carrots, onions, celery, leftover shredded chicken melded together in a stock that was sure to be nutritious yet easy on your recovering stomach. When he served you a bowl, you nearly cried at how good it looked. 

With a shaky hand, you lifted your spoon and took a taste. Before you knew it, you began to silently cry. Ghost, who returned to the table with his own bowl, began to panic at your tears. “It doesn’t taste good?”

“This is the best meal I’ve ever had.” You sobbed, recalling all of the shitty, bland food and starvation you had to deal with. To you, this simple chicken soup was heaven on earth. 

Ghost didn’t know what to say, think, or feel for a moment. He didn’t expect such high praise, even if your reasoning was something he could guess. He settled for a proud, simple response. “Thanks. Take your time.”

Silently, you ate, savoring every ounce of flavor that graced your tastebuds. The egg noodles were perfectly al dente, the carrots were tender, and the chicken pieces were easy to swallow. Miraculously, it sparked a deep hunger for more food. But, you still needed to take it easy. If you ate the portion size you did before capture now, you would lose such a delicious lunch. 

“Why did you choose me to review your footage?” Ghost suddenly asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He was content with watching you eat so gratefully, yet the memories of the conversation before lunch still haunted him.

Your hand stopped moving the spoon within the bowl. You didn’t expect him to ask something like that. Normally, he just followed orders. “I think you would handle seeing it better than others. Not gonna lie, there is probably some gnarly stuff on those tapes.”

His stomach twisted into knots at the mention. He would still do this for you, of course, but he probably wasn’t going to be as strong as you thought he was about it.

 It was your torture after all. 

~

Adjustment was going smoothly. There were some hiccups here and there, but you soon got used to Ghost taking care of you. He got used to relinquishing more control over to you as well. You quickly graduated to only needing a walking cane occasionally thanks to your dedication to physical therapy. Your hands needed more work, but at least you could get around the apartment with ease. 

When you earned your achievement of free walking, you got more bossy and impatient. It was something Ghost was able to handle it since you delivered it with humor and hard work, but he soon began to notice dips in your mood here and there. 

He has been adamant about sleeping on the couch while you took his room. Since you began walking, you have tried to change that sleeping arrangement to no avail. Everytime you looked at the couch, a brief flash of guilt went over your face. 

He would catch you looking at your hands a lot, willing them to do more than just twitch and shake. Your brow would furrow in frustration when you practiced holding different movements and weights. Occasionally, you would hiss from pain as you tried to force progress. It became routine for him to end up holding your hands to make sure you gave yourself a break. 

The other issue that was hard to resolve was your night terrors. Ghost thought his nightmares were bad, but they seemed like nothing compared to how you would scream in the middle of the night. It would always startle him awake. He would always rush to the door to calm you down. You would always tremble and cry in his arms. 

You couldn’t go back to sleep unless Ghost was with you, his arms tight around your body and holding you close to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat became a lullaby that always made you regain your breathing.

The more he took care of you, the more he began to notice things about you. He was getting closer to you than ever before as he spent time with you every day. Sure, he was looking out for you, but it didn’t feel like a chore. Having you live with him became such a natural sight to him. It was like you always belonged there. 

So it really unnerved him when he was finally called to review your footage. 

You said goodbye to him when he left for base. For the first time, you were alone. Ghost gave you strict instructions to take it easy, forbidding you from certain activities while he was gone. However, you paid no mind to his warning, eager to normalize your life even more. 

The feeling of the chef’s knife in your palm was a familiar weight that brought back so many memories. You had been wanting to get back into cooking earlier, but Ghost always scolded you and said you weren’t ready yet. 

You planned on proving him wrong by cooking dinner for tonight. Something simple and comforting. Pasta with a homemade sauce. 

Your dreams felt like they were shattering as you struggled to open the tomato can with the opener though. The strength it took made your hands ache almost immediately. Having the strength to push the weight of the blade down into the garlic was agony too. Even with a sharp knife, you were having such a hard time doing what was meant to be easy.

Only thirty minutes had passed after Ghost left when you ended up lying on the kitchen floor, crying for your hands to work again and for a life you lost. 

Meanwhile, Ghost was just arriving on base. He wondered if you were doing alright. He hoped you weren’t pushing yourself while he was gone. Damn, he should’ve asked Gaz or Soap to watch you. He didn’t want to treat you like a child, but he knew you well enough that you were probably doing something you weren’t supposed to. 

That’s how you got your call sign in the first place. 

“Lieutenant Ghost, you ready?” Price ushered him into a secured, private room. Soundproof, dark, and void of any windows. Various tapes sat on a table next to a small TV. Ghost grabbed a chair and settled in, trying to relax as much as he can. 

“Pay attention, try to stay unbiased, and keep this confidential. We can only talk about this with each other, Spite, and the investigation leaders.” Price ordered like a captain. Resolute and sharp. Despite the confidence in his voice, your captain was afraid. He didn’t want to see one of his best sergeants get tortured. 

Ghost was trying to steel himself for it too. “Yes, Captain.”

With that, Price hit play and took the small seat next to Ghost. The footage began with the first day you were captured. You were stirring unconscious, strapped to a chair, and bleeding out of the side of your head where you got shot. The scene already had Ghost simmering with rage and sorrow.

He watched as you woke up, met your warden, and then immediately took a molar from you with swift punches to the jaw. He watched you spit the blood back in his face, growl threats he could never repeat, and then have your knees shattered with a sledgehammer. 

It was clear that it hurt. That it was agony. The way your lungs gasped for air. The way you bit back your screams only to echo within your throat. The way you lost consciousness for a moment only to wake up from immense pain as they cut you. 

And yet, you didn’t say a word. You never mentioned your name. Never revealed who you were with and why. You didn’t let anything get past your locked lips.

Porakov punished your resilience with more torture. Ten minutes in and it was already getting too much for Ghost to handle. How could anyone survive this? How did you? 

His stomach turned as he watched the day you lost your pinkie finger. You were getting noticeably weaker and skinnier with each new day on the tape. Your knee was still healing. Porakov only took advantage of this as he pushed you around. 

None of his questions got answers. Not a single one. Not even when the gardening shears pinched around your delicate finger. 

Ghost almost threw up when he witnessed the final cut. You screamed, but you didn’t cry. You never did. At least, not in front of Porakov. It wasn’t until everyone left you in the cell that you let your pain turn into tears. And it absolutely broke his heart.

Feeling lightheaded, Ghost began to reach for the pause button on the TV. Price beat him to it, though. “I think that’s enough for today. Thought I could sit through what I allotted for this, but this is hard to watch. Even for me. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

After scheduling the next time to watch more footage, Ghost rushed back to his car to drive home. How could he have left you home by yourself after everything that’s been done to you?! You stayed optimistic and humorous most of the time, but there was no way you were really okay. No one would be okay if they went through what you went through.

There was still months of footage left to sift through.

Not caring about the risks of getting pulled over, Ghost sped along the highway leading back home. He began trying to call you, hoping that your new phone that the team got you was working fine. 

When you didn’t answer, he tried again, the pit in his soul becoming darker and bigger. He shouldn’t have left you home alone. 

He stopped trying after the tenth calling attempt. Instead, he focused on speeding faster. He got back to the apartment within record time. When he slammed the door open, he began looking for you.

His terror amplified as he found you on the kitchen floor, knife laying next to you and dinner prep unfinished. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your eyes were staring off into the distance. The light in your eyes was gone. Just like the day you ordered for your warden to be killed.

You didn’t remember when the panic attack started. Somewhere in the middle of your grief perhaps. It completely crippled you. Plunged you into such a horrible memory that you were desperately trying to forget. Your breath was stolen and your heart ached as if you pushed a knife into it. 

Afterwards, you dissociated. You couldn’t register the cold tiles beneath you. You couldn’t remember what you were doing in the first place. You didn’t even hear your phone go off or Ghost rushing into the house. 

Warmth stirred you back to the land of the living, Ghost’s arms wrapping tight around you. An unfamiliar sensation buried into the crook of your neck. The feeling of light stubble and shaky breaths. It was then that you realized that he had taken off his mask to bury his face into you. 

Slowly, you wrapped your sore arms around his broad shoulders. The natural, sweet scent of you just made him feel the need to hold you tighter. Closer. 

He never wanted to leave your side again. 

“Is this hug for me? Or for you?” You half-joked, returning to your usual self with a sore voice. 

His shoulders relaxed as he heard your question. Relief soon morphed into anger as he realized that you tried to do without him there. It was hard for him to keep his voice from rising. “I told you to take it easy. I thought something happened to you.”

You flinched back, not expecting to be scolded so soon. “I just thought-”

“The only thoughts you should be having is about recovering.” He pulled back from the hug, allowing you to really see his face up close. 

You had only seen his face a couple of times before your capture. You had served with the 141 for under a year, so it made sense why you didn’t get to see it often. But now that you could really get a good look, your heart skipped a beat and a blush slowly crept along your cheeks. 

His eyes were much brighter without the mask already. Flecks of black warpaint revealed blond lashes that matched his light locks. His jaw looked like it was carved from quartz and a few scars only gave character to his strong features. 

Fuck, your old, childish crush on him was beginning to resurface at the worst possible moment.

You swallowed hard and averted your gaze. The hammering of your heart made it hard to figure out what to say next. “Sorry. . .”

Ghost gave a deep sigh, raking a large hand through his hair. Seeing the guilt in your eyes made him feel like he fucked up. He shouldn’t be making you feel like this. “No, Spite. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Not only that, but seeing your tapes followed by you not answering the phone and then looking dead on the floor had him think the worst. Though, he wasn’t ready to saddle you with that burden. You needed comfort and stability. 

Gently, he cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back up to his. Your breath hitched as he did, his touch now feeling like electricity. “What were you trying to make?”

“Pasta. . .” 

“You really want to get back into cooking?”

At that, you gave a firm nod. It would be something that would make you feel better. Normal. Even if it was just for a moment. You really needed to create something with your hands. 

Ghost couldn’t deny you. Not when you made such a beautifully, determined expression.  

Carefully, he stood up and helped you get back on your feet. The knife on the floor was put into the sink. A new chef’s knife was placed in your hand. Before you could ask what he was doing, he positioned you in front of the cutting board, stood close behind you to the point where your back was touching his chest, and he held his hands over yours. “Let me know if you start to hurt. You can lean back on me if you need it too.”

Now your heart was really racing. The whirlwind shift of emotions made you lightheaded. How could you switch from a panic attack to feeling lovesick? How could you still have a crush on him after all this time? 

It took you a moment to relax under his touch and allow him to use your hands to cut the garlic. The heat of his chest seeped into your back as he cautiously guided the cooking process with you in the middle. When he spoke up, his voice so close to your ear, you nearly fainted. “You feeling alright?”

“Y-Yeah. . . I’m fine. Thanks, Ghost.” You stuttered out, feeling embarrassed by the proximity. 

“You know, you can call me Simon when it’s just me and you, dove.” He allowed, feeling the heat of your own body rise against his chest. He couldn’t see your face clearly, but he could tell that your ears were turning red. 

It stirred something deep within himself.

Your brain short-circuited when he gave you permission to use his real name. You had only used it when you needed him to understand your serious intentions. It wasn’t something you took lightly. Now, he wanted you to call him that more intimately. 

At first, you didn’t know if you could bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t until you realized that all of the cloves of garlic were minced perfectly, your hands still able to take a little more cooking. “Seriously. Thank you, Simon.”

His heart leapt when you used his name like he wanted. “Of course, dove. Anything for you.” 

Simon didn’t move an inch away from you until everything was ready to get tossed onto the stove. When the prep work was done, you had excused yourself to go rest, allowing him to finish dinner. 

He let you go, but he really didn’t want to. He could never let you go now. Especially not when you were definitely blushing over him. 

It wasn’t that you needed rest from cooking. You needed rest from Simon. A minute to get your heartbeat under control. This wasn’t like you. You were confident, resilient, strong, spiteful. Not gooey and bashful. 

Only Ghost could make you feel this way. 

You had a crush on him when you first met the team. It was the air of mystery that drew you to him first. His sense of humor, confidence, and intelligence that matched yours drew you in deeper. He had said that he was actually quite handsome under the mask, and you believed him during that time. 

That’s all you tried to leave it at, though. A silly little crush. Being in the presence of a strong, muscular, and confident man would make anyone feel weak in the knees. That’s what you told yourself when you were stomping out your feelings for the sake of professionalism. 

It worked too. After snuffing out that crush, you grew to be a friend to him. He trusted you more and you trusted him. There was nothing in the world that would make you trade over the friendship you had with him. With anyone on your team. It was the right thing to do at the time and it still was. 

So why the hell were you falling in love with him all over again?

~

You chalked it up to being locked up for too long. Of course your heart would begin to sway towards Ghost. He’s been taking care of you and you’ve been living with him and he’s the first man you’ve been spending time with. Now that you realize this, snuffing out your feelings again shouldn’t be so hard.

Keyword: Shouldn’t.

Ghost made it really difficult for you to maintain some space from him. You have been adamant about healing through cooking. He’s been adamant about being with you every step of the way. Holding you between his arms in case you feel faint, guiding your hands when you don't have the strength, speaking directly into your ear when he wants to talk to you. 

Everytime he came back from base, his clinginess increased tenfold. You knew that he was coming back from watching your footage. But you didn’t want to be pitied or the center of any guilt he may have. 

“How are you feeling? Are you ready for your interview, dove?” Simon hovered near his bedroom door, watching you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You have been looking a lot better after these couple of months. You gained a wealthy weight, you were getting around much better, and some of your strength returned to your muscles. 

It was still a ways to go before you could go out onto the field again, but it was a good start. Besides the night terrors that still haunted you, you were beginning to look like your old self.

At least, that’s what it looked like to him. You, on the other hand, were beginning to stress about how you looked. It felt good for your body to be getting back on the right track, yet you found imperfections. Things you had to be patient about such as your hair. 

The doctors had to cut it in order to put a new metal plate back in your head. Your hair was growing back decently fast, but not fast enough to your liking. Besides the hair, you were covered in scars that weren’t fading anytime soon. Probably never with how deep they went. 

“Dove?”

Simon snapped you out of your stupor. “H-Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m ready to go.”

“That’s not what I asked. You can talk to me about anything, you know?” Simon stepped forward, hoping to cure your sudden anxiety. 

“Sorry, just a little distracted I guess.” You brushed off. It would be embarrassing to tell him how you felt ugly right now. The last thing you wanted to do was fish for compliments too. 

Simon knew you were lying, but he dropped it. Instead, he followed you out of the apartment and drove you to the interview. On the way there, you let the radio fill the silence between the two of you.

He gripped the steering wheel tight, wondering why the hell you were so distant from him all of a sudden. The two of you were getting along great when you first arrived. Now, you were locking yourself up in his bedroom a lot more, speaking to him less, and had your head in the clouds when he was trying to talk to you. 

Did he do something wrong? Make you feel bad about something? He thought you liked him.

The car pulled up onto the base, a place you haven’t seen for a long time. Everything looked like how you remembered. Military grays, greens, and browns. Recruits jogging around. The smell of cigarette smoke in the air. It almost seemed like nothing had changed.

Price greeted you halfway to the interview and then escorted you to it. It was the same room they used to examine your footage, the tapes finally over. You sat in a seat across from a woman in a business suit. 

Price and Simon were ordered to stay out in the hall and wait. As they waited for you, Simon thought about getting back in your good graces. 

“She alright? She seemed more quiet than usual on the walk.” Price suddenly spoke up, also curious about the trouble in paradise. 

“Don’t know. She hasn’t told me anything about what’s been bothering her.” He confessed, an annoyed tone lacing with his words. 

The captain hummed in thought. “Has she taken that offer to see a therapist?”

“Nope. Only the physical therapist. You think she needs it?” 

“It wouldn’t hurt. I think it would be good for her to really unpackage everything that went down before we put a gun back in her hands. Someone that’s a professional.”

Simon gave it some thought. As much as he wanted to be the one you turned to to talk about your feelings, he agreed that you would most likely feel better talking to a professional. He wasn’t necessarily equipped to provide both comfort and trauma solving. 

Hell, he probably needs therapy too.

He figured that he would suggest the idea when the two of you return home. Let you sleep on it. 

You exited the room after about an hour. The interview took much longer than you expected, but they were thorough. No detail was to be left unspoken. It was a wonder how you managed to talk about everything that happened without breaking down. Perhaps it was because you did really want your job back. The more capable you seemed, the more likely they would give it to you.

After a quick stop visiting Gaz and Soap, Simon took you back to the apartment. You entered the space so naturally that it felt like it was your home. Simon even let you buy some decor to make the place more comfortable for you that you could take to your new apartment, whenever that would be available. 

Before Simon could invite you to sit on the couch with him for a moment to talk, you had already closed the door to the bedroom. The interview left you tired. It was still taking a while to get your voice used to talking again. 

As you crossed the space, you noticed your reflection in the mirror. You looked the same from when you left. Maybe a little bit more exhausted, but still the same, unflattering body you wished was completely back to normal already.

There was a soft knock on the door. You didn’t register it as you just sat on the floor, looking at your reflection and wondering what you could do to make yourself feel pretty again. Since you didn’t answer, Simon slowly opened the door. 

“Dove? What’s wrong?” He cautiously asked, not wanting to startle you. 

You gave a deep sigh that even he felt in his soul. “Just. . . missing the me from before.”

His shoulders felt lighter in relief. He was so glad that you were talking to him again. However, It was souring quickly now that your words were settling in. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. . . I guess. . . I thought that I was decently pretty before. I was happy with how I looked. . . I don’t really see that anymore.” You tried to explain, feeling your throat begin to choke on each word. God, you felt stupid.

Simon could hardly believe it. To him, you were still the prettiest lady he’s ever met. Your smile made his day brighter. Your hands felt warm and perfect in his. Your eyes were works of art he could stare into all day. 

He was in love with you.

“W-What?” Your face grew red, not understanding why he was staring so intensely at you. So seriously. It’s been a while since you’ve faced him this close. Did he think you were being dumb too? 

He took a seat behind you on the floor and pulled you into his lap. An arm snaked across your stomach before you could escape. His other hand guided your chin to look back into the mirror. “Take a good look at yourself again, dove. Don’t tell me that you’re not pretty anymore because it’s not true.”

Your heart was going to burst from your chest. If you stay like this with him for much longer, it would be impossible to destroy your feelings for him. “Si-”

“Your cheeks are turning pink. Are you getting embarrassed?” He tightened his hold and deepened his voice. He would do anything to make you feel attractive again. Including revealing that he was attracted to you.

As he pointed out your blush, you only reddened deeper. “T-This is because you surprised me!”

“Oh? It’s not because you like me?” He teased, not being able to help himself. Before everything, you were so confident and enthusiastic at work. He never got to see your bashful side. It was incredibly cute. 

You froze in his lap as he revealed your secret. How long has he known?! Was he just toying with you right now?! This was not how you imagined a confession going at all, not that you ever really planned on confessing. 

Turning your head to face him directly, you attempted to dig out of the hole you were in. “Simon-”

“You’re too cute.” He suddenly admitted before pressing his lips firmly against yours. He lost control as soon as he saw your expression up close within his lap. The way your brows furrowed, how your ears turned more pink by the second, how you called him by his name. 

There was no way in hell he was going to make you feel unattractive right now. 

Startled by the kiss, it took you a moment to realize what was happening. When your brain did kick back into gear, you could hardly believe it. Simon was kissing you. Not just that, but he was kissing you so deeply that it made you melt.

You couldn’t possibly fight back your feelings for him now. 

Eventually, you began kissing him back. When he felt your effort, he took that as a good sign to keep going. Your lips were so soft and warm against his. Your weight in his embrace felt perfect. His tongue swiped at your lips and then plunged into your mouth to taste even more of you.

You softly moaned into his mouth, electricity firing all along your nerves. His muscular, strong chest against your back made you feel hot all over. His tongue that aimed to taste every inch of you did just that. A sensation you haven’t felt for what felt like decades began to spread throughout your pelvis. 

His hand guided your gaze back to the mirror in front of you, your own expression making your breath hitch. Cheeks pink, lips swollen, chest rising and falling rapidly. The bottom of your shirt was a little hiked up, exposing just an inch of waist that drove Simon wild. “See, dove? You’re perfect.”

He held your chin in place, forcing you to watch as he trailed kisses along the side of your neck. His free hand slipped under your shirt, feeling skin that now matched his. You gasped and shivered as he felt you up, feeling his hand travel further up until he reached the bottom wire of your bra. The kisses mixed with tongue and teeth against your neck made you whimper in excitement.

“You’re still soft to the touch. Still warm and living. How I see you hasn’t changed. You are still the same pretty woman I grew to like so much.” He sweetly confessed into your ear as he stripped off your shirt. 

Simon liked you too? Since when? Mental questions faded away as you noticed him unsnap your bra to reveal your breasts. Your hands instinctively went to cover them up, but he caught your wrists in his hand.

“No, dove. I gotta show you just how attractive you are. Keep looking at your pretty little face in the mirror.” He playfully smirked, loving this new side of you more than he imagined. His cock was already pressing against the fabric of his pants, getting bigger by the second. 

With your wrists still held together, he began to massage your breasts. The other side of your neck was shown some love through feverish kisses, making you squirm in his lap. You could feel his growing erection pressed behind you, making your pussy tingle with need. When he pinched a nipple tight, you let a moan slip.

As he dragged his tongue along your neck, he watched the pleasure on your face through the mirror. His pants felt tighter by the second, eager to really show you just how attractive you were to him. 

Limbs felt like jelly as he continued to tease you. When your wrists felt more slack in his grip, he let go to use both hands. You sat in his lap, melted and shivering as he played with both of your nipples. “You’re so sensitive. It’s really turning me on, dove.”

You pressed your legs tighter together, feeling your wetness slowly stain your panties. Simon’s strong chest rose with his labored breath, cock now aching with pain from the restriction of his clothes. He wanted more. He wanted to see every inch of you.

He guided your legs to spread for him, making sure that your pussy would be clear as day through the mirror. You debated fighting back before things went too far, but his hands on you felt incredible. You were so turned on too, despite feeling embarrassed about how weak and bashful you looked. 

In one move, your pants and panties were gone, revealing your slick cunt for both you and Simon to see. Instinctively, you tried to close your legs. However, Simon made sure that you didn’t. He made sure you looked at the mirror too. “Take a good look, dove. So wet for me. . . So pretty. Pink. Soft. Never seen something so delicious before.”

His large fingers began to rub through your folds, spreading your wetness around easily. His eyes grew feverish as he spread you open, feeling the pulse that traveled through you. 

You gasped as he started rubbing your clip in slow, deep circles. Almost two years of abstinence made you sensitive beyond comprehension. “Ah~! Simon~!”

“That’s right, dove. Don’t stop looking at yourself.” He instructed, his voice so deep that it echoed in your head. Lightning zipped through you as he continued to tease your clit, another hand going back to your hard nipples.

God, Simon was so good at this. He was reading you like a book, noticing every flinch, every scrunch, every tremble that flashed across your face. He was getting to know all your sweet spots. Every piece of you that begged for more. 

Your hips bucked as his finger on your cunt slid down close to your entrance. Through the mirror, you saw him smirk, making your heart leap. “Patience. I’ll give my dove what she wants as long as she keeps looking at herself. Promise.”

Gently, he worked his fingers inside of you, feeling just how hot you really were getting for him. He suppressed his own shiver as he felt you tighten up, sucking his fingers in deeper. You clung on to his arms and moaned, throwing your head back against his shoulder in pure bliss.

Grabbing your chin, he made you watch yourself get fingered. “Don’t look away.”

You had no choice but to follow your instructions. Kisses peppered your neck, making sure you didn’t have the space to turn your head away again. You watched his fingers pump in and out of you, more of your natural honey drooling out of you. 

“Ahh! Mnn~!” A loud moan escaped you as you felt his fingers curl to hit that perfect, spongy spot that drove you crazy. Your reaction was instant, your pussy tightening further and tremors traveling through every nerve. Simon could feel and see it. You were getting close to an orgasm. And he really wanted you to reach it.

“That’s it. Watch yourself cum for me, dove.” He praised, moving his fingers more powerfully to make sure you wouldn’t lose that pleasurable high. 

It was beautiful watching you moan and drool and shutter in his lap. It was so sexy how you looked at the mirror with feverish eyes like you wanted more than just his fingers. He wanted to use more too. But not before you came.

Simon put more pressure on your g-spot, not caring that you were making such a huge mess all over his hand. All he wanted to do was go deeper, so deep that his palm was pressing into your throbbing clit. 

That is what made you see stars. With a scream, you were plunged into an orgasm that made you stupid. Simon smirked with pride as he held you during your climax, feeling just how tightly you clung to his fingers. He loved that blissful expression on your face while you came. Corners of your eyes brimming with tears, blush swept across your cheeks, body glowing with excitement. 

“Didn’t I tell you? Absolutely gorgeous.” He complimented, giving you soft kisses on the side of your head as you calmed down. It was still hard to breathe, your heart beating erratically from the climax and from Simon’s husky praises. When he pulled his fingers away, you whimpered from the sensitivity.

Carefully, you were removed from his lap and laid down in front of him. While you took a moment to rest, Simon grabbed a few pillows from his bed, tossed them to the floor, and then stripped. At the sight of his strong build, you swallowed some drool. 

It was strength made to be used. Muscular and soft in all the right places. His own body was covered in old scars, something that made him alluring rather than flawed. And then when your eyes traveled down to his huge, throbbing cock, you felt that familiar tingle take over again.

“Like what you see?” He teased, situating the pillows under you so you could be more comfortable. The head of his dick prodded at your folds, lubing itself up. As he slid along your folds, rubbing your sensitive, red bud, you lost your breath again.

“Simon. . .” You called out in what you hoped sounded like a warning rather than begging. God, you wanted him inside you already. You wanted to feel every inch of him fuck you like you were the most sexy woman on the planet. 

He chuckled a little, your tone a mixture of scolding and impatience. A perfect tone that made him want to fuck you hard already. But, he held back. For now at least. Instead, he turned your head to make you look at your reflection again. Slowly, he entered you, feeling your hot pussy cling to him like it was made for him.

Your expression immediately morphed as he slid his cock inside you deeper. Eyebrows scrunched, vision hazy, plump lips bitten. He was thick. Incredibly thick. You’ve never been so filled up before. It hurt a little, but pain was quickly replaced with pleasure as you got used to it.

Simon gave a satisfied sigh when finally reached the base. It was a sight to behold, your tight pussy stretched to accommodate him. It felt so good inside you. Hot. Slick. His thrusts were slow and deep, watching every reaction you had as you felt every inch of him. It only turned him on even more as he made you watch.

His hands clutching your hips to control the pace had you tremble. You loved how he was careful, yet still wanted to manhandle you. There were moments where you could see him lose his cool for a second. A shuddered breath here, a swallowed groan there. His own expressions as he fucked you deep is what really turned you on the most.

“Fuck, dove. You’re so tight~” He exhaled, picking up the pace with his thrusts. Your toes curled and your back arched as his cock hit every pleasure point within you. It was perfect how he was large and skilled enough to reach every spot you liked. And it was all thanks to how closely he paid attention to you.

His body pressed against yours as he felt the need to be closer to you. He wanted to see your pretty face up close when you cum next. He wanted to feel those beautiful tits pressed flush against his own skin. When he felt you tighten, he knew you were getting close.

You hung onto him tight, wrapping his arms around his neck and digging your nails into his back. It was incredible feeling his muscles flex with each thrust under your hands. Everything felt so good with him. You never thought you would feel pleasure like this again. 

Simon hissed as you clawed his back, a blissful sensation that only left him wanting more. He pistoned harder, hoping that your nails would leave new scars on him. “I can feel you getting close. Look into my eyes when you do.”

Moans gradually turned into screams as he fucked you as deep as he could go, his cock throbbing hard with his own desire to climax. Hearing you scream his name was turning him on more than he thought. So much so that he began calling out yours.

Hearing your own name from his lips with such a desperate tone made the wave crash down. Looking deep into his eyes, you came around him. Every part of you trembled, electricity taking over. It felt like every cell within you was screaming for him. His breath hitched as you tightened and soaked him. And god, the way you looked while cumming. . . 

He held you tight as he felt himself climax too, hot ropes adding to the heat. Your back arched as he gave a few final pumps, milking himself out in you as much as he could. It was hard to control your shutters when he enjoyed the final moments of having you. When he did pull out, it left you feeling empty, yet satisfied. 

Knowing that you were feeling weak, Simon carried you to his bed and laid you down. You were surprised when he crawled into the spot next to you and pulled you into his chest like he was holding a lover. Was that what you two were now? Lovers?

“Like I said before, you’re perfect.” Simon praised and kissed the top of your head.

You two were definitely lovers. All the doubt cleared as you listened to his heartbeat. 

[muzzledhoundsheart]

❧❧❧THE BEAST INSIDE YOUR WALLS❧

Pairing ❧ dark!Gwayne Hightower x (f)reader  

CW ❧ dubcon, blood, fingering (f), oral (m), p in v sex, m!dom, possible typos 

AN ❧ I hope you guys enjoy this one! I had a pretty hard time with deciding if I’m gonna post it or scrap it and work on it another time or completely rewrite it but I think it pulled itself together pretty well in the end. Also sorry for any typos of any kind, I edit everything myself and English is my second language so some stuff slips to the cracks real fast (always makes me want to die when I see it ahaha) 

Fog hung thick over the trees, weaving itself round the crowns, through every branch hanging like shawls. Or more like nooses, Gwayne thought to himself. Him and his men rode through the forrest for hours now, seemingly without an end in sight. At every corner they rounded they found the same scenery, all blurring into one. While he enjoyed the status of being a knight, the glitz and glam of tournaments, young ladies fawning over him and men respecting him. He hated days like these. The sweat in his armor running cold down his back, the uncomfortableness spreading further, seeping deep into his very bones. 

„I see a village there! “, one of his men shouts. Oh, thank the gods he thought. Finally, some rest. He just hopes to find a good meal, a warm bed and a pretty whore to end the day well with. He could see in his men that they were all thinking the same, or at least some variation of it. They were so close they could almost make out the houses now, when suddenly, a shrill scream echoed through the Forrest. The horses were on high alert and almost knocked their riders off. It wasn’t just a scream of fear, it ran much deeper. The men looked to Gwayne unsure of how to proceed. „Sounds like a fucking banshee.“, a shorter roundish man spat with a heavy drawl. „My father used to warn me about them screams in Forrests, they’re luring you in to skin you alive.“, another one said. „Oh horseshite it’s probably just a kid who ran off and now can’t find their way back, serves ´em little cunts right.“ What a troop of heroes, Gwayne thought to himself. 

He took a deep breath and stifled a sigh, „You go on, I shall see if the forrest nymphs truly are calling for me.“ He said with a boyish smirk adorning his lips. The men looked uneasy but accepted his order and started their journey anew. Just as Gwayne was about to turn around to ride deeper into the thicket again he heard another blood curdling scream. His brows furrowed and he gripped the reigns tighter, dashing towards the noise. The closer he seemed to get, the colder his sweat ran down his neck, his thoughts running rampant stringing together gruesome paintings of violence and agony. Another scream, and it sounded awfully close. He drew his sword and the muscles in his pale back pulled taught, shifting underneath his freckled skin and sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins. The sight before him was, however, not what he imagined. 

A young woman was desperately struggling to climb up a mangled tree, she gained some footage and pulled herself up another branch, pained grunts leaving her mouth and blood dripping from her arm and side — drip drip dripping down from the wounds running down to her naked toes. Beneath the tree stood two wolfs, blood and saliva dripping from their snouts, bubbling around the corners making them look rabid, hungry — starving. The wolves didn’t even care about the deafening noise the hooves of his humongous stallion made, no, they were set on her, having already had a taste of her sweet flesh, eager for more.

 Gwayne ceased the opportunity and aimed for one of the wolves, within a few strives he was close enough to slash the back of one of them, their head hanging on by what little sinew the sword didn’t quite reach. This, finally, caught the other wolf's attention and he growled at Gwayne, ready to tear into his horse, pull him off and rip him apart, piece by bloody piece. Gwayne was faster though, stabbing the wolf in it’s side on one swift motion, his sword cutting into the wolf like velvet, releasing a gut-wrenching whimper, the wolf folded into itself while blood spurted out of it’s wound and snout, until his eyes glossed over, and his labored breathing stopped. It was almost beautiful how such such a beastly being perishes so pathetically, he thought, almost forgetting about the woman still hanging desperately onto the rotting branches of the tree in front of him. „My Lady... I’m afraid the branch will break soon.“ 

It took some time for the woman to realize what just happened. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, her chest heaving up and down heavily. Taking in her appearance, now being close enough to do so, Gwayne noticed how she was dressed, a white thin linen dress, almost looking like a nightgown, with nothing else covering her shivering form. Furthermore, the dress was ripped in multiple spots and her blood blossomed into the fabric, spreading like a visceral garden over her attire. She held her side with one hand and Gwayne noticed that her dress was ripped around her breast as well, it laid openly naked above the hand holding her side. What a lucky man Gwayne was. „Thank- thank you Ser. By the gods thank you.“ She breathed out, her voice sounding hoarse and rough. Gwayne dismantled his horse, hiding his almost perverse smile behind this mundane display.

 He approached the tree and held out his hand for her. Standing tall in front of it, he was sure the woman could reach him if she crouched down. „Let me help, my Lady.“ He said in the softest voice he could muster in this moment, his lips stretching into a friendly, warm smile. If only she knew. The woman was still apprehensive but did eventually crouch down and let him aid her in climbing back down. When she was on a brach low enough, Gwayne cupped the back of her knee and hauled her into his arms. She let out a surprised yelp and blinked up at him through thick lashes. The woman was caked in grime and blood, sweat clung to her body like second skin, but she was beautiful, nonetheless. 

„You’re all good now.“, he said, slowly lowering her to the ground while steadying her. Her hand went to her torn dress, trying to hold it up to hide her bareness. Before words could leave her mouth, he already unbuckled his cape and draped it around her shivering form. „What a predicament you were in ,my Lady. If you let me, I would take you to the nearest village to have a healer look at your wounds.“ He said not letting his gentle hold on her shoulders go. His fingertips slowly wandered up and down the familiar fabric in a soothing matter. „I would owe you my life, Ser.“, she haughtily breathed out.

 He was sure she’s lost enough blood to barely be conscious, especially now that the adrenaline is steadily leaving her body. His face contorted into a look of concern, „I might have to look at your wounds now and tend to them as best as I can. Forgive me but you’re looking awfully pale, my Lady.“ She let out an amused sound at that. „You might as well do it now, yes.“ she was swaying, on the cusp of fainting. Gwyane knelt down in front of her, slowly bunching up her skirt. The wound in her side wasn’t as bad as he initially thought, he got up again and assured the woman that he was only getting one of his satchels off his horse. He then proceeded to clean her wounds, dressing them in cloth and sending her assuring looks through his copper lashes. The woman felt like she was dreaming, being saved by such a beautiful kind man. 

He looked like a knight from a fairytale, his face was carved out of ivory, his eyes like the stormy waters that ran through the land and his copper hair falling around his cheekbones framing his pretty face. He got up again, wiping his hands on a cloth, discarding it after by dropping the bloodied cloth back into the satchel. „That should do it for now.“, he said. The woman was still dazed and looked at him as if he was a prince of the realm. „I cannot thank you enough.“ She expressed grasping tighter onto his cloak. „ Not to worry, my Lady, i have to wonder however you got yourself in this situation though.“. She looked flustered and diverted her eyes. „I was visiting my brother to take care of him, the cold got to him and i was afraid he wouldn’t make it out alive on his own. I thought taking the route through the forrest would get me home quicker, how foolish of me.“ 

Foolish indeed Gwayne thought to himself, stifling a grin. „I could offer you a bed for tonight as my thanks, Ser.“, her eyes lit up saying that, and Gwayne almost felt bad for how genuine she looked. It was rare to find someone seemingly believing in the simple kindness of man nowadays. He also wondered if she knew just what she implied with her statement, well he surely wouldn’t mind if that was what she was thinking of. Just the thought brought a shiver down his skin straight to his cock, it has been so long since he got to indulge himself after-all. „I would happily accept, my Lady“ he took her small shivering hand in his and brought it to his lips. She looked like she was about to faint again and before she started swaying, he decided to steady her with his arm around her waist. The woman stole many glances at him, and his breast swelled with pride — arrogance. He was sure he got kissed by Lady Luck tonight. 

He helped her mount his house and put her legs over his, one arm caging her in, so she „will be safe with him.“. They started trotting towards the small village nearby, her directions were surely helpful, making them arrive sooner than he anticipated.

They rode through a small marketplace coming across some of his men pointing him out to what seemed to be their bedwarmers for the night. Shouts of his heroism were heard, and the roundish man yelled „Not a banshee then ,aye?“. The woman then led him the way to a small hut. Nothing special really, made of wood and stone and mud. It looked solid — just — with greenery not only surrounding it but winding itself into every nook and cranny. They unmounted and she, still shaky on her feet, let him inside the small hut. 

His heavy boots stomped down on the creaky floor as he took his surroundings in; it was…homely. Certainly homely. A small kitchen met a big cozy bed draped in different fabrics and knit blankets. Books and various other items were strewn about, but it looked like it had a system at least. „You may take the bed and I will get you something to freshen up.“. Gwayne looked to her and swiftly grasped her wrist „I would rather claim my reward now, my Lady“. „I’m not sure what you mean.“ Her heartbeat quickened; she couldn’t have been so blind could she? He towered over her taking steps forward until both reached one of the wooden clad walls. She felt as if her flesh would freeze off, needles and pins spreading all over her body, her stomach in knots. „Remove my cloak“. All kindness vanished from his voice. She was staring at him, frozen in time. Cold cold cold fear encompassing her. „Now.“ he almost growled. 

Shaking hands reached up to open the claps, the thick fabric pooling around her still bare and bloodied feet. His eyes raked over her form, half naked and quivering before him. So delicious. His hand reached out to her, making her flinch away hard. This made his cock twitch, hard and wanting in his breeches. He moved quick and ripped the already torn dress to complete shreds. The cloth fell off her breasts entirely and he could almost make out her rapid heartbeat through her chest. The quick — thump thump thump — spurring him on even more. 

Gwayne’s hands found solace on her ribcage, his calloused thumbs slowly tracing the underline of her breasts, making her nipples pebble. The motion was almost soothing but her it felt like a predator seizing up his prey, installing fear in it and calculation their next move. She didn’t dare to breathe which he took note of — it made him chuckle. A deep rumble coming out of his chest. „I wont hurt you“. 

Liar.

She knew he would, they both did. His hands now cupping her breasts, clutching them tightly, pinching and pulling at her flesh. Small gasps left her mouth and she never felt more vulnerable than in this moment. He dipped his head to her level, copper strands kissing his cheekbones. His right hand followed her clavicles, up the tendons on her neck and settled on her throat. The pressure applied made her lightheaded. „Why don’t you sing my praises, huh, your great hero deserves more than this don’t you think?“ She wanted to bite that smug smirk off his face.

 It felt like he could sense what she thought, and he chose to attack first. His lips captured hers in a searing kiss. Gwayne’s tongue slipped into her mouth and he tasted every part of her. When they finally parted, her breaths were labored, chest heaving and saliva coated the bottom of her face, strings of it connecting them like a wet spider web. He kissed her again and again, growing more aggressive with each one, biting and pulling at her lips and tongue until she tasted the iron now coating their lips. She was ashamed of herself for how wet she’s gotten. Wetness slowly running down the inside of her thighs, as she felt how hard and wanting Gwayne has gotten himself. 

While Gwayne was biting and shucking at the juncture of her throat he ripped the last shreds of her gown hanging around her hips apart, leaving her completely exposed to his hungry eyes. Goosebumps littered her body as the cold air hit her skin, which was a welcome distraction from Gwayne’s searing touch, dipping lower and lower. He reached her mount and and slid a single finger between her folds. His lips breathed hot against her cheek „What a tight little cunt“, he moaned as he sunk his finger deep inside her. She wanted to run away, call for help and have him beheaded, but in this moment the coil winding itself in her stomach craved him to keep going, to do more. And do more he did. Another finger slipped into her — two long slender fingers stretching her tight wetness out in fluid motions. His paced steadily increased and he looked like he was about to rip her chest open with his teeth. Her breast heaving into his face and sweat slowly dripping into his face. He licked a long stripe up her artery and bit down, just hard enough to force a strangled groan out of her bruised lips. 

She was burning from the inside out from shame — it felt so delicious, being mauled alive. Just as she was about to completely lose herself in the pleasure, he withdrew his hand. „Get on your knees“, he commanded breathless and harsh. Her eyes refocused on him, and he sunk down, big, clouded eyes fixed on the flushed head of his cock. She didn’t even notice that he partially undressed himself. „Open“, he said as his thumb pressed down on her plump lower lip and hand wrapping around her throat again, much tighter this time. He ran the tip of his leaking cock along the edge if her teeth, finding great amusement in it. Even if she were to bite him, he could snuff her out in seconds. „Don’t tell me you don’t know what to do now, you’re definitely not a maiden,“ She was — but he didn’t need to know. She’s heard enough tales from friends and the brothel workers scurrying about the market when they found the time.

Light-headed form the lack of oxygen and limited in her movement she began running her tongue along his cock. Up and down the head, following a prominent vein slithering along the underside of it. Gwayne groaned and pulled her in by the throat. She sputtered around him, his cock reaching deep into her throat now. He left her no time to catch a breath, moving his hips in a fast irregular rhythm. „That’s it, take it“, he breathed out. His cock slipping in and out her mouth faster with every thrust. Spit dripped down his sack as cradled her head against his pelvis bone. Her eyes rolled up her skull and he swore he would have a corpse around his pulsating cock any minute now. Showing some mercy, he released her, and she gulped down deep breaths of air — coughing them right back out again. Her teary eyes looked longingly at his cock, bobbing and pulsating still, thick drops of precum dripping onto the hard wooden floor. Before she could do much of anything he leaned down and seized her by her claves. Pulling her, with her back on the floor now, closer to him. 

His hands pawed at her thighs and trapped fistfuls of plush fat for leverage. Her lower half hung in the air, and he had a full view of her creaming cunt. Gwayne halted for a short moment, asking himself if he wanted to taste her first, lick up the viscous fluids of her drooling cunt, dripping onto the floor. He discarded the idea and chose to position his cock at her entrance. In one harsh thrust he was inside of her, setting a brutal pace. The small hut was filled with wet slapping noises, moans and groans. Gwayne fucked her as if he intended on killing her. Her body like putty in his string hands and her cunt growing hotter and tighter around his swollen cock. He crouched down lower and threw one of her legs over his shoulder, rutting so deep into her she swore she would never be able to feel whole again without his cock in her. Her desperate whimpers turned into incoherent screams. They ran down deep into Gwayne’s bones and spurred him on as he felt his release coming. His final thrusts were brutal, kissing her cervix and bruising her pelvic bone in it’s wake. He grabbed her throat again and squeezed as his sack tightened and he released hot spurts of thick cum into her womb. They both stayed like this for many moments. He could still feel her walls convulsing around his softening cock, her soft hands laying atop his around her throat, wordlessly begging to release her. When he did, her body fell to the ground with a thud. Her legs still open, arms crossed above her head and her wounds weeping again. Sweat, blood and cum dripping out of her and mingling into a visceral painting of lust. Gwayne brushed his damp hair out of his face and slowly redressed. How he wished to paint the scene before him to take with him out on the battlefields. Alas — he grabbed his sword and pointed it down at her belly, slowly tracing a line up between her breasts and resting below her chin. „I don’t want any red-headed bastards running around, make sure to take care of it.“. „I-i will, don’t worry.“ He nodded curtly and threw her one last glance before leaving her hut. Her heart was still beating like a rabbit running away from a pack of wolves. She hoped the beast would trace her scent and find his way to her again soon.

[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 1)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.

Word count: 3700+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future. Part 2

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.

It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.

A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.

Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.

It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.

Imagine. Remake. Slip.

You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.

Remake, slip.

You have new vocabulary now.

"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.

"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".

"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.

"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.

"If you say so" - for everything else.

You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.

Yes this and no that.

Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.

Wasn't worth it.

***

"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.

It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.

You pull the blanket higher. "I do."

He knows it.

The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.

"What kind?"

Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.

Or-

You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.

She probably thought you abandoned her.

"Cats."

Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.

"We can get one, if you'd like."

"No."

Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.

"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.

The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.

She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.

Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."

A chair creaks. "Why?"

You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.

"Don't need it."

"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.

"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.

Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.

"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"

Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.

"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."

His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"

"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.

There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.

"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.

"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.

He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.

Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.

"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.

"On what?"

"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."

You don't respond.

To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.

Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.

His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.

"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.

"It's early."

"Mm."

He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.

You watch him. Wait.

"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."

Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.

"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."

You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.

"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."

"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."

You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.

He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.

You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.

"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.

His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.

"I'm right then," you say.

"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."

There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.

"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."

You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,

"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that."

***

The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.

Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.

Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.

You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.

A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.

It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.

You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?

Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.

"Dear."

You almost jump.

Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.

"Mm?"

"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."

You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.

"Was just thinking."

"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.

For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.

Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.

He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."

His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.

"What was on your mind then?"

Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.

"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."

If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.

"Tell me."

You hate when he does that.

"It was boring."

"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."

Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.

If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.

It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.

"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."

Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.

"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."

There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.

"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I got sad."

Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.

"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."

"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.

It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.

"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."

You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.

"Mm," you say.

Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.

[tojifile]

@Gojo Satoru . . . (๑ ˃ ᴗ ˂)

Tags: bf!satoru, gn!reader, established relationship, pure fluff, hcs, ooc Gojo Satoru, cursing

A/N: This loser twink won the poll. I like him and don’t like him (I am still his gf though) so here I am, writing a bf!satoru x reader because I WANT A BF (and kinda don’t, it’s either they suck or they’re the best). My new year’s resolution is to get a bf, please baby me, I want to be babied so bad!!! Tfdym dignity??? PLEASE mansplain the most basic shit, look down on me 😍😍

Links: Masterlist

bf!satoru who doesn’t care where you guys are. He’s just super touchy. This guy doesn’t want to hear about how you’re in public, he just wants to feel you. Don’t even try to dodge his hugs or kisses because he will make a scene.

bf!satoru who, when you’re not around, texts you all the time. Asking where you are, how you are, if you’re hungry. You know, shit like that. He always needs to know what’s up with you, don’t even try to hide your true feelings from him.

bf!satoru who is such a whiny brat. He definitely has this playful rivalry with Megumi. I would imagine Megumi to develop some kind of crush on you, especially if you’d dote on him. Throw “unshakable character” out the window. This kid has mommy issues AND daddy issues.

bf!satoru who loves seeing your reactions. He’ll tease you, touch you, and whine. He loves to see what you’d do next. It always works in his favor anyways.

bf!satoru who takes you out on expensive dates. He makes sure people know you’re well taken care of. Even if someone was brave enough to court you, they could never compete with him.

bf!satoru who loves to kiss you. He worships your body and is as careful with you as one can be. If he hears you’re insecure, he’ll constantly reassure you that you’re beautiful.

bf!satoru who loves to dress you up. You’re like a little doll to him.

bf!satoru who already has his vows written and scribbles your name in a notebook with his last name like a teenage girl. Now, if this were no curse, modern au then him, Suguru, and Ieiri probably did FLAMES to see what you guys were.

bf!satoru who just loves you so much. He’s ready to do anything for you and with you. To have and to hold you from the day he met you, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part.

“I love you, Satoru..” you whispered softly in his ear as you played with his hair, breathing in the cold winter air. His head was facing your chest as you straddled his upper body on the bed, hugging each other. You couldn’t care less about the world right now. All you thought about was how Satoru was with you, how he was alive and well, and how much you lived him, “I love you more.”

@toxicramune @oh-my-beel @nymphsdomain @morinuu – Comment 🪩 to be on my taglist !

[auspicioustidings]

Firewatch 11

Summary: You just want to sleep, but Price needs you to calm down first.

Words: 2.8k

CW: Kidnapping, light bdsm

When Johnny tried to touch you, you only buried yourself into Simon and glowered at him. He looked wounded, pulling his hand back from where it had been poised to stroke your hair. None of them understood why you were reacting like that. You seemed back to yourself, but then it would stand to reason that you would be most scared of Simon. And yet now you were only too happy to be held by him. Only him.

As far as you were concerned it was a survival tactic. If you were always by Simon, none of them could kill you without going through him. And you weren’t really sure anyone could go through him. He seemed happy enough to play protector, thumb rubbing firm circles into your waist and teeth nibbling at the tip of your ear every so often. You suspected he was probably looking at the others when he did it, gloating. Good. 

“You need to eat sweetheart” he purred into your ear.

“Mm, don’t tell me what to do Simon.”

“Bratty even when you’re half dead.”

“Bossy even when I’m being nice.”

He chuckled at that. If he were a better man perhaps he would feel bad that Price, Johnny and Gaz were at the kitchen island looking like grumpy little puppies. As he was not a better man he only shot them a lopsided grin. Why shouldn’t he be happy? You were safe, your temperature was back to normal, you were in his arms and letting his fingers sink into the fat of your waist, letting his teeth lazily graze the skin of your ear. The fear of losing you gave way to how you fit so fucking perfectly against him. He couldn’t help but imagine how else you might fit together, how perfectly warm and wet and tight you’d be around him. Fuck would you let him take you to his bed? He didn't even need to make love to you just yet if you were still stubborn about everything, just hold you, feel your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin proving you were alive. 

“Like you nice, should give it to me more often” he said with his hand testing the waters, squeezing the meat of your thigh dangerously close to your ass. 

“Don't get used to it, can't imagine it'll be a frequent occurrence.”

You felt the squeeze and your body gave a valiant attempt at arousal, but it was like molasses, sticky and slow moving in your exhaustion. You didn't mind it, if anything it was sort of nice. His chuckle betrayed his own exhaustion a little, the raspiness of it pointing to him having had a very stressful day. 

“Then let me enjoy it while it lasts hm? Eat something for me sweetheart.”

Stupid man being stupidly charming. You didn't really feel like eating, you had went past hungry at some point in the cold and now you just wanted to stay cuddled up to someone you were steadfastly believing was safe and go to sleep. He kept jostling you though, a nip to your ear, a squeeze of your thigh or a finger tracing your spine keeping you awake from how it caused little thrills through you. 

“You make it.”

“Hm?”

“I'm not eating whatever they made. You make it. Or give me something that's sealed.”

Well that was an alarming thing to hear you mumble softly against him. The smug happiness of having you favour him was rapidly turning into concern. What exactly did you think they were going to do to you? Did you think they would poison you or were you just refusing to eat anything from them out of pettiness?

“Why?”

“I'll make it myself then” you grumbled, pushing away from him even though every fibre of you hated it.

Oh he did not like that if the growl was anything to go by. Simon stood with little warning, an arm banding under your ass to keep you wrapped around him. You tensed, knowing he was going over to the others and not being sure you really wanted to be near them. Price maybe, he had been kind, he was asleep when Johnny and Kyle had been discussing your murder. Second murder you supposed. But you couldn't really be sure he wasn't in on it. Then again you couldn't be sure Simon wasn't, but you didn't have much choice but to believe him. 

You were placed lightly on the kitchen island and he took a small step back, forcing you out into the open. You had felt a lot less vulnerable wrapped up in him, face buried in his shoulder. Your skin prickled with the gazes you felt on you. 

“I was only gone a few days, what exactly happened in that time that's got you not willing to eat anything they've made?”

“What? That true little bird? You are not starving yourself, you're already in enough trouble for running off like that” Price said, trying to temper himself.

He was off balance with this whole situation. You had seemed on the edge of giving in before he went to sleep (which he now felt incredibly guilty about) and then he wakes up to you gone? And now after letting them rescue you, Simon shows up and you are suddenly only willing to speak to him. You hadn't been refusing to eat before. You had been a brat about it sure, but you hadn't refused. 

You looked at Price, not sure how to untangle your feelings towards him. He could not be in on it, surely not. If he had wanted to kill you he could have smothered you while you were in his bed. Johnny spoke and while you didn't mean to, you flinched. Everybody certainly noticed.

“We dinnae ken what's happening in that bonnie– I… baby what's wrong?”

“Back off Johnny.”

“I didnae dae anything!”

While you were glad Simon was telling him off you wished he'd just let you cling to him again. This wasn't a conversation you wanted to have right now, you just wanted to sleep for 16 hours in a warm bed. You'd probably take a warm body in it if it wasn't someone who had openly spoken about killing you. 

“Everything seemed fine the other night luv, you were getting along.”

You did glance at Kyle, seeing him look alarmed at how you froze up when he spoke the same way you had for Johnny. He was right, you were getting along. It had been almost peaceful, you had been almost calm. Maybe that had been what they had been waiting for. 

“Simon.”

You said his name as a soft plead, hoping you could get out of this conversation. You didn't want to say it out loud. You didn't want to make it real. Because goddamnit you kind of liked them. You liked teasing Johnny when Dosia was horrible to him, you liked watching Kyle cook. It was so stupid of you to fall for it, to find yourself liking them. Please let Price be outside of it, please let him want you alive. Heartbreak twice over was already enough. 

There was a stunned sort of silence at your little plea. It wasn't really like you at all, not the you they had been getting to know. These men knew one another well enough that they could each tell that nobody knew what was going on here. This wasn’t you being angry or scared that they were keeping you here. This was something else, and none of them knew why. Price moved into your eye line and you lowered your gaze stubbornly to the ground, but you didn’t seem the same level of upset as you were with Soap or Gaz. 

His brow furrowed and he crooked a finger under your chin, making you tilt your head up and look at him. He could feel how agitated Simon had gotten at you saying his name like that, but he also knew that he trusted him with you. He trusted he would make this right. So he stayed where he was, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms to ensure he wouldn’t reach out while Price tried to fix whatever had went so horribly wrong.

“What’s going on?”

“Failed escape attempt, obviously.”

“Try again little bird.”

Oh, he was using that voice again. That one that oozed authority and made you want to push and push and push until he snapped. Only now you didn’t know what that meant. Part of you hoped he would just backhand you, show you his true colours so you could get over whatever this ridiculous feeling was. Another part badly wanted him to take some sort of control, force your racing thoughts to calm. Fuck you were demented.

“You wanted me to stay put, you should have clipped my wings.”

“That what you want?”

Maybe. Maybe you just wanted them to stop fucking toying with you. You were exhausted, fear and misery had drained you and you just wanted to give in, but your already incredibly wounded pride would really rather he made you give in so you could pretend you had fought it.

“Does it matter what I want John?”

He considered you for a while, the world holding its breath in anticipation. You didn’t realise how tense you really were until he moved his hand to the nape of your neck, tugging you off of the counter, fingers and thumb gripping with enough pressure that it loosened you all at once. The others didn’t intervene as he marched you out of the kitchen and into his office, the click of the lock causing a full body shiver. He was behind you and you just let your eyes softly unfocus on the wall as he bent slightly to speak right into your ear.

“I didn’t want to do this right now. You need rest. But you’re too wound up for that aren’t you little bird? Won’t even eat if we can’t get you calmed down.”

His foot slid between yours, pushing gently to get your legs to widen as he pressed on your neck, bending you over the desk. You didn’t have resistance left to give as you settled on your elbows. His hand running down your spine made you sigh. 

“This… it doesn’t change anything” you said softly as tugged on your sweatpants, getting access to the bare swell of your ass.

“Course not. Bet’s still on, and I still intend to win.”

–

Gaz couldn’t sleep. He was half tempted to do what Soap had done and sneak into Ghost’s bed for some form of bloody comfort. He hadn’t seen you since Price had taken you into that office, although they all knew exactly what would have happened in there. He knew you were due punishment for running away like that, but it unsettled him that it had happened so soon. You weren’t right yet, you were still… well he didn’t know. That was the problem. Shock he could understand, but he thought they had warmed you up and got you lucid again. And then you had looked at him like you were scared of him. You had never looked at him like that before, not even when you had been spitting mad and screaming at Soap. 

He trusted Price, he knew that he’d figure out what was wrong, knew that he’d take care of you in whatever way you needed it. But it didn’t help him sleep. He wanted to take care of you. He wanted you to cosy into him like you had done with Ghost. It drove him wild watching how his fingers had sunk into you, how you had let them. Fuck it was so stupid, Kyle’s fingers had been inside you but he was getting jealous of the intimacy of another mans fingers even touching you.

He was driving himself a little crazy going over your last interaction with him, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. You had been fine, you had even laughed when he had made a cutesy little smiley face on your omelette with ketchup. He wasn’t about to pretend that you were happy being kept by them like this, but he was so sure you had been beginning to settle. Him and Soap were going to wait until Simon was back and then make their case to him and Price that they should talk to you about giving you some freedom. They couldn’t let you just run to the police, but what if they built you your own place? Just like your little cottage. They thought they could make you happy with that for the time being, work on it until maybe you’d like to move somewhere far away with them. Then they could take you out on dates without incriminating themselves. They just needed to convince you that you wanted to go on them. And somehow he had fucked it all up. 

The light knock on his door had him out of the bed in record time to answer. He knew how a knock sounded for people, and that was too light to be Ghost or Price (Soap never knocked, fucking git that he was). He should have tried to be more cool and collected but he wrenched open the door and just flustered for a moment at you standing there in pjs. Fuck you were pretty. You looked tired still, but calm, he suspected Price had probably given you what you needed. 

“I… um. Can I come in?”

He nodded rapidly and stood aside to let you wander into his room. You seemed maybe a little nervous, but at least not scared of him. He hated that you had been scared of him. He hated not being able to figure out why.

“Are you-”

“I wanted-”

You both paused and there was a moment of each of you trying to get the other to go first until Kyle sighed and very gently moved you to sit on his bed so he could crouch in front of you, taking both your hands in his.

“Are you ok luv?”

“Tired. John gave me the soup you made, it was nice.”

He had fed you after he had rewired your brain with the absolute leathering he had given your ass. You were pretty sure you had cried during, but it was all a little hazy. It was a stupid thing to do, but you found you trusted him. Hard not to when he had climbed into the bath with you, washed your hair and gently dried and moisturised you after without once trying to take advantage.

You had nearly choked spying on him when you were supposed to be undressing for the bath, watching through the crack in the bathroom door to his room as he leaned his forearm heavily against the wall and quickly jacked himself off. Fuck, you knew he had done it because he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be getting hard with you naked in his arms and you had to throw cold water on your face to try and pretend you weren’t flushed with the thought that he wanted you that badly but wouldn’t do anything to you even in your vulnerable state. Made it hard not to trust him really. You had been suddenly glad for how utterly exhausted you were because while your body had made an attempt at getting you aroused it had been overpowered by bone tiredness.

Instead you had let him take care of you and pull you into his arms in bed. And you had finally talked. You told him what you had overheard and he told you that without a shadow of a doubt you had misunderstood. He’d even offered to knock their heads together for even accidentally frightening you like that. And you were so thoroughly out of emotions, so run through with the events of the day, that you couldn’t find it in you to not just believe him. He hadn't stopped you when you had mumbled that you wanted to see Kyle, he had just pressed his lips to your hair and let you go. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I thought you and Johnny were going to kill me. I overheard you in the kitchen,” you answered, no energy for anything but blunt honesty.

Kyle took a moment to figure out what the fuck you were talking about and then groaned and hid his head in your joined hands. 

“Fuck. Oh fuck. I should have thought about how that would sound with you right in the next room, I’m sorry, it wasn’t anything like what you’re thinking, it- well we-”

You squeezed his hands to get him to look at you again.

“S’ok. I’d just like to sleep if that’s ok.”

He wasn’t going to argue with you when you were sat in his bed, when you wanted to share it. So he just smiled and let you crawl under the covers so he could slot in right behind you. 

He fit there. 

[ratcash-wasgud]

hi! i just came by your work last night, loved it! stayed up reading it! 11/10 *cheff kiss* Are you up for a petition? maybe another mizuxreader, perhaps villainxhero kinda situation. the reader could be one of the money/sex hungry affiliated with the white man (not a white men herself but like a lap dog of someone with higher power than Abijah Fowle). instead of mizu taking Fowler she takes the *reader*, keeps her alive and makes her speak 7u7 maybe scream. they end up helping each other in the end after much fighting. ofc adding some nsfw there pfff if that wasnt obvious.

hope you see this! lmfao

Omg, yes!! Genius. This set something ablaze inside me (especially since I love witty villain characters). I was thinking about making this a one shot tho, but if yall want a second part tell me, and i'll try. Try. Anyways, this'll be more lighthearted than my other works. Oh, and I'm sorry if this isn't how you imagined the story to go. I interpreted some of the originaly show's story, but mostly I just wen't along with what's the easiest to get my own story going, and I probably got some cannon info wrong too, but please don't yell at me lmao.

Btw!! I'm really glad i got a request!! So thank you! If anyone has any other ideas, I'd be glad to try and working with it!!

Okay, enjoy!!

ℕ𝕖𝕜𝕠 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕖𝕤𝕥.

When Mizu pulled up to tea with Heji Shindou, instead of the half-blad old guy, she was faced with you. Some woman in strange clothing. It seemed like it was a mix of western clothing, and some japanese casual wear. You even had your hair down, letting it flow freely. How unusual.

"Ah, the infamous samurai who is tearing through anyone in his way!" You say with a smirk on your face, opening up your arms. "Come, come. Oh, and I see you've bought a dog too." You add, looking smugly at Taigen.

"How dare-" He starts, but gets shut down by Mizu quickly, and the two follow you to sit down.

"So, I've heard you're after the white men, huh?" You say, not sitting on your knees, but sitting down criss-cross style. "Why? What is it that you're after? Money?" You ask, starting to pour some tea.

"I don't need things like that. I have a vow. I swore revenge." Mizu says simply. "And what is it that you need from me?"

"Oh, nada." You shrug. "I'm just willing to offer a deal." You shoot the both of them a smirk. "I'd love to have that fat bastard dead too! My loyalty isn't with him at all!" You say it like it's the most exciting thing ever. "You see, that sack of shit has everything in the world! Money, power, connections...and he's still complaining! Ha! Meaning, he doesn't deserve it." You say as you lift your tea and take a sip. "I, on the other hand, would take much better care of his privilages."

"So you want me to kill him so you can take his place?" Mizu asks, highly suspicious. She glances at Taigen, who is still giving you a dirty look for your comment from earlier.

"Yap." You nod, tossing down your cup. "Fowler wouldn't be an easy target, so without my help, you could already start planning your funeral." You say, but now a small dangerous glint appears in your eyes.

"And why should I trust you?" Mizu asks, her eyes narrowing at you, but your smirk doesn't falter.

"You shouldn't. Didn't you mother tell you not to trust strangers?" You say with a chuckle and Mizu rewards it with a small glare. A small, but cold one. "Still, it's up to you. Do you wanna kill that bastard so much you're willing to take the risk?"

"And how do we know this is not an ambush? That you won't just kill us if we say no?" Taigen cuts in, putting his hands on the table which you reward with your smile getting smugger.

"Oh, please." You put your hands up in defense. "You really think I'd waste weapons and men on you?" You say, looking him straight in the eye. "And besides, you won't say no." You look back at Mizu. "My deal has only benefits for you. You'll just have to gulp down some self respect."

Mizu raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" She can't deny, having someone close to Fowler himself helping her would be a huge positive, but...you just seem so sly. Like a cat.

"Ah, you see, I can get you inside Fowler's little residence." You stand up to pull of a blanket off a big barrel. "You'd fit inside quite well. You're a scrawny thing anyways." You say with a taunting smirk.

"It's a trap!" Taigen says to Mizu right away, but Mizu seems unfazed and steps closer. "How exactly would you get me inside?"

"Aw, I wanted that one to be a surprise." You say with a mock pout. "Fowler thinks I'm out getting a good deal on sake, and I kinda am." You take the barrel's to of, revealing that it's half full of sake. "I'd have you delivered right to his nose."

"You'd die." Taigen cuts in again, and Mizu can see your eye twitch at that.

"Could you shut your lil' pet up? The adults are talking." You say, your smirk disappearing.

"She's obviously untrustworthy!" Taigen draws his sword on a whim, but he's met with a revolver to his head right away.

"Don't try that shit with me." You say, tilting your head at him, but you then seel Mizu's blade at your nape. "Touché." You mutter.

"So what now?" You ask with a smirk breaking out on your face again. "Kill me and lose your only chance at killing the man you swore to slay down? Ha! Go on then." You say, glancing over at your shoulder at her, and you see Mizu tense up.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your head and you fall to the ground. Mizu hit you with the hilt of her blade, stripping you of your conciousness.

The next thing you see is a capmfire and a siluette around you. As you blink a lot to clear your vision, you notice Mizu and as you look down, ropes around you. She tied you up.

"So you didn't kill me after all." You say out loud, getting Mizu's attention. "The other guy? The one with a bald spot and a funny glare. The dog." You look around.

"Away." Mizu shrugs simply. It's the truth though, Ringo is away in a nearby town, getting supplements for the road, and she left Taigen with a promise of a later duel.

"So...What is you plan now, big bad samurai? Try and torture me into telling you shit? Ha!" You say, wriggling in the ropes.

"I'm planning to exchange you for information." Mizu says simply, staring at the campfire. "I'm sure Heji Shindo would like to have you back."

You grit your teeth. "That old fucker doesn't give a shit about anything but his money and his dick. I'm sure that power hungry bastard is happy I'm gone." You say, scoffing. "But go on, try." Suddenly, you realize something. "What did you do with my gun?" You ask in a hurry, trying to feel around at your hilt.

Suddenly, Mizu lifts your gun, holding it between two fingers. "This?" She asks, looking at you from the corner of her eyes.

"Don't you dare lose it! I want it back when you're done with me!" You stomp your foot as much as you can.

"You know, for someone talking so big earlier, you're quite pissy now." Mizu says, rolling her eyes and you huff in response.

Then...as you glanced back at the fire, you noticed a small pot, boiling. You tried to lift yourself to see what's in it, but the ropes didn't allowed you to.

"...if I starve to death, I'm just gonna be a waste, you know." You mumble under your nose, and Mizu snorts. She then reaches for the pot, and pours out some what seems like soup into a small bowl and she puts it beside you.

You stare at the bowl, your eye twitching. "I can't reach it." You say, your eyebrows creasing together and she just looks at you with a small, amused grin.

"Huh." She says, leaning back on her hands. "Really?" She taunts you. Oh, this woman is horrible. Fine, you think. In one swift motion, you move your leg as much as you're able, and kick the bowl, spilling it all on Mizu.

Mizu's eyes widen and she looks down on her clothes. "...oh, you little bitch." She hisses at you.

"Come, kill me then!" You stick out your tongue childishly.

"You know damn well I could!" Mizu huffs back, throwing the bowl at you.

"Ha-ha, your whole little quest depends on me!" You laugh right into her face and wriggle your legs. Mizu almost growls at you and suddenly she picks up your gun again, and holds it above the fire, threathening to drop it.

"No!" You yell out, and fall forward, and bite into her ankle. Mizu yanks her leg away with a hiss and reaches down to pull you up by your collar.

"Okay, what's your fucking deal?" She says from behind greitted teeth.

"What's yours?" You ask right back, snarling right back at her. "If you'd wanted to kill me, you'd have done it by now. So, want me to talk? Earn it!" You say, getting closer to her face, trying to stand your ground.

"The fuck you want?" Mizu tosses you away, and sits at a reasonable distance from you. "To have Fowler dead? Then just tell me how to get in, and where he is!"

"I want you to untie me, and hand me back my gun!" You demand, and lift your nose, refusing to look at her.

"What's so great about this gun anyways?" Mizu picks up the gun again and looks at it more closely. It's obviously a western gun with a leather grip and engravings along it's barrel in the form of some kind of bird.

You scoff in response. "That was my first gun. It's special." You say like it's the most obvious thing ever. "I will bring it with me when I finally travel aboard, away from this stuck-in-the-past land."

"Huh?" Mizu raises her eyebrows. "You wanna leave Japan? For what?" She asks mockingly.

"Because! This place isn't wide enough for my potential! After Fowler is out of the picture, I will visit take his money and go to London. Start a new life and all. I will really bloom there." You say, rolling onto your back. "People will understand me there."

Mizu narrows her eyes. "I don't think people in Japan are the problem, you're just a common lunatic." That earns a chuckle from you.

"Says the guy who is set out to kill four men he doesn't know shit about." You says, glancing at her, and Mizu can't help herself, cracks a smirk.

"You have guts to talk back to your captor, you know." She says and lifts her eyebrows in amusement. She glances up at the sky too. The stars are very bright tonight.

"You won't kill me." You say, tilting your head so that you're looking straight at her. It's just now that she notcied how nicely the stars reflect in your eyes. Your eyes now look calm, and they don't have any slyness, or mischief in them at the moment. "It wouldn't benefit you." You shrug. "And torturing me would be useless. Pain passes."

"Say," Mizu starts, looking back at the fire. "You said that you're not loyal to Fowler. So who are you loyal to?"

"Me." You say withouth hesitation. "The one who I want the best for and I trust the most is myself. I'm not loyal to any old, egostical bastard with money, like most people in this country are." Say say it with disgust. "I never was and never will be loyal to anyone else, but me."

Mizu scoffs. "What are you, a stray cat?" She asks with a hint of amusement as she looks down at you. "That just makes you even more untrustworty."

You scoff back. "Who said that I want to be trustwhorty?" You ask, rolling your eyes. "Plus, I'm free. Well, not yet, but I will be. And it's not like you can say the same."

Mizu can't help but snicker. "Is that it? Freedom? I'm free enough, thank you."

"Naaaaah." You shake your head. "You're tied down by your own revenge. It tells you where to go, what to see, what to feel...if I told you where's Fowler, you'd get going by tomorrow. Even if I told you you'd die, you'd still go. Not because you want to die, but because that's the only thing you know. Revenge and rage. You'd jump in the well if I said Fowler's at the bottom of it." You say boldly, and look her straight in the eyes before you smirk slyly.

"You think you know everything, huh?" Mizu frowns and gets up to you, grabbing you by the hair. "You know nothing of me. I need this. I will throw my life away if I have to, to finish what I've started, so I won't think twice about taking yours too."

"You're all talk about killing me. Deep down, you know you need me." You taunt her. "You won't find that bastard withouth me. I work under his arm, I could get you there soooo easily, but you're throwing it away because you get too emotional." Your smirk gets even more smug. You kinda look like a cat, Mizu notices again. A cat that has just pushed off something expensive off a shelf, breaking it, and knowing it too.

Mizu noticed that sometimes you force that smugness into your little smirks. She sees it because the corners of your lips twitch. In reality, you are scared of her, but you'd rather die than let her see that. She never met a woman like you. She doesn't know how you got to the place you are, but she respects it. And still, you kow she could take your life. You're tied up, tripped of your weapons and vulnerable, yet you still taunt her. You're very annoying but somehow she can't help but admire your bravery. But the moment you're cornerned into a corner, you hiss and scratch.

After that, she lets you go and walks to be at a good six and a half feet away from you before she lays down, and decides to sleep withouth another word. Not much time passes when Mizu stays sleepless, but she hears you snore. And for some reason, she can't help but smile. You breathe through your mouth when you sleep. It's kind of cute.

The next couple of days are spent with Mizu travelling with Ringo and Taigen, and she drags you along too. Literally. She drags you while you're tied up. During those days, you managed to talk to Ringo a lot. Most of the time he's the one who's assigned to watch over you, and it doesn't seem like he has even as much as a mean bone in his body. You could even call some of your conversations pleasent. The other two on the other hand...you sometimes talk to Mizu and you two always end up in a neck to neck situation. Mizu wants to get you to talk, but she hasn't hurt you yet. She just always threathens you, yells and curses. You just flat out insult her at every chance you get though. It's not because you hate her, persay, but because you find it funny. You're being held captive after all, you need to use every chance you get to have fun.

Currently, you are left alone for the first time in weeks, as the others left your outside of town while they get something done. When you're sure they're out of seeing and hearing range, you start to rub the ropes on your wrist against a bigger rock you've found, trying to "saw" through it. When that irritating thing finally snaps, and you begind to get yourself free, you suddenly hear a very menacing sound from behind.

"The fuck are you doing?" You turn your head and see Mizu, glaring and gripping her sword. Fuck, you think and as she charges at you. You quickly throw away the rest of your ropes, and dogde out of the way. You didn't got to where you are now withouth knowing how to stand your ground, and defending yourself...and knowing how to cheat, of course.

You jump to your feet and get behind Mizu, and with one swift, forward kick to her side, you don't just get her to grunt and almost fall, you also send your gun flying from her side. By now, you've learned that that's where she keeps it. You're still just happy she didn't outright get rid of it. As the gun slides on the cold ground, you jump after it while Mizu regains her composure, and finally obtain it once again.

"Yes!" You silently cheer to yourself and point the gun at Mizu, who just looks at you, her blade covering half her face.

You gulp. Do you really wanna fire at Mizu? Kill her even? You did kinda want to kill her and betray her at first, but now you're...not sure. Sure, she's an asshole but...over those days as being her captive, you learned some things about her...she's not as heartless and cold. She fed you herself, she managed to keep you safe, even if she kept you in robes, and she just wants revenge...she even kept your gun safe.

But you can't show weakness. That's not what you stand for, so you shoot, but aim at her leg. She dodges of course, and manages to pin you down with her blade at your neck, but your gun at her stomach.

You just stare at her eachother, panting, not sure who's gonna kill who first. Mizu stares into your eyes, seeing her own reflection in them. Suddenly she notices that familiar glint in them, and how you swallow while panting, and how nose moves when you take a deep breath...and she feels her stomach fluttering. With adrenaling flowing through her veins and her skin haven't feeling contact with someone else's for so long, she makes a decision. A quick, and a little foolish one.

She pushes her lips against yours, her eyes closing and her breathing speeding up even more. And to her biggest surprise...you kiss back right away. It's all happening so fast. One minute you're nearly killing eachother, and in the other, you're passionately making out with her hands under your clothes, feeling your skin with your weapons thrown to the side.

"Asshole. You fired at me." Mizu mumbles into the kiss, her hands firmly feeling up the skin on your sides, while you rin your hands down her spine.

"Dickhead. You kept me tied up for weeks." You mumble back, gently biting into her lower lip, which Mizu rewards with a small gasp. Suddenly, she feels your hands under her clothes too.

"I knew it." You whisper. "A man could never have a soul like yours." You say and pull her back into a kiss. You feel her knees between your legs, pushing at your core, and in response you squeeze one of her breasts. Mizu starts to get rid of your clothes one by one, and as she does that, you quickly strip her of her own too.

Mizu's slander fingers slowly travel to your slit, but as she does, you grip her wrist and stop her. "No." You mumble. "Not like this." You flip her over (not easily though, she fights back even now), and look down at her naked form, quickly throwing away her chest bindings too.

"Fuck..." You mumble as you carefully align your core with hers, your clits touching, and moving together with every breath. And as you start to move gently, holding yourself up on your hands next to her head, you can hear her moan. She grinds back against yours, your juices mixing together. Even in this moment, it's as if you're both fighting for dominance. You don't know when will Mizu just reach up and choke you to death, but honestly? That's the best part.

You feel her hands around you, one clawing at your back, the other on your jaw...then cheeks, then lips, then the last thing you know is that she's forcing a finger inside of your mouth while you quietly moan and bite down on it. In response you push harder against her, almost squishing her clit with yours, which end in a louder moan from both of you.

"Can't...can't fucking take it..." Mizu moans, pushing her finger deeper inside your mouth before she retreats it, and uses her other hand to pull on your hair instead.

"What? Gonna cum? Ha." You manage to murmur out, not being able to stop your hips, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge too.

"You...fucking wish...ah!" Mizu's whole body twitches as you angle yourself a little differently, giving a whole new sensation to both of you, making you bite into her shoulder while she grips a handful of your hair thightly. And with that, a louder, choked back moan escpaed from both of you...being in perfect balance with eachother, and reaching your climax at the same time.

You stay there, just quietly panting and laying there, on top of eachother in silence for a while. You ahve your face burried into Mizu's neck, basking in her scent while Mizu still has her hand in your hair, feeling it's texture against her cheek.

"...you gotta go through a tunnel." You mumble.

"What?" Mizu perk up, lifting your head by your hair to look into your eyes.

"To get into Fowler's castle. You gotta go through a tunnel that is like...twenty steps away from the road's end and is filled to the brim with traps." You mumble, having your eyes open only halfway. "You gotta head East after you leave the last small village before the forest."

Mizu takes all that in. Now she knows how to get there...now she knows everything. "So that's what it took you to talk? For me to fuck you?"

"I fucked you." You say with a huff and get off of her, putting your clothes back on. "Well, I guess you got what you wanted, and I'm free too." You say, not really sure why. There are no ropes holding you back anymore, so...íthis is your cue to leave, isn't it?

"Wait, where are you going?" Mizu sits up, looking after you.

"Back to Fowler." You shrug. "I'm still his right hand. He probably sent men to find me." You sigh as you finish dressing up. "See you...at the castle." You say, look at her above your shoulder.

"..." Mizu narrows her eyes. "Fuck you." She spits.

"Check." You put on that so familiar smug smirk and hold up a thumbs up. "Spare me a seat in the audience when you cut his head off." You wave as you start walking away.

"...like a fucking stray cat." Mizu sighs, and before you dissappear, the last thing she sees is your wink.

[whumpy-wyrms]

Blood Runs Cold #2: You Poor Thing

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content: captivity, cold whump, starvation, dehydration, begging, strangulation, mind control, blood drinking, non permanent death, defiant immortal whumpee, creepy vampire whumper

IT’S BACK!!! finally gonna start writing this series again, sorry for the long wait!!

— 

Aspen slowly opened his eyes, and once again, the first thing he noticed was how cold he was. But unlike being trapped in a thin metal freezer, Aspen was laying on a small mattress.

He curled into himself, shivering violently. After realizing there were no blankets to keep him warm, he sat up, but immediately felt the dizziness hit him. He groaned in pain, his head pounding and his body aching from his last death. His last death.

Everything that had happened the last day came flooding back to him like a punch to the gut.

He died. Twice— no, three times, apparently, though he didn’t remember the first time—

And he came back.

It hurt to think about— what any of this could possibly mean. Nobody could just die and come back to life! …But here he was. Alive and well. Aspen almost thought it could all have been one bad dream, if not for the dull pain in his neck. He traced his fingers over his throat, and felt two small scars from where the vampire had drank from. The vampire.

That thing was what had killed him- bit into him- tore him apart. And it said it would do it again. Aspen had to get out of here. He couldn’t stand the thought of being around that monster again, he couldn’t.

He took a deep breath and decided to start looking around the room he found himself in, though that didn’t help much since all around him was complete darkness, not a window or flicker of light in sight. The mattress beneath him felt rough and grimey; it definitely hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. Aspen put his hand to the wall to steady himself as he stood, feeling the chill and cracks of the cement on his fingertips.

He took a step, but heard a rattle of metal coming from the floor. He took another step, feeling a heavy weight and cold chill on his left ankle and he realized that he was chained to the wall. Shit.

Aspen tugged on the chain a bit, to no use. So he started walking anyway, wanting to see the furthest he could go. He walked around the room and held his hands out in front of him, trying to see if he could feel anything in the darkness. He eventually found a staircase, but could only get a few steps up until he reached the farthest the chain would allow him. He went around the other side of the room and felt a small drain in the concrete floor. Startled by the new texture under his bare feet, he jumped away, the chain pulling taut on his ankle and causing him to trip and scrape his knees on the concrete. He staggered up and collapsed back on the mattress in defeat.

And that was it. Nothing else in the room offered him much help, and he was stuck waiting in horrible anticipation. It was hopeless; there was no way out of here and he was going to be hurt by that vampire again.

He shook those thoughts away and decided to be smart about this. Sure, Aspen couldn’t actually die— for some reason— but vampires could. All he had to do was find… what was it? Silver? A wooden stake? Aspen never really had been too interested in vampires; he was more of a werewolf type of guy. And he didn’t even know they were real until now, whatever he’d heard about them in the past might not even be true. But nonetheless, he’d find a way to kill that bastard and reunite with Lyle again- wherever she was. He wouldn’t just give up.

. . .

Aspen didn’t know how long it had been since he’d woken up, or how long he had been waiting in the dark, laying curled up on that mattress. He realized soon enough that he was hungry; he hadn’t eaten in who knows how long, and definitely hadn’t drank any water. Oddly enough, he didn’t have to go to the bathroom. After all those deaths, he probably had nothing left in his system.

He also realized, after hours of laying on that mattress with nothing but his anxious thoughts, that the vampire hadn’t given him his glasses. It wasn’t like he needed them in this dark, but he still could hardly see normally without them. He also hadn’t given him his chest binder. He was just wearing his jeans and hoodie, not even a shirt underneath! That asshole. He didn’t know whether it was to humiliate him, give him less warmth, or both, or some other reason, but Aspen had never felt so vulnerable and defenseless.

The vampire had broken his phone, so he obviously couldn’t use that to call for help. Like the corpse that he was, he had nothing. Absolutely nothing that could help him. The only thing he could do was wait.

And after what felt like forever of waiting, stomach aching with unbearable hunger, Aspen heard the thud of footsteps coming from the ceiling above him. They walked slowly until they stopped by the stairs. The click of a lock echoed through the basement, and light finally flooded into the place.

Aspen sat up on the mattress, heart thumping rapidly through his chest as he stared ahead.

Finally, the vampire was back.

The vampire walked down the stairs, taking slow, deliberate steps that echoed in the silence. His wavy black hair fell down in his ghostly pale face. He wore a dark red dress shirt, the first few buttons undone, and a black suit coat hanging messily over his shoulders. Aspen gulped and hugged his knees to his chest, noticing the blood-red eyes peeking through the strands of hair and staring directly at him.

His captor reached the bottom of the stairs and stared down at Aspen, watching him tremble in fear.

“Hello, little corpse,” the vampire said, his voice sending a shiver down his spine.

Despite Aspen having so many things he wanted to say and ask— like let me go, I’m hungry, don’t hurt me— his words went dry in his throat. He felt acutely aware of his position; held captive, frozen in place under the vampire’s intense gaze, afraid that any movement or noise would cause the vampire to pounce and tear him apart again.

“What? Got nothing to say?” The vampire hummed, tilting his head.

Aspen swallowed and tore his eyes away from his captor, deciding to get a look around the now visible room.

The basement was not much larger than he had originally thought. Most of it was empty, but against the left far wall was a large metal table. It was hard to see without his glasses, but squinting his eyes, he could make out various dangerous looking tools and weapons hanging on the wall above it. The sharp blades were all covered in faded, dried blood. Higher on that wall, in the corner by the ceiling, was a small window, boarded up with wood that had looked like it’d been there for ages. Hanging down from the ceiling in the middle of the room were various hooks and chains. Dried blood faintly painted the floor by the drain.

That was it. It looked like everything in this place was just made to cause pain, to hurt him.

He looked back at the tools. They were too far away to get to with the chain around his ankle, but if he could somehow get his hands on them, he could defend himself.

Unless… somebody else got his hands on them first.

His eyes flickered back to the vampire, who had been following his gaze to the wall. He smirked.

Aspen’s heart plummeted.

“I see you’ve noticed my—”

“Don’t hurt me!” Aspen said, body trembling. “Please let me go, I- I—”

“Begging already?” The vampire mused, and started walking closer. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Yet?

“N-no, stay away from me,” Aspen said, backing up against the wall.

“Why would I do that?” His captor walked closer, boots thumping against the concrete. Aspen pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to hide as much of his body as he could, trying to make himself small. The vampire crouched down in front of Aspen and put a hand in his curly hair, gently scritching the top of his head as if he were nothing but a spooked animal. “You’re much cuter up close.”

Aspen trembled under the vampire’s touch, pulling away ever so slightly but being fully backed into the wall, there was nowhere to hide.

“How’re you doin’? You making yourself at home?”

Aspen just stared ahead, mouth agape, words caught in his throat.

“I asked you a question, Aspen,” the vampire hummed in a light tone, though his hand gripped tighter in his hair— a warning.

Aspen swallowed thickly, and said in a quiet, shaky voice, “I-I don’t wanna be here. Let me go.”

“Aw, is it really that bad? I even gave you a mattress and everything.”

Aspen frowned, shivering into his hoodie and wrapping his arms around himself. “It-it’s so- so cold down here. Just let me go.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” the vampire cooed, wiping Aspen’s tears with his thumb. He didn’t even realize he started crying. “I don’t care.”

Aspen sniffled. “I don’t even have my glasses.”

“Oh, of course. You need them to see?” The vampire’s voice was laced in mock sympathy.

Aspen nodded his head, looking up at him through his curls.

“Well, I kinda like it when you look all disoriented and confused. I might just keep you like this forever.”

Aspen’s heart dropped, his despair plastered all over his face. “Why are you doing this?”

“Aw, did you forget already? You exist only for me to drink that delectable blood of yours. You’re nothing but my food. You’re mine. I can do whatever I want to you.”

“B-but- but…” He was speechless. As he struggled to come up with something to say while his captor played with his hair, he saw the vampire’s eyes light up, smiling that horrible grin that showed his deathly sharp fangs.

“Oh, you’re going to be so much fun to break.”

“W-what?” He squeaked.

“We’re going to have so much fun together, Aspen. Just you and I. It’s been so long since I’ve had a human of my own, this place hasn’t had much use in ages, but not anymore. And since you can’t die permanently, I won’t ever have to hold back.”

The vampire’s gaze wandered back to the tools hanging from the wall and the chains hanging from the ceiling. Horrible visions racked Aspen’s mind. Visions of pain. Of agony. Torture. Death. It hadn’t happened to him yet, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. He couldn’t do it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stifle a sob. The vampire was too close. It and its fangs and claws were too close and it was touching him and he didn’t want to be here and why wouldn’t it just let him go?

“Open your eyes, Aspen,” the vampire said in a sing-song tone.

“Huh?” Aspen opened his eyes.

“I like to see the fear in my prey’s eyes as I feed. Makes the blood all the more intoxicating.”

“F-Feed?”

“Did I bash your skull in a little too hard last time?” Silas flicked Aspen’s head roughly with his finger. “Every night I am going to feed from you. And every morning, you will come back to life fully healed and regenerating more blood. The process will repeat itself. It’s simple. No more questions.”

“But I don’t- I don’t want this. I wanna go h-home.” He looked up at the vampire through his curly hair with tears in his wide, terrified eyes. His lips wobbled as he spoke so quietly that it was barely a whisper. “Please.”

“Oh, Aspen. You still think you have a choice. You’re so cute, it’s unbearable. It makes me just want to squeeze the life out of you.” The vampire thought to himself for a moment, before a mischievous grin crossed his face. “And I guess… I can do that, can’t I.” It was more of an observation to himself than a question.

“N-no.”

“Oh, I will.” The vampire broke out into a wide, maniacal grin, fangs looking sharper than ever. “Whenever the fuck I want to. How about now?”

Before Aspen could say anything, the vampire pounced. Inhumanly strong hands wrapped around his neck and shoved him against the wall. His nails dug into Aspen’s delicate skin, causing blood to drip down his throat.

“Ow!” Aspen gasped. “Stop- stop stop stop- please stop.”

The vampire suddenly squeezed his hands tighter around Aspen’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Aspen gasped for breath, but could no longer get any air.

“L-et g-o,” Aspen choked out, a whimper soon broken by his lack of oxygen.

He clawed at his neck, at the vampire’s hands tightening his grip on him, at the blood spilling from the small cuts, desperately doing all he could to get air. But his captor’s hands didn’t budge, they only pressed down harder on his throat.

Aspen’s mouth opened and closed, trying and failing to suck air back into his lungs. He tried to plead, to beg, but no sound came out. Dark spots filled his vision as his lungs screamed for air.

The vampire leaned in and started drinking the blood trickling down his skin. Aspen felt his hands squeezing tighter to get more to spill out, as if he were nothing but a living ketchup packet.

Tears fell down Aspen’s cheeks as he went limp in the vampire’s hold, finally losing strength. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep his head from lolling to the side and into the vampire’s grasp, to keep himself from slipping away into unconsciousness, into death.

The vampire squeezed his neck again, this time harder. A horrible crunching sound filled Aspen’s ears, and everything finally went black.

. . .

Aspen gasped awake, hands instinctively flying to his neck to get air- to stop the bleeding—

…That wasn’t there. There was no puncture wound, no blood, not even a scab. Just smooth scars over his skin from where the vampire had scratched him and drank from.

He took a deep, long breath, closing his eyes as sweet refreshing air filled his lungs. He breathed out, and in, and out again. A steady pace to calm his racing heart.

The room was dark again, and the vampire didn’t seem to be in there anymore. He must’ve left after Aspen… died. Maybe that was a good thing. Though, he was still incredibly hungry. And thirsty. And his captor was the only one who could give him that necessity.

He cringed thinking about the last thing he remembered, that moment with the vampire. He shouldn’t be so scared of him. He had to stand up for himself and fight back, that’s what Lyle would have told him if she were there.

He didn’t know what time it was or how long he waited for, but when the basement door opened again, Aspen swallowed his nerves and ran towards the stairs, wasting no time in going as far as the chain would allow him. He was standing on the second step and holding on to the railing, his left leg held out in the air a little bit due to the chain pulling on it.

“H-hey,” Aspen said, looking up at the vampire. “Let me out, I’m so hungry!” He pulled against the chain, not caring about the cold metal digging into his skin, and pushed his arms against the railing as if trying to heave himself up the stairs. “I can’t- can’t take it anymore! Let me go!”

The vampire was standing at the top of the stairs, his entire body cast in a haunting shadow from the light behind him, making him nothing but a looming silhouette. He took a silent step down the stairs, and another.

“Brave little corpse today, huh?” The vampire growled, his two red eyes glowing bright in the darkness. He seemed to be in a different mood today, one that sent a shiver down Aspen’s spine.

“I’m starving. I don’t care what you do to me, I just need food! Please!” Aspen cried.

He didn’t even see it coming.

The vampire pounced, leaping down the stairs and slamming his body straight into Aspen, sending both of them tumbling into the hard concrete floor. Aspen cried out in pain, his entire body hurting from the inhuman force pinning him to the ground. The vampire quickly stepped back and shoved Aspen into the wall by his mattress. After struggling to catch his breath, Aspen’s eyes went wide when he noticed the vampire walking towards him.

“W-Wait!” Aspen exclaimed. “Please don’t hurt me—” He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating another blow to the head. When that didn’t come, he blinked and saw the vampire crouched down next to him, inspecting the chain around his ankle.

“This chain is much too long.” Before Aspen could do anything, the vampire wrenched it through what had it fastened to the wall, effectively shortening the length Aspen was allowed to walk, leaving the chain only a few feet long now. Aspen could only move around the mattress, and that was it. “Much better.”

He was about to curl into a ball, but he remembered his goal. He needed to stand up for himself. He needed to show him that he wasn’t weak. He blinked back his tears and stared at his captor. “L-let me go!” he demanded. “I’m hungry! Really really hungry. I need food. You can’t just keep me down here!”

“Aspen,” Silas growled, turning to face him. “Are you really making me repeat myself again? You’re mine. My food, to do with as I please.”

His mind raced, frantically trying to come up with anything at all that could change his mind. “If you’re going to- to keep me here, you need to feed me! You can’t just k-keep me starving forever! It hurts! Please!”

“You haven’t died from starvation yet, so why would I waste time and resources letting you eat if you don’t need to? Seems like a big fucking waste to me.”

Aspen looked up, pleading with his eyes that were filled with anger and confusion. his breath hitched in his throat. It was getting harder and harder to be brave. “You ca-can’t do this. You can’t!”

“I can do whatever I want to you.”

Tears fell down his cheeks. “P-please!” he sobbed. “I’m begging you, is that what you want? Please. I’m starving, I—”

“Stop screaming. Holy shit, you’re insufferable. Did you know that?” The vampire turned away from him and started walking towards the other side of the room. “I usually love hearing the horrified screams of my prey, but today isn’t one of those days.”

“Wh-where are you going? —Wait!”

In a flash, the vampire was back to kneeling in front of him, shoving a piece of cloth into his mouth and tying it around his head, effectively gagging him. Aspen reached up to pull it out, but winced when his captor grabbed his wrist and roughly twisted his arms behind his back. The vampire tied his hands together with rope, and pulled it tight. Aspen whimpered as it dug into his skin.

He screamed through the gag, and his captor slapped him roughly across the face, shutting him up. His head shot to the side, and he whimpered as his cheek stung in pain.

Cold, inhumanly strong hands grasped at his shoulders as the monster bit down into his neck, ripping and tearing the flesh away like a deranged animal. He cried out, but there was nothing he could do to stop this. It wasn’t long after that Aspen’s world went dark yet again.

. . .

Time seemed to stretch on in one big blur. The vampire came to the basement to feed, to kill, and throw any and all kinds of hurt or pain into the mix that he wanted. No matter how much Aspen pleaded for it to stop, that only seemed to fuel the vampire’s cruelty. He mocked him for being weak, for being unable to do anything against him. His captor would either kill him or leave him alone in the basement until he came back hours later, alive but in no way living.

It was always dark, and Aspen didn’t know how many days were spent down there. He thought that if the vampire fed once a day, he’d been in the basement for at least five. Five days without food or water. Five days trapped in a cold, dark room with nothing but his worried, anxious thoughts to distract him from the agonizing pain. Not to mention however long he’d been in the morgue before this, however long ago he’d died the first time.

But he could be wrong; he really didn’t know how long he’d been trapped here for. It could have been a few days or a few months and he’d have no way to tell. He wondered if anyone was looking for him, or where Lyle was, or if he’d ever be able to see the sun again. Surely, he’d be rescued in no time. He was going to get out of here, he just had to wait.

He laid his cheek against the rough mattress, arms still tied behind his back and gag stuck firmly in his mouth. Even though he tried to stay optimistic, sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was his life now. Cursed to be trapped starving in a basement and used as a vampire’s bloodbag for all of eternity— and killed, over and over, that too.

He found the actual death to be somewhat… peaceful, as grim as that sounded. It was the only escape he got from the pain before he was forced back into the cold cruelty of the basement— of his life. It was an unwelcome distraction, but it was at least something. He always hated having nothing to do, being bored out of his mind. At least now he got a break every now and again.

Then, for the first time in days, he heard something new. Aspen’s ears perked up, listening closely to the faint, muffled noises coming from above him. Voices. Multiple voices upstairs. He stood up, despite his weak and starved body begging him to rest, and stumbled towards however far the chain would let him.

He shook his head vigorously, rubbing his chin against his shoulder and finally, finally getting that disgusting gag out of his mouth.

And then, he screamed. His throat was sore and raspy, dry from the lack of water, but that didn’t stop him. He called for help as loud as he could, hoping to get the attention of whoever was up there.

The voices suddenly stopped as Aspen’s frantic pleas rang through the air. There was a loud sigh, and the snap of someone’s fingers. Eerie silence filled the air except for the all-too-familiar footsteps walking towards the basement.

The door swung open violently, and Aspen flinched back at the noise, chain rattling behind him.

“What do you want?” The vampire hissed, flicking the lightswitch on and slamming the door shut behind him. Aspen had never seen someone look so angry. He cowered away as primal terror flooded through his veins.

“I- I, th-the people! There are people up there! Help, help! HELP!”

The vampire did nothing but stand there silently, staring at him with that creepy smile on his face. “Keep screaming, Aspen. See where that gets you.”

“But there’s… What…what did you do to them?”

“Mind control. Their dumb little minds don’t belong to them right now, and they certainly won’t rescue you.”

“You can… control people’s minds?”

“Of course I can,” his captor hissed. “And the next time you try to ask other humans for help, I won’t be so merciful to them.”

“Were they looking for me?”

The vampire couldn’t help but laugh. “No, they weren’t looking for you. They were looking for directions.”

“Directions?”

“Yes. We are in the middle of fucking nowhere, by the way.” The vampire took a step down the stairs. “And nobody will come looking for you. You’re dead to the world, already buried six feet under. And scream all you want, there’s no civilization in miles. That gag was just there to keep you from annoying me all night and day with your incessant whining. I almost never see people out here unrelated to my business.”

“But when I do,“ the vampire continued, “oh, you have no idea how hard it is to resist feeding on them. I’m glad you’re awake now. I deserve a snack for having to deal with those insufferable morons.”

“And you,” the vampire drawled, walking closer and causing Aspen to flinch back in fear, stumbling onto the mattress behind him, “deserve a punishment for spitting that gag out and trying to call for help. You’re mine. You do not try to call for help. You are not getting out of this. Get that through your thick skull before I bash it in.”

Aspen breathed heavily. The vampire was standing a few feet from him, but was more menacing than ever before.

“Say it, little corpse. Tell me you’re mine. I wanna hear it from you.”

Tears pricked in Aspen’s eyes, cheeks going red. “I-I’m, I’m y-yours.”

“And you’ll never try calling for help again?”

“N-No,” he said, shaking his head and sniffling.

“Good. Now enough chit-chat. C’mere.”

Aspen let out a sob and crawled forward, palms and knees aching against the cold stone floor. He crumbled in despair as Silas leaned down to feed again. Sharp fangs sank into the same spot on his neck, blood started flowing out and into the mouth of his captor. He grew even more lightheaded, squeezing his eyes shut and silently begging for unconsciousness.

…Only, death didn’t come this time. The vampire pulled away early, licking his lips and stepping back with a sour expression.

Aspen dared to peek an eye open and look up at him. “W-wh-what are—”

“Your blood. It’s not as good as it was before. What happened?”

“I-I don’t- I don’t know.” When the vampire yanked a hand to his hair, Aspen sputtered frantically to get his words out, wracking his mind for what it could possibly be. “M-maybe it’s- maybe it’s because I haven’t- haven’t eaten anything?”

The vampire stared at him for a moment in consideration. Then, his hand let up, and he stepped away. “Hm. I guess that makes sense.”

“Y-yeah, p-please, I really need food. I need it.”

“…I don’t have any human food here. I’ll have to get some the next time I go to town.”

“...Oh,” Aspen said quietly. “B-but you’ll still feed me? Th-thank you.” He looked up at his captor with hope in his eyes for the first time, and finally let his body relax, as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He’d finally get to be fed.

“Yeah. Holy shit, you’re pathetic.”

“C-can I at least ha-have a blanket in the meantime?”

“No. Can’t let you get too comfortable, can I? Or you’ll forget your place.” The vampire chuckled, patting his head in mock affection.

“But it- It’s so cold here…”

“If you’re suffering so much, why don’t I just kill you now and make the pain stop?”

“N-no, please don’t kill me,” Aspen whispered.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“W-wait!—”

But he had already put the gag in place, and tied it tightly around his head, more so than before. Aspen let out a muffled whimper as the vampire walked up the stairs and out of the basement. The light was turned out, the door slammed shut, leaving Aspen in suffocating darkness once again. All alone.

His stomach growled. The cold bit at his bare skin. His throat ached with thirst and the lingering pain of the bite.

Maybe he should’ve accepted the offer.

— 

i’m not like super proud of this one but i think it’s as good as i’m gonna get it so here u go :3 future chapters will be better (and probably shorter), i’ve written a whoooole bunch of this recently and i’m realllyy gonna try to get regular updates now!! yayyyy

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@creppersfunpalooza @bottlecapreader @whumpsday @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kisa-writes

@mintflavouredwhump @fleur-a-whump @starfields08000

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[luveline]

I have a potential request for the eddie zombie!AU! could I request eddie taking shy!reader under his wing as he is traveling? maybe she is injured and is like 100% sure she’s going to die but then eddie comes along like a knight and helps her to safety, and then they just stick together?

thank you for your request angel! —eddie finds you wounded in the midst of the apocalypse and wants to help, 2.5k, fem!reader. tw for zombie apocalypse typical circumstance, blood and injury

Eddie is absolutely sick of being alone. He imagined the apocalypse cooler than it turned out to be —there aren't that many people around anymore and he's constantly a bit hungry, and having long hair is now the norm. He hasn't seen a real living human being in three weeks and he's starting to wonder (worry) if he's the last man on Earth. 

That is, until he sees blood on the sidewalk outside of a pizza place. He'd been planning on going inside just to smell the floury scent of pizza dough, and maybe pretend to answer the phone (he never worked as a delivery guy, but he thinks it might've been his calling). Blood is everywhere in the apocalypse. Genuinely everywhere, and it smells bad when it's old, vinegary and acrid. There's blood on car doors, bloody handprints on windows, pools of it where people died and then their bodies, reanimated and without control, stood and walked off again. 

So Eddie's gotten good at blood. He knows old blood from new blood when he sees it, dead blood from alive blood, and the blood trail leading behind the smashed glass door of the pizza place is both new and alive. Or, probably alive. Was alive. He nudges it with his shoe, and it's still wet, not even slightly clotted. 

Definitely alive. 

Eddie doesn't really think about how whoever it is that's inside could murder him in cold blood for his gear. Eddie's sort of stacked —he has a bike, a proper one like a professional doing the Tour De French, or whatever, he doesn't remember what it's called, would need. The point is that he has a really sturdy bike and a wagon strapped behind it full of camping shit, and the world is so desolate that nobody's tried to shank him for it yet. He leaves his bike by the door and tries to open the door slowly, not wanting to startle whoever it is that's bleeding that badly into hiding from him and his extensive first aid kit. 

Eddie pulls it to his chest and steps carefully over a path of broken glass. 

"Hey," he calls out. He clears his throat. "Is someone here? I– listen, I'm not here to hurt you, I saw the blood, and I have bandages and antiseptic and everything you need. Maybe. Unless you got shot, I can't do stitches for shit, trust me." Trust the weird huge scar on his ankle. 

"Listen," he continues, approaching the counter, peering behind it at a skyscraper of pizza boxes and a dust covered floor, "I know you have no reason to trust me, so I'm gonna go sit outside, and if you want to come out where I can't corner you, I'll help. I swear." 

He follows the trail of blood to the cabinet under the ingredients counter. The door moves near imperceptibly.

He gives it a second, and then Eddie turns to leave.

"Wait," says a girl's voice, muffled and weak, "wait, please." 

Eddie waits, spinning on his heel to watch as you push open the cabinet door. 

He's surprised at the cleanliness of your top half until he realises the bottom of you might as well have been dipped in an exploded blood bank. 

"Oh, shit," he says, rushing forward. 

You flinch back and he follows on unperturbed, even when you throw your hands up to cover your face. 

"I'm not gonna do anything," he promises, panicked, "where are you bleeding? You'll have to show me." He makes sure you can see his lack of weapons and his huge green first aid kit. 

"It's my side," you say, and as soon as you speak you start to cry, little shuddering huffs of pain escaping you as Eddie kneels at your side. "I– I– I tried to climb over a fence, and I got caught on the barbed wire, I didn't– I don't–" 

He shushes you with as much gentleness as he possesses and pulls up your shirt. It's your hip, not your side, and the cut is a frankly gruesome laceration into the fat. Eddie's going to have to sew you up after all. 

He knows what he should do even if he's only done it once before, finding your blood covered hand on instinct and squeezing it. "It's okay," he says, not knowing if it will be, "I can fix it. I have everything, okay? Can I fix it?" 

"Please," you whimper. 

He doesn't need any pleading. He clicks open the first aid kit and looks first for gauze, pressing it to your side even as blood pools wet and shiny on the floor beneath you. You're in agony, clearly, twisting away from his touch. 

"Please stay still," he says, firm but kind. "It'll hurt more the more you move. I have painkillers, and I'll give you some right now. Right now, okay? Stay still." 

You shriek as he presses down on your hip but you don't move. He hates having hooked a sound like that from you —Eddie's not a violent person, even if he's rough around the edges— and he rushes to correct it. He swaps the soaked gauze for a second, pressing down hard again, and remembers with a white hot panic that he didn't disinfect his hands. 

It's rough going. He finds the painkillers, you take them dry. He has the urge to touch your cheek because you're in so much pain, and the blood has somehow ended up on your face like a crimson tear. Eddie disinfects his hand and your hip, which still hurts wildly untouched by the painkillers, and opens a sterile packaging of needle and medical thread. His hands shake as he ties the thread with tweezers. It's imperative he doesn't touch the needle, even if he did disinfect his hands, because it will end up deep in your skin. 

By the time he's ready to start the stitches you're crying and not speaking, a hand pressed to your mouth. "I don't know how much the painkillers have worked, and I don't think they'll stop this from hurting, but I think I have to stitch it before you lose too much blood. Is that okay? Can I start?" he asks. 

You nod hurriedly. "Just– Don't– Just ignore me if I ask you to stop," you say weakly. 

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood as strongly as he smells it. 

He stitches your wound closed. It's a jagged wound shaped like an italicised 'y', and he does it as carefully as he can manage, even if the amount of blood pouring from it scares him. He doesn't want to do it wrong and have the stitches rip, or cause more pain than they need too. 

He never wants to hear someone make the sounds you make ever again. When he tells you it's alright, that you don't have to bite them back, you start to sob with each string he tugs. He can't imagine how fiery the pain is. 

When it's done, he disinfects your hip again generously. He must not do a bad job at stitching you up, because while the wound weeps blood into the disinfectant like dye seeping into fabric, it's ten times slower. You look down at your hip, hiccup, and look away. There's blood everywhere, so Eddie pulls you by the underarms across the floor and sits you up. You're still crying, sobbing, but you don't say anything. Eddie wipes away as much blood as he can. Then he covers your newly stitched wound with a fresh, thick square of gauze and tapes it. Finally, he wraps bandages around your waist to keep everything in place, and to apply pressure to the wound. 

He looks at your clammy face with a mixture of pity and newfound pride. He doesn't know who you are, but you did a damn good job.

"Well done," he says, rubbing the lengths of your arms quickly, like a hug without closing in on you. "You did awesome. I'm gonna run outside to get my stuff, I have a shirt that should fit you, and some pants. Water, food. I have whatever you need." 

"A tranquilliser?" you ask. 

"Maybe not one of those."

Eddie retrieves his bike and his wagon, carting them into the kitchen, through your blood trail, and into the staff room behind you. It's snug but there's a couch, and that's all that matters. He shoves the bike aside and runs back to your side, crouching. You look like you're gonna pass out.

"Hey," he says, "can I lift you up?" 

"It's gonna hurt," you say. 

"Yeah, but there's a couch in there, and a door that locks, I don't want us to get attacked while we can't move." 

"Are you going to attack me?" you ask, looking like you want to curl up in a ball and disappear. 

He shakes his head quickly. "No. I promise." 

A promise from someone you don't know isn't worth much, but you take it, and Eddie helps you up and into the staff room. Your crying wanes. Maybe the painkillers are working, or maybe you've run out of steam. Acclimatised to the pain. 

Eddie stops before he gets to the couch. "No funny business, I'm gonna take off your pants." 

"It's okay, whatever," you gasp out. "Sit me down." 

Eddie unbuttons your jeans and you kick them off the best that you can. Your legs are streaked with blood too, but at least you can sit down without absolutely ruining the couch you'll be sleeping on for the next few days. Eddie locks the door, grabs the clothes shears, and cuts off your top. You really do look at him then, your eyes wide with fear, and he backs away from you with his hands up. 

"Sorry," he says, "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to scare you. You've been holding your elbow, I thought maybe you hurt that too, didn't want you to lift your arm."

Your fear ebbs with his explanation. He grabs clothes from his wagon, ears piqued when you speak up. "I think I've broken it."

"Your arm?" he asks. That's an entirely different problem. It could be painful for the rest of your life.

"My elbow. It's swollen." 

"I'll give you more painkillers," he says assuringly. 

He grabs the shirt that looks like it'll fit you and a pair of pants that will be too big. He doesn't know why he has all this stuff that doesn't fit him, he kinda thought they were cool. And who could abandon a Dio t-shirt when no one will ever make one ever again?

"Do you need help?" he asks. 

You sigh regretfully. "I don't think I really have a choice."

"You do. We could throw a blanket over you? Two blankets, even." 

"Please help me put on the t-shirt," you say. 

He doesn't resent you at all for sounding untrusting, even if he did potentially save your life a few minutes ago. People are cruel and will do the worst thing they can do to another person if they want to. He helps you into the t-shirt. You flinch when you straighten out your arm, but it goes on well. Next he helps you into the cargo pants that are luckily a starchy but flexible cotton. You wince as they reach your hip. He lets them lie low. 

He makes sure there's a pillow behind your head, laying his favourite blanket over you and tucking you in amicably. 

Pulling his hair out of his face, Eddie laments how sweaty he is and eyes the wagon for what best to feed you with. You're probably nauseous from pain, so while he'd love to feed you hearty oxtail soup or a can of meatballs that promise protein, he grabs a box of crackers, a tin of vegetable soup that he knows from experience is watery and sad, and his big flask of water. 

He sits down a half a foot from you on the couch. 

"Here," Eddie says, opening the crackers. "You should eat something, please. And drink some water, too." 

You accept everything silently, though after a few morose chews of saltine you murmur, "Thank you." 

"You're welcome. Really welcome." 

"You didn't have to help me," you say, shivering with pain still but looking less like you’re going to pass out now you’ve stopped bleeding profusely.

He looks down at his hands, blood in the grooves of his palms, and shrugs. "Yeah, I did." 

"Most people wouldn't, though." 

"I don't think there's a precedent for what people do anymore. You're the first person I've seen in weeks."

"You're lucky." 

"Yeah?" He tucks his hair behind his shoulder. "I guess I am." 

You eat another cracker, and then you stick out your hand very tentatively. "I'm Y/N. Thank you for saving me." 

He shakes your hand with the same tentativeness.

"I'm Eddie," he says with a smile. "You're welcome." 

"I thought I was gonna die in the cabinet," you say, rubbing your eyes, "like a sick dog. I just wanted to be alone while it happened." 

It's a very solemn thing to admit to, and in the quiet of the room, your face and hands dull with blood, it's macabre.

"Sorry I didn't let you die," he says, trying not to laugh in shock. 

You visibly fluster, your embarrassment held tightly in the set of your shoulders and your frenetic hand as you rub your collar. "I didn't want to die. I don't want to." 

"Then you won't," Eddie says, knowing it's not that simple, but needing to persuade the agony from your face. 

You look down at your lap. Eddie searches for something to offer, something he can give now that you're lucid enough to know you were in the shit. It's terrifying business, knowing you could've died. 

"I have a bottle of Black Coconut rum if you're interested. I thought it might come in handy lighting fires, but I think you could use it," Eddie offers. 

"Yes," you say, your voice small. "I think so too." 

"If we had some pineapple juice, I would love to make you a Piña Colada. Now that would cheer you up." 

"Rum is fine, please." 

Eddie doesn't let you suffer. He gets up to grab the rum and passes it to you. You drink it in surprisingly eager glugs, rum running down your neck in shiny rivulets like shooting stars plummeting through a vermillion sky. He needs to help you clean the blood from your throat and face before it dries. 

You shudder and pass the rum bottle back to him, looking sicker than sick. "That wasn't bad," you say, eyes squeezed closed. You sound like you've been punched. 

Eddie hoots a laugh. He really missed having good company. 

—

thank you for reading! reblogs are appreciated, and if you have a request for this au let me know, I’d love to write more of their story!! <3

[jesterwriting]

hi hi i saw your requests are open! can i request something fluffy or angsty maybe a little spicy with law, where you tell him that “all i want is you” fem reader or gn reader i don’t mind! thank you🩷

pairing: law x gn!reader

contents: angst, hurt/comfort, jealous!law, you're both kinda tipsy, making out to heartfelt conversation, complimenting law because he needs it, probably ooc

word count: .9k words

note: i dont know why, but this gave me so much trouble to write it was crazy. literally gator wrestled these words in a pile of mud. i got death rolled. but i'm happy with the results and i hope you are too anon <33 thank you so much for the request! :3

playlist: science/visions by chvrches

Law kissed you like you were about to disappear.

Hungry lips trailed down your neck to your collarbone where he nipped and sucked at your sensitive flesh. You sighed, tangling your fingers in his hair to pull him closer. His hands were cold as they slid up your ribcage, you couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled from your lips.

Asshole. He wouldn’t think it was very funny if you tickled him mid-makeout. To keep from jamming your hands under his armpits in retribution, you busied yourself by pressing kisses to whatever part of Law your lips could reach. He groaned when you nipped at the shell of his ear, grinding his crotch against yours.

If you knew getting Law jealous would result in something so steamy, you’d do it more often. While you didn’t classify your conversation with that friendly bar patron as flirting, judging by Law’s insistence to mark every inch of skin he could find, he certainly did. You threw your head back and moaned when his teeth met the junction where your neck and shoulder met, soothing the bite with gentle laps of his tongue.

“Jeez, what’s gotten into you,” You managed to say between gasps. “Are you trying to eat me alive?”

He didn’t look up. Not a chuckle, not a glance, not even a smirk. After leaving your throat thoroughly bruised, Law moved onto your chest.

“I’ll get to that later,” He finally answered.

There was something off about Law. He refused to meet your eyes, completely single minded in his quest of turning you into a giant bruise. It wasn’t until his hands cupped your face did you notice that they were trembling. You wasted no time prying Law from your stomach, forcing him to meet your eyes. Whatever you expected, nothing prepared you for the split second glimmer of unease before it was promptly snuffed out by a glare.

“Woah, calm down, Law, you’re acting funny.”

He snorted and sat back on his heels. There was the scent of alcohol on his breath, and while you knew you indulged as well, he wouldn’t come back smelling of it from your lips alone. “Not as funny as that guy at the bar.”

Okay, he was really jealous.

“It wasn’t like that, he was telling me about the history of the town.”

Law rolled his eyes. “You were all over him.” Before the instinctual ‘was not’ was able to leave your mouth, he looked away and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His next words were barely audible, grumbled just under his breath. “You never laugh like that when you’re with me.”

Oh.

This went a little deeper than petty jealousy.

Pulling your shirt down, you sat up to meet Law’s stare. He seemed to regret the words as soon as they left his mouth, teeth clenched so tight you could see the tendons in his jaw jump. You patted the space next to you on his bed. “Sit down, we should talk.”

Stubborn as always, Law stayed standing. “I should get going, I have work to get done before morning.”

He turned on his heel, and before he was able to exit the room, your arm shot out to grab him. Law didn’t pull away from you, only let out a heavy sigh as your thumb traced tender circles onto the inside of his wrist.

“All I want is you, you know that, right?” When he didn’t respond, you tugged him closer. Law only budged because he wanted to. No one alive could make him do what he didn’t want to do. So as he slowly made his way to the bed, boots heavy against the floor, and sat down beside you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You took his tattooed hand in your own, gently playing with his fingers. Law still wouldn’t look at you, gaze fixed stubbornly at the far wall. “Come on, you have to know that.”

The silence was deafening. In a desperate attempt to fill it, you nudged Law with a half-hearted smile. “You make me laugh all the time.”

“Not like that.”

That wasn’t good. You trailed your fingers along his arms where they met at his face. Tugging on his chin to manually force him to look at you, you spoke your next words earnestly. “I love you, Law. Not some rando at the bar. Yeah, maybe he made me laugh a little, but he doesn’t hold a candle to you. I love your dry wit. I love your intelligence. I love how you care for everyone on this ship before anything else. You’re a good person and a good doctor, I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

You must have gotten through to him because the tips of his ears were tinged pink. With a relieved smile, you placed a small peck to the corner of his lips. They twitched upwards, though you could tell Law tried to stifle it and keep his displeased expression.

“You can stop now,” He said, face two shades darker than usual.

“Oh, I’m just getting started.”

The rest of the night was spent with you singing Law’s praises that he consistently waved off, pretending like you couldn’t tell he liked it. Every so often, you would place a chaste kiss to the back of his hand or to his cheek, a sharp contrast to the hungry mouth that was on your mere minutes earlier. If Law really wanted you to stop, you would. All he had to do was say it.

Three hours passed with Law in your arms, and not once did the word ‘stop’ leave his lips.

[blooming-violets]

Nicest Thing Peter x Reader for 11. In joy? I really like that fic. I reblogged it on my old account. I feel like thats an underrated fic of yours (maybe bc it came out in 2022? Idk). Would love to see what happened to them!

It's still one my favs because it is just so...me?? Like if I had to chose anything that represented my personality perfectly, it would be Nicest Thing. Just a depressed, sad bitch who loves angst and Peter Parker and enjoys Kate Nash. I feel like I need another Kate Nash song for this "sequel" fic. I'll base it off her song Trash because these two are trash for each other.

You can read this as a separate, on its own Peter x Reader thing if you'd like or you can read it as a future piece to Nicest Thing.

Warnings: Smoking a joint and getting stoned

If porn bots can over take all the tags then I better not get flagged for these gifs.

Peter looked at her through blazed out, squinting eyes. A haze of smoke filled their bathroom as they passed the joint back and forth between them. They were seated in the unfilled tub, fully clothed, and facing each other. She had made him take the spot next to the faucet under the claims that sitting over the drain made her feel “icky” like she might get sucked in. He didn’t mind. Even if their leaky faucet kept dripping cold water over his shoulder. 

“Do you remember the Rugrats episode when Tommy and Chuckie are afraid of getting sucked down the bathtub drain because Angelica tells them a story of some other baby who died that way?” He asked, handing her off the joint. 

She placed it between her lips and he watched with a slow blinking, admiration for her. He loved her. She had been with him through everything. He owed his entire life to her. Without her in his life, he would no longer be here. She was everything important in the world. 

She smiled, remembering, and let out the most beautiful laugh. She always got extra giggly when they smoked. It was one of his favorite sounds. 

“Don’t they fill the drain with play-doh and shit? It’s a weird reddish, pink color. Why do I remember that specific color so much?” She replied, mystified. 

Peter chuckled, “Because old school Rugrats was filled with some crazy ass imagery. It sticks in your mind.” 

“Yeah but I remember thinking that I specifically wanted to eat that color...like maybe it would taste nice…like the imaginary food from Hook.” She passed it back to him, letting the smoke exhale in a little, circular puffs from between her lips. 

“Do you want to get into a pretend food fight with me and see if anything appears?” He grinned. 

Her red rimmed eyes squinted back at him as she laughed, “With the way these munchies have been hitting me the past few minutes, I think it might actually happen. I could imagine food hard enough to make it show up.” 

His mind started to wander as a hungry smile spread across his face, imagining all the food he could eat, and he spoke with a dreamy whisper, “Pizza bagels.”

“What?”

“Let’s make pizza bagels. ‘M hungry. Starvin’. Gonna die if I don’t get some food in me.” 

Her eyes glowed with excitement at the idea, “Pizza bagels. Yes, you’re a genius!” 

“I know,” he giggled, it bubbled out of him without any self control. It wasn’t the weed that did it. It was her. He felt free when he was with her. He flicked out the joint against the ashtray balancing on the edge of the tub. “I really am. Smartest man alive, probably.” 

She snorted, “Okay, I wouldn’t go that far. Get your ego in check, Parker, before I have to slap some sense back into you.” 

He beamed at her, his love consumed him, feeling it outshine every other emotion rattling around inside of him. She was beautiful. Stunning. Picture perfect. He wanted to hang her up on his wall like an expensive piece of art so he could admire every day of his life. 

Her shoulders shrunk up to her ears under the intensity of his gaze.

“Stop that,” she whispered. “Don’t look at me with those eyes or I’ll kick you. I’ve got a perfect aim for your crotch in this position.”

Peter shook his head, “Nope, sorry, I refuse. I can’t help it. You look…perfect. The nicest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“You’re stoned.” 

“Yes. Doesn’t change the fact that your lips look very enticing.” He winked at her and tried to scoot forward to get a taste. 

Her socked foot landed against his chest, pushing him back in place, “I thought we were making pizza bagels, not kissing. Weren’t you just starving a minute ago?” 

“Starving for you, maybe.” 

“Peter!” She let out a loud laugh, keeping him at bay with her outstretched leg. 

He was so in love. Completely enamored. Whipped. Head over heels. Trash for her. Whatever he wanted to call it. He belonged to her so wholly. His bleeding heart was in her hand for the rest of his life. He would follow her to the ends of the earth and back again. 

“If you don’t let me kiss you right this very second, I am going to turn this shower on.” His hand reached over his shoulder to grip onto the shower knob with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

She gave a sharp inhale, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

His eyebrows raised, taking on that challenge, “Oh really?”

She knew she fucked up the second before the shower burst to life. From his position in the tub, it shot over his head to spray directly into her face. She shrieked and fell back, sliding down the sloped edge of the tub until she was nearly on her back.

It was all the opportunity he needed to pounce. He leapt on top of her to the sound of her laughter and blocked the shower stream from her face with his back. His arms wrapped protectively around her head as he laid over her. Water pooled around them, warming their bodies, and soaking through their clothes. 

They didn’t feel it. 

All he could feel was the devoted love burning a hole in his chest where his heart used to be. 

She giggled up at him, blinking water droplets from her eyes, and whispered, “You’re an ass.”

He laughed in response and crashed his lips over hers, mumbling against them, “You love me.” 

She sighed in content. Her arms snaked around his neck to draw him closer, melting happily into his kiss. 

“I do.”

[b0nten]

LOVE ME ‘TIL DEATH CRACKS BOTH OUR SKULLS OPEN; WHAT WOULD I BE WITHOUT YOU?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ you chase grief to find closure. be it in your best friends’ eyes and laughs, in the two families you built separately, or in your high school sweetheart’s fading presence.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ idk lowkey angst???

alcohol tastes bitter when you drink it from the bottle. it burns when it cascades down your throat; it pierces your stomach when you’re drinking it while hungry.

Satoru’s passed out in the bathroom. Shoko is dissociating on the couch. you’re twenty-two and they’re twenty-three, and you’re all still dreaming of the life you wish you could have had — teenage hope and childish laughs fill the cracks of three lives that have been static for the last five years and a half.

february. valentines day just passed.

you keep a small picture of Suguru in your wallet so you don’t forget his face. it makes your heart knot and your stomach self-cannibalize; the vomit dries somewhere between the esophagus and the larynx, and your head gets bashed open, like you’re a pomegranate. if someone shakes it hard enough, you can swear memories will start falling out like seeds — after all, that’s what they really are. seeds: the cores of your existence.

the tiny porch of Shoko’s apartment is freezing. unlike Satoru, she doesn’t have those fancy radiators installed. but also unlike Satoru, she doesn’t prohibit smoking indoors, so it’d be a waste of money, time and space. the dying ficus in the corner wouldn’t be there otherwise.

a stray mayfly flies in front of you, lost from its group, searching for light. it doesn’t know your best friend will probably be cleaning its corpse from under the window.

the door creaks open, but you don’t bother turning around. from the corner of your eye, you catch chalk-white hair, and a pair of toned arms lean against the railing, next to yours, in just a moment.

“it’s midnight.” Satoru announces. “February fifteenth.”

a sigh escapes from his lips — one he tried to hold back.

February fifteenth. yours and Suguru’s anniversary. a sharp inhale cuts your throat like glass shards.

cerulean blue eyes move to scan your features. it’s not uncommon for the two of you to share heart-to-hearts anymore, and sometimes Shoko joins in too. though you’ve had more heart-to-hearts with her than Satoru, the boy still reads you like an open book, even though he has to crack the spine and dig his fingers deep enough into the cellulose to get it to open.

an image flashes across your mind. you and Suguru in the middle of Shibuya crossing, dressed in puffy winter clothes, fat scarves around your necks. his gloved hands on your cheeks as he jumps the gun, finally.

“i like you more than anything.” he said then.

Satoru, Shoko, Nanami and Haibara wide-eyed and still on the sidewalk.

“i like you more than everything.” you replied. your face was numb from the cold, but Suguru’s adoring gaze always somehow turned it warmer. he did it effortlessly, really, and in return, you made the sun shine in his eyes.

your head might explode if you think about it too much, but you feel like you can’t help yourself but chase the grief — such a hard-head you were and still are — and with the continuity came the downfall.

you’ve been keeping the pyramid scheme secret, you’ve hid the traces of the Suguru from today. you’re the only one that knows about his whereabouts, you’re the only one that has skinned him alive and gently dressed him in the shell again. you still get to see his face, and feel his presence. he’s a walking ghost of your past, haunting your desperate attempt at survival while you cling onto what you’ve got left of him.

he’s cruel when he wants to, even when he doesn’t want.

but you can’t bare yourself to stop it; you don’t want to forget his touch, his smell, his voice, his heart — you’ve long forgotten the smile anyways, besides the picture in your wallet — and maybe playing pretend is the best way to do that.

you’re just as cruel. and masochistic. but as long as it doesn’t slap you in the face, it’s okay, even though it may put your head on the chopping block.

you’ve grown used to the two small pairs of hands who run through your hair while you’re sat cross-legged on the floor, and across from you, Suguru’s eyes almost sparkle again. barely, but it’s there. he’s there. for a brief moment, you gain the hope you lose forthwith, when you see the robes and the room you’re standing in.

a hand on your shoulder pulls you out of the dwam. your eyes meet the okinawan sky in Satoru’s eyes again. Riko’s smile flares across your pupil, Satoru’s laugh rings in your ear, and the phantom of Suguru’s hand holds your smaller one in his: a picture you want to have embroidered in the innermost part of your retina, to have your optical nerve feed on it for the rest of your life and project it in front of you, blindly.

“Megumi wants to go book-shopping with you.” the strongest snickers, “he read all of the books you got last time. oh, and Tsumiki told me to ask you to come over next week or so to prepare the dolls for hinamatsuri.”

you smile. Satoru always tries to cheer you up by mentioning the kids, not that he wouldn’t be able to cheer you up himself, but there’s a fondness in your eyes when you hear about them, and especially when you spend time with them, one so pure that the heir to the Gojo clan cannot get enough of it. he truly is a great friend.

“i’ll take him shopping sometime this week.” you reply, and there is the glimmer in your eyes that makes Satoru’s smile brighter than the sun, “and i didn’t forget about the hinamatsuri. i’ll be over on the 27th.” you continue.

your best friend smiles — grins — it’s so endearing to see him smile after all that he’s been through. you smile back. co-parenting like this was never something you thought you needed, yet it helped you; it brought Satoru and you closer than ever before, and even though your relationship is purely platonic, it just made you comprehend the depths of your love towards each other.

through good and bad, thick and thin, heaven and hell — you’re not letting each other be alone anymore.

the door creaks open once again.

“let’s prank call Nanami and tell him a bank credit has been opened under his name.” the doctor grins.

six eyes look at each other, and you all enter the apartment again.

the next morning, you bid each other farewell. you smile to yourself on your way back to your place, skipping through the almost fully blossomed plum trees, stopping to buy yourself a bouquet of flowers, feeling the breeze and the sun fall against your skin forgivingly.

the front of your door looks different, though. you hit your foot against a small, carton box. you pick it up, and bring it in, setting it pretty on your kitchen counter, despite Shoko’s dramatic lectures on being careful and how the possibility of weird packages being bombs is always small but never nonexistent.

you flip the lid up. a cake. a small, little cake, white frosting and baby pink hearts adorning it. on the inside of the lid, an envelope. you tear it open with adolescent curiosity, and read.

happy anniversary, sweetheart.

come by when you can, we’re waiting for you.

P.S: the twins also left you a little gift.

you touch the inside of the envelope again. sure enough, another paper lies hidden in it. your heart bursts with gentle flowers, a gardenia blooming in your aorta, etching its roots deep into your right ventricle.

hand drawn, messily but with love, four stick figures. a very tall one with long, black hair and a circle serving as a bun, a shorter one with your hair color, and two smaller ones with fawn and dark brunette bobs. a family portrait, if you will. one that deserves its place on your fridge, right next to Megumi’s.

[shiroganejpg]

DUNMESHI MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Needless to say, a large part of Mithrun's character is his lack of desire. But what this can actually mean and how that can affect him, that can be a bit more ambiguous I think, so here's me rambling a bit about what I believe and how I write him. It's kind of long and I'm trying to be extra cautious with spoilers for anime-only friends so I'm slapping it under a read more but I think Mithrun is SUCH a wonderful character and a total puzzle to figure out how to write.

The winged lion likes to leave scraps. And although it consumed his desires, one of the scraps he left in Mithrun was the ability to desire.

Mithrun didn't lose his desire for revenge against the demon, although we later find out obviously that that desire was something else: he wanted the demon to finish devouring him. That's a whooole other thing I need to write up about insecurity and desire to be loved etc etc.

Things get a little murky sometimes in regards to 'desire' - for example when we see that despite the Winged Lion getting carried away and consuming all of Thistle's desires, we still see Thistle respond to Yaad. That's probably a topic for a whole other meta but the point is: scraps of some variety still exist.

But without the desire to live, the desire to get up or to eat or to drink, one will die quickly regardless. It's not the consuming of the desire that directly kills you, but what that lack of desire then deprives you of. Left alive, yes, but you will then starve to death if you have no desire to eat. It's the aftermath.

In the 40 years he spent recovering, he was taught things (or people attempted to teach him things) to help him survive with this deficiency: Milsiril suggests he envisions his old self and allow him to tell Mithrun what he needs to do. We know that canonically, he relies on pre-established routines and habits to be able to function independently, but when outside of those routines, he neglects/cannot recognise his own needs.

Mithrun has no desire to live, to eat, to drink, to get out of bed, anything. He does these things (and everything else) with only one motivation: pursuit of the demon. Everything that he does, he does to advance that cause. Then later, when that goal is achieved, we see he’s basically catatonic - because there’s nothing else for him to live for.

He also has extremely poor interoception - the ability to understand what his body is telling him. I believe Mithrun does get hungry, does get tired, does feel cold — it's not that he doesn't physically feel these things. He does, albeit weaker than most people which is one reason why things can progress as far as they tend to (like in the panels where we see his body ‘just stopped working’, and he can't explain why — exhaustion, lack of food, mana depletion, he was unable to identify the problems.) I HC at least that Mithrun experiences these feelings, but struggles to identify these sensations as being hunger, thirst, etc — and even if he does recognise them, he has no desire to resolve them.

But, obviously, Kabru brings him back around - You constantly want new things. Desires can be cultivated, and they are an innate aspect of existence. His story ends on the note that he can develop new desires even if his old desires are gone forever - and I believe that healing will not recover those desires. He is never going to have the desire to feed himself, or rest, or even to get out of bed. In my mind the demon ate his desires, and also a large part of his ability to desire - but, just as we see the demon leaves scraps of someone's desire when consuming them... he also left scraps of the ability to desire in Mithrun. Most of it is gone, but some remains. And I don't think Mithrun realised that until the end of the series: that he can try to want things. He can try to desire things. He might not always succeed, but he has the ability to try.

A way I think this shows up is that, post-canon, Mithrun might ask questions or try to be curious (which we see to a limited degree in canon, outside of gathering information pertaining to his goal) as it is a desire that should be easy to cultivate - even though he doesn't really care about the answer. That sounds bad, but understand that Mithrun does care about people; his manner of showing it is simply different, and both he and others have to learn to recognise it. I have to do a write up on this aspect as well because Mithrun does care, but I think he struggles to identify that fact in himself -- and he may come off as uncaring, if you don't know how to recognise it in him.

I love Mithrun getting a happy ending, but I don’t think the damage that’s already done will be undone. Those desires are gone, they aren’t ever coming back. But he can try to replace them.

And I think another big aspect of Mithrun's story is that he's living regardless of if he has the desire to live or not. I don’t believe that he suddenly has the desire to live, or that he is suddenly regaining the desire to live (maybe that may come with healing, I'd say that is down to personal interpretation); regardless, I don't think the damages that the demon did can be undone.

Instead, he is making the choice to live regardless. And while he will never feel the desires that the demon consumed again, maybe he'll eventually be able to desire other things. He can't right now, and maybe he never will, but he has the ability to try. And whatever he is trying to desire will help him continue to live, even in the absence of the desire to live.

He may lack the desire to live, to rest when he's tired or feed himself when he's hungry -- but maybe if he can learn to want other things, resting or eating won't feel so pointless. So he's trying.

[pascalsbby]

The Devil & His Brother

Prologue

Joel x Tommy x Reader

Summary: 3K / Joel x Tommy x f!reader

The day he killed you is the day you fell in love with him. You died in his arms, just grateful there was a God, wondering why he was on his knees for you, holding you, after you spent your entire existence denying his very own.

The one in where you fall in love, lust, with both of the Miller boys. But only one can have you. Right?

Series Warnings: 18+ mdni, eventual smut. Outbreak, Jackson, slow-burn, angst/comfort, age gap, power imbalance, possessive tendencies, drugs/pills/alcohol, threesome, major daddy issues (that’s why you need 2 daddies instead of 1). Talk of death, God, the Devil himself. Girlfriend sharing, cuckholding, begging Miller boys. Probably some shared brotherly words of encouragement, voyeurism, age gap, dominate & aggressive, pet names, praise kink, all holes filled <3, ‘he’ talks you through it, tells you what to do.

Unreliable reader for now- uhhh she’s dying.

“I choked / on such longing I couldn't spit out. Yes, desire is so different / when God bore you hungry.”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Warm water soothing an aching throat, cold, sweet fingertips from cherry seeds staining white napkins. His fingerprints burned into your core. Deep red in the corners of your wet mouth, dripping down the side of the horse, painting the snow carmine. The baritone of his voice shaking through the pool of blood, “What’a shame. Hell, woulda made a pretty wife.”

The sweetest part of a cherry is its heart. Suckling, rolling, and removing the fine skin with your teeth. Your skull hitting the ground. Red. You’re scared you’ll choke on it, but you don’t spit it out. You can’t. The sweetness is gone and you’ve accidentally bit your tongue.

The splitting of cherry skin, from teeth to skull. Loud, thunderous around the sound of cicadas screa- no, singing you a lullaby. Hips, swaying.

God humming.

It’s darker now, you can hear the thud of hooves imprinting the cold, every single movement screaming through your being. You were sat atop stretched denim over thick thighs, rugged and hot against the freezing expanse of your exposed skin.

They leave most of themselves behind- stem, seed, head, heart- the cherries. Sacrilegious-ly religious-ish. Or something. Had you known religion? Starstuff sounded better than dirt. Would you die from the gunshot wound or the cold, first?

No. But anything stands in for a cross, especially when he’s sitting there above you vertically, heart opened horizontally. He was looking down upon you, holding you against his body. Floating.

You’re warm, you’re warm, finally you’re—

And your body slackens as your brain does too, from him. From the ground, the sky, the back of this horse. Blue, blue- black. The last rising of your chest, cold air running through the sharp pains in your throat. Mouth dry, silent, slack.

Was this the dust part? You don’t want to say good night to the moon, so you you look up at her and make eye contact with her comforting stare- and you don’t blink- because blinking is returning to the looming darkness. Blinking is allowing the night to take you. The warmth from his body upon yours, melting your body into the ground. The moon is so bright.

And she looks down upon you and whispers, “I’ve got you bunny - I’ll hold your hand and you just think about those stars. How pretty they look right now- jus’ for you.” Even the moon sounded like him.

“We’ll be home soon, baby.” He pleaded.

Home.

A scream. Not one of terror, one of defeat- desperation. Vilely testing through the back of his throat.

A release… comfort.

A death.

Your own.

He was supposed to save you. He was like water- quenching and soothing your aching throat before you drown in it.

Fire, warming you- before burning you alive.

Tears releasing, falling, leaving- before the pain in the back of your throat, slithering to your jaw.

The day he killed you is the day you fell in love with him. You died in his arms, just grateful there was a God, wondering why he was on his knees for you, holding you, after you spent your entire existence denying his very own.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Three resounding gunshots bounced off the distant hills, the thick snow-covered ground. The sound carrying its ominous message far and wide while the silence that followed bore witness to the weight of their deadly intent. Feet, crushing the crystals against the Earth, running from your falling body, rather than to. More than just a pair, moving in the apposite direction. Smaller, smaller, gone.

One sound traveled further, still quivering in your ears, kissing the air around your body as the bullet made a home in you. Your own death tearing from your mouth into the now, quiet, night. Even the cicadas had stopped howling, feeling the force of yours as it tore through your stomach, out of the back of your throat. You rested your head upon the soil and suddenly the ocean was inside of your ears. The mumbling of hurried male voices, anger, present.

The ground was holding you, and it was so cold.

"Mierda,” another beings voice stuck in the thick air, furious at his God. "What the fuck are you doing?”

Their identical voices now filled with resentment, clashed, and you felt like an intruder in your own death. You hadn’t excepted it, but they had. And God was speaking again “- ‘till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” He was blessing you before fate found death and invited her in.

His boots reached your ears last. He was immense, expansive- held shoulders that could carry you to safety, if he so pleased. But he didn’t. You don’t know why God chose today as the day you were going to die… why he was lying about it to one of his most loyal servants. He had shot you. His eyes were the first thing you’d had seen as soon as the barrel of his gun lowered behind the bushes.

You had wished for death so many times, it was almost a relief that this, was it. There was nothing reaching around inside of you pulling your organs closer to the ground. Even though that’s where we mostly end up these days— in ash. Burned, split into stardust. Or thrown on top of each other in endless pits, burned to Earth once more. Entering the world is painful enough. Why can’t we exit it peacefully?

Maybe this was peaceful enough. You were lucky he was here to take you home. Even in his hesitancy. Even in your own confusion as to why he had to take you right now. You’d been alone for three years before this moment. Yes, you were grateful it was him.

It could have been his brother, instead.

But you’d been a good girl, you knew you wouldn’t be meeting the Devil anytime soon.

He wasn’t in a hurry walking towards you, no. The ground was moving under your ear as he disturbed the dirt with the fist of his boot. You had been looking at him the entire time, sideways, face pushed into the dirt where you landed. Your body felt the presence of his before he was back in your eyesight, and suddenly you knew you needed to move. Your mind had accepted death, but your body hadn’t. He could shoot you again, put you out of your misery. But you were too far away from where you wanted to perish. The graves of your family, too far away. It’s too soon to die, please let me get to my family first.

Even God does what he needs to survive his guilt.

There was no remorse in the way his arm slung over the gun, beading sweat running towards whatever it could caress, his other arm resting beside him. He was sturdy, infinite as he rose closer… he knew he was successful in his attempt. His entire figure blurred as tears rolled horizontally down your face. He wasn’t worried that he’d killed you- that was his goal. He was worried you weren’t dead. And that just wouldn’t do.

His overworked cowboy boots were standing before you, kicking up ground into the dusk. His heals clicking louder, shotgun returned to his hand and pointed towards you; he locked his eyes into yours with an unnervingly malevolent gaze. It hurt to move, so you didn’t. You could hear him breathing, wondering for how long you’d be doing the same. At least you were leaving at the hands of God- not from the mouth of a Clicker.

How do they feel dying? Someone had told you a long time ago about how they’re still conscious up there, through it all- taking over the functions and body but leaving the brain to feel. Relief then, probably. To finally return to the ground with their brothers and sisters, not caring if it takes fire and gasoline, and his hands around your neck. You were okay with death if it meant never ending up even further caged inside your own brain. Or the end up in the act of taking someone else’s.

You whimpered at him, unable to move anything but your eyes, so you bore into his. He must have somehow set you on fire, your body scorching and reaching for air as he looked over you. You saw God in just the creases of his eyes— they smile, adorning his warm skin. The wrinkles whispering love songs to the skin they get closer to. “I am moving with you (time)((love)).” Age. Speckled. Small spots turning into stars in a night sky.

His irises were warm, far away, like he’s looked death in face, shaken its hand and kissed it better- and failed, mercilessly. Big and brown, eating away at your flesh. They were so sad, but not for your fate. They were sad that your fate had to be the same as the people he’d lost before. The ones you had lost. How everyone goes these days. He was sad it all turned out this way.

You knew in that moment that he’d seen this before- death. Of course he had. At his age, brows furrowing and light speckled against the darkness of his beard. The creases in his face softened as he looked into you.

He’s seen this before- a young girl bleeding out into the red dirt, fading, whispering away from a dying world. You stare up at him, knowing he is waiting for a response that you didn’t have. Spare me, you thought. His thick fingers curled around the base of his weapon and his knuckles turned white beneath the dried blood and dryer skin. He was contemplating. He was trying to forget.

Your own blood pooling, his knees cracked as he bent down to get a closer look. You felt yourself slipping as his fingers brushed over your skin in an understanding nod.

“I know it hurts, baby.” You may not be able to feel another’s hands, soon. You were weeping. “But I ain’t gonna hurt you sweet thing. Stay still.” The last bit a demand, rather than a suggestion.

He took in your form as your own blood cooled beneath you. He was making a decision. Suddenly, his face pained, burrowing the depth of his pain between his eyebrows. Were you praying to him? Screaming his name in vain? Begging for forgiveness?

He held his hand over you, pausing before reaching you and sinking his fingertips to your flesh, feeling. In the same motion, he lifted your shirt, brushing his knuckles across your side. You felt it. Deep.

He moved on to the legs of your pants, searching for the exact entry point. You wailed when his fingers danced on top of your skin. Eventually losing patience, he flattens his massive hand flesh to you, and slides his hands up your body. There it was, right above your hip bone on your left side. You were going to die. You, now covering him, seeping warmth into the cracks of his skin. Your DNA fusing into his. Your throat hoarse.

He stared down at you for a moment before he let out a sigh and picked you up, grunting at the weight of another human in his arms. He laid you on his lap and you stayed, languidly, letting him do as he pleases. It’s not as if you were really feeling much besides the consistent fire kissing your veins. The very veins that are bleeding onto his lap, seeping into his own cuts- you found yourself contemplating, hoping, there was still more seats left in the Heaven at his feet.

“Shhh, relax baby, stay still. Gonna be j’us fine sweet thing. Patchin’ you up. Gonna find the rest of ‘em then we’ll get somewhere safe, okay? Sun’s settin’. Need you to be still.” He hurried through his words, looking around for who could be inviting themselves into the party after hearing you struggle. He reached for a knife in his pocket and you let out another wail. He winced at its power and tore his sleeve from his shirt, securing and adding pressure ever so slightly to your side.

Them?

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, fuck.” He yelled another man’s name and then he was chanting quickly under his breath, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was doing a sour attempt at controlling his bodily reaction to you as you lie over his lap, soaking his denim in your blood.

As the seconds ticked by, you felt a surreal detachment from the world around you, his cooing voice seemed to slip from your grasp, as if you were drifting away from reality. It was peaceful, until it wasn’t. He was attempting to move you. The sun was setting. For the last time.

“Look how fuckin’ young she is Tommy.” And then another Angel appeared. He was angry as he looked down upon you, but it wasn’t directed towards you. He must have seen it in your eyes, death. “We got you baby. Settle down.” The voice was solid and clear, unlike the other. This was the person he was yelling for.

“I didn’t fuckin’ do it Tommy. I didn’t.” There was pain in his voice. Anger. God spoke and you thought maybe another bullet had entered your skin. You screamed like it had and the warmth spread.

Suddenly God wasn’t as he appeared before. His blood-red appearance contrasted sharply with the angelic figure beside him, his heat poured over your being as the Angel standing next to him wept; both of whom seemed strangely familiar to each other, though not to you. Their faces were disappearing into themselves, blurring.

He sneered into you and you felt it vibrate your bones. Looking as if he was laughing. Or maybe he was screaming. Everything, you, are fading at this point. The caress of the sky, humming lullabies into your hair.

His drawl sounds oddly beautiful running from the tip of his teeth, touching tongue, to the hot mid-July dusk; the mosquitoes riding around on droplets of wet dampenings- the sound settling at the base of your eardrum and running like water towards your center. Than towards your hip bones. He looked different now as he sang you to sleep, brushing his thick, callused fingers down the side of your face, nook of your neck, clearing it from the dirt that has already made a home in your skin. Your matted hair sticking to drying lips, yours.

You needed to focus on something- the slick of his mouth, lips, opening. Tongue running outwards until his teeth bit down. He runs his flattened fingertips against your scalp, trying to calm the pain of fading from the world. He had a mustache, graying facial hair. He was haunting.

There was nowhere else to look, his form hovered above you in contemplation.

Gazing upon him was like glimpsing a celestial being. Maybe the sun, itself, coming down to Earth to scorch it anew. He was red. Fire. He was melancholy, sadness, and so goddamn pretty.

He wasn’t God. He was Lucifer himself- a morning star. Light-bringer. Life-taker. Eenie meanie mini mo. He was heralding the dawn.

The other one, who at first you thought was Angel, must be God. He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. But there was something about the one that almost smiled like the Devil. The one cast in red. The one who killed you. Amidst the echoes of their argument, you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to their anger than just the fact that the pretty one had shot you.

Amidst the confusion and pain, you heard distant voices calling out to you. The words sounded far away, as if you were standing three rooms away, ear against the door.

“Hey-“ it sounded closer now, coming from the emitting light. “Gonna hold you tight now Bunny, don’t move.”

He’s gone, the warmth from his fingertips has set in on their initial touch, burning heat like vines across your arm, stomach. Each bite individually riding its way towards your ears, body, core. You’re put atop something hard. In. Out. Holding less air than the lowered clouds in front of you.

Fire kissing at your stomach, making you wonder if it was from where his hand was sprawled, lower, pushing, hoisting your legs upwards, carefully unto another warm being- a horse.

You were too tired to keep your eyes open. So you closed them and softly said goodbye to yourself. The only words you had spoken, and no one has heard them. They were just for you.

As you close your eyes and slide further into the darkness, you find it almost humorous, the entire story of your death.

Sure, no one told you God was a cowboy, but they never mentioned the Devil was, too. And it seemed a lot more people had met the Devil. Including you.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who commented on the intro post. Please let me know what you think 🥹 smut happening… SOON! Y’all mean the world!!

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[diacripticcomplex]

Shu x Yandere Yui

Shu's Pov:

We spent days looking for Edgar...I mean Yuma but he actually was Edgar, I still could not fathom the fact he was alive after all these years I was convinced he was dead. After the fire he set for me to prove my love for her he had completely vanished, without a trace as if he was never here to begin with. I think I'm starting to go insane..I sigh out loud, even my music was helping me, I was not able to sleep without having this constant thought on my mind, I yearned to find him I had so many questions that I want to ask him, this is the first time in a long time that I have wanted to actually converse again. I guess I was too much in my head, I kept hearing my name being called out and it zoned me back to reality.

"Shu..? Hey..Shu..?" she was calling out for me. I looked at her. "Yeah?" I replied back, she began saying something, about finding Yuma and trying again but I was not really paying attention. I found myself zoning back into my thoughts as she spoke to me. It was foolish really, we won't find Edgar..I mean Yuma again, this is pointless, I sigh out in annoyance. " Shut up already..Leave me alone.." I tell her, I didn't want her to get more involved with this and me anymore, if she keeps getting close to me she will just end up in the same predicament as that guy too, I don't care if I stop drinking her blood, I love her so I have to protect her this way. She might not understand but this is the only way.

I've been in my room all these weeks, avoiding her, avoiding everyone and everything, it was all so pointless, I wasn't even hungry..this feeling was familiar..Another knock on my door, probably from her again. I didn't answer, I needed to get away from this manor for a bit.

I decided to leave for a few weeks, without telling anyone, not even her. I knew it was stupid but I still had a glimmer of hope left in me that I would be able to find him, I searched the deep forests, and mountains, by the ocean as well, nothing. I ventured into the demon world as well, no one heard anything, it is as if the name Mukami ceased to exist. Time works differently in the demon world. A month quickly turned into a year when I arrived back at the manor.

When I returned I wanted to just crawl into my bed and sleep, I was truly exhausted..this is the most I've been energized in years..I walked past her room and it was as if she could sense me walking by because her door opened, she looked at me with such sorrow in her eyes, I gave her nothing but a blank stare, my love did not die for her, it was simply closed off, I'm a creature that harms everything it goes near, I do not deserve her and I do not wish to see her in pain but she looked gravely saddened. "You left..no one heard from you in so long and you just left without a trail...I was so worried." She cried to me. "I do not have to explain myself..leave me be, I'm tired." I told her, I could see she wanted to say something but stopped herself, she nodded then smiled strangely, it was a twisted smile, unsettled by this, I went to my room and closed my eyes.

I believe a few days or maybe weeks had gone by, no one came to my door or bothered me at all, it was strange, the usual chaoticness of my brothers was at an all time low, as if no one was here, it was too quiet. I finally got up from my bed and the sight I saw when I opened the door shocked me, there was writing on the walls of the hallway that said "I love you" " I did this for us." , in deep red, it smelled like fresh blood, my first thought was Laito or Kanato went insane but then I felt my heart drop, did they hurt her??!

I felt adrenaline hit, in cold sweat I ran to find her. This cannot be happening again, I do not want to lose her too..I kept repeating this to myself, please let her be alive, please make sure she is unharmed, I found her in the dining room, all of my brothers were there, all of them lifeless, sitting in the chairs. She was there drinking a cup of tea and it smelled like, "Shu, you've made it.." she said smiling warmly at me, I was horrified.. "Why did you do this?" I asked her. "You don't understand..I found Yuma, but your brothers did not want you to see him..they were getting in the way." She said to me, it feels off though, I couldn't tell if she was being truthful or not but I decided to trust her.

She offers to take me to him, so I follow her down to the dungeon..strange place to keep him. "Why would he be here..?" I asked her, trying to not make my suspicion obvious. She gave a shitty explanation and honestly I was not buying it..I wanted to get out of there, before I could leave she stabbed me right before my heart so I knew I wasn't going to die but it hurt horribly, then she locked me up in a cell, making sure to restrain my hands. She took the blade and cut her wrist then licked the blood from the wound, kissing me deeply, feeding me her warm oozing blood, I've missed how hot it was, I wanted more but she pulled back and left.

"Let me out.." I told her, then I began screaming it but she was just walking away, before she shut the door she said in a whisper "Now, you'll never leave me.."

[thegnomelord]

okay i finally caved and wanted to talk about my idea for a nishruu inspired monster of sorts? i just enjoy rambling a little bit as you may be able to tell

so nishruu. red whisps that endlessly hunt down magic and magical items to sate their hunger, so these creatures are a nightmare for mages and magic wielders. all of my knowledge for these guys comes from dnd, so ill have to take a few creative liberties but im not complaining! pure nishruus are rare - as well as humans that have under some circumstances become fused with these little magic eaters. they're slightly similar to wraiths - having whispy bodies that are impossible to contain considering how they can slip through even the smallest of cracks. they look... mostly human, besides the way their forearms, into their hands, fade into a red mist that flows off of their form, and how they can turn fully into whisps and slip away. these half-nishruus rely on magic to sustain themselves the same, so it isn't uncommon for these acceptionally rare monsters to seek out mages or other magic wielders and make a deal. i really love symbiosis - and considering that half-nishruus have human intelligence, making a deal is typically the best plan for them.

the deals are usually simple - in exchange for some magic to keep them sustained, the nishruus will fight to keep the person they made the deal with alive. after all, it's wise for them to keep their... supplier? alive, considering how many magic wielders will likely throw salt the second they see red whisps. oh, and nishruus main weaknesses are salt. it deals damage similar to poison to them. some magic wielders have even been spotted with sealed amulets containing a strange red substance inside, containing these nishruus until battle comes, where they release the magic eaters (which are likely very hungry) to aid them against any enemies who may have magical weapons or spells

also just imagining a nishruu hybrid crawling over to ifrit and begging for a deal, then ifrit keeps them like a pokemon lmao

-🪸

Okay this is cool and got me brain doing the hyperfocusing thingy so here's a noncannon blurb with Ifrit set at a time when Ifrit's been, mostly, redeemed lol. Probably doesn't make much sense but idk

You stare at Price, unmoving, unblinking. Then your gaze slowly slides to the man sitting across Price's desk. Corporal Simmons shrinks into himself, shoulders hunching and looking down, unable to meet your eyes. He doesn't know why he feels like a little boy in your presence, he's your superior for fuck's sake, but the way you look at him. . . if fucking scares him.

Finally, you speak, voice softer than Simmons expected it to be. It only makes the cold edge to it press against his throat harder. "Captain, with all due respect, which is none." You say, your hard gaze falling back to Captain Price. "What the fuck?"

Price lets out a low sigh, already done with your shit yesterday. "Don't make me write you up private." You both know he won't, you've said and done worse things than this. "You heard me clearly."

"Yeah, I heard you." You say, unable to hide the way your muscles tense, your fingers curled into fists. "I just don't understand why I have to keep the damn leech alive."

Simmon's tries to speak up, "Hey, I'm not-"

"Shut your mouth." The way you say it leaves no room for argument. Even without using magic, Simmons can feel the way it simmers beneath your skin, like lava bubbling beneath the earth. So plentiful and vast it makes his mouth water, stomach coiling itself into knots as red smoke fizzles at his fingers. God, he's so hungry, he hasn't eaten in weeks.

"Captain, there are other mages that would be more than happy to have this parasite attached to them." You grunt, motioning loosely to Simmons. "I don't get why I have to feed the damn thing." You make your disgust for Simmon's painfully clear.

"That's enough private." Price's growl forces you to listen, your attention on him as he stands. "This is an order." His hand reaches out to grip your chin, his touch making your skin prickle even when the balaclava you wear dampens the touch. "You will follow." His blue eyes stare into yours, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. It's almost endearing, the way he does it, but you know enough about dragons to see the hidden dominance in his touch. "Am I clear?"

You feel yourself frown, your eyes narrowing. "If it tries anything funny I'm taking it behind the barn and putting it down."

"Ifrit." The latter half of your callsign rolls off his tongue into a low rumble. Price tightens the hold on your chin, making it clear you're skirting the line of how much you can push before he needs to tan your ass to get some obedience back in you.

It makes your lightning prickle beneath your skin, "Yes sir." You grumble. "I understand."

"Good mage." He tuts and lets you go, "Dismissed."

You nod your head, your eye catching Simmon's as you turn to your heel. "Follow." You say, the sharpness in your voice making him scramble out of his seat after you. He sticks close to you as you walk through the hallways until you reach the training area, the walls and floors singed and blackened from weeks of training.

"Just so you know." You say, turning to look at Simmons. "As far as I'm concerned, death would suit you better." You say as you take off your glove, revealing the cooled mana texture of your mage marks. You hold your hand out, your fingertips starting to glow as you let a bit of mana flow to your palms.

Simmon's nearly stumbles over his feet, hands reaching out to hold your hand. He can't help but moan as he presses his lips to your palm, the smoke coming from his arms curling around your skin. He feels like a starving man finally getting a glass of water, feeling the mana flow into his body. He feels hot, his tongue tingles like he's just eaten something spicy, but god if feels wonderful.

He doesn't think he's ever met a mage with so much plentiful mana as you, his teeth nibbling on the volcanic chunks of your palm as he devours more mana. It curls in his belly, traveling through his veins, making him feel so warm and he just wants more, more, More—

"That's enough." You growl, pulling your hand back and quickly putting your glove back on. "Should be enough for a week." You grunt, leaving him standing where he is.