#like you go girl do you silly revenge

[unabashedstarfishdefendor]

I support women's rights

But I ADORE women's wrongs

[gremlingottoosilly]

Camgirl!Reader X Loser!Konig

This is safe, you think. Getting some losers to jerk off to your body, knowing they would have nothing to find you. Filming from a specifically made background with some dumb anime figures and your pretty pink ring light, never getting any information that people might use to get to you. For fucks sake, you even faked an accent so no one could know where are you from. You're banning any subscriber from an area too close to you - most Europeans are not getting you a lot of money anyway, so as soon as you see an Austrian IP address, you're getting your mods to ban them. Until this one. You stare at the donation in awe. You were popular - but not popular enough to have donation over 1000 Euros for something as silly as calling a name in the video. You were popular, but you were also paranoid and it held your back from growing your account. No video chats before you could gather enough for non-disclosed apartment in a protected area, no face pics until you got enough money to move immediately if something would go wrong. The guy is weird, obviously. He is always so eager to send you money, he already bought all of your photo and video sets, asking for new ones almost every day - and you know rich people, you know people who are saving their last cents to get to their favorite camgirl...and Konig didn't seem like neither. Always having such weird requests too - like you speaking in German and praising him like he is a king from some medieval fantasy. Or talking to him like you're a mean girl from some cheap high school movie, always belittling him. Then apologising with tears, playing into some perverted revenge fantasy. Tying yourself up so he can pretend that he did it, that he could do whatever he wants with you now. Sometimes he wants you to call him daddy or sir - and sometimes he asks you for pictures in that heavy military vest he bought from your Amazon wishlist after you expressed the desire to play into army chick glam. They guys is weird, the guy is obsessed, he will pay for you to insert largest dildo into your soaked pussy and spread ass, and then he would still say that his cock is bigger. Would make you a freaking size queen with the size of the stuff he sends - making you whine and cry for real as you struggle to acomodate, asking your daddy, your commander for help. Begging for him to come - always just a play pretend until someday, he finally showed up on your doorstep. Always a play pretend so he could send you more money, until you suddenly woke up in a dimly lit basement. Maybe you should have banned him a long time ago.

[atarathegreat]

No Nut November Tokyo Revengers

Ft: Manjiro Sano, Ken Ryuguji, Keisuke Baji, Takashi Mitsuya, Kazutora Hanemiya, Haruki Hayashida

Mikey is the only one that wins. It was stupid but you were having fun teasing Mikey. It was too easy when he refused to give in and just bury his cock as deep as he can. Walking around the house naked, showering with him, sleeping in nothing but your little underwear. Even if he was taking part in the silly little challenge (because he can't stand to let anyone beat him at anything, least of all Baji), you weren't. It was torturous to hear your sweet little sounds with his hand knuckle deep in your heat. His eyes were on the clock, his ears trained to hear only you. The absolute second that the clock hit 12:00am, he pulled his hand free and kissed your thigh. "Mikey!" You whined, having been so, so close to that edge you wanted. "It's December, babydoll." He crawled up, expertly slipping from his shorts and kicking them off the bed, "Tell me I can. Say it. Say the words." A little head nod and whine was the least he would accept, but he would accept it. In seconds Mikey was bottomed out, a whimper getting clipped as he bit his lips together. "Never again. I'm never going without this again." Mikey planted his hands on either side of your head, "Wrap around me, babydoll, I'm going as deep as your pretty pussy will let me."

He's failed. Day three and he knows he failed because Draken can't help but fill you with his seed. Fucking you with anything but his dick, for him, is an insult to you. But the second he's balls deep, he knows he won't be able to stop before he cums. Seeing you fucked out, dripping with the mess he can leave as deep as he wants, that was his reward for the fun. "Kenny! Kenny, your-" "Fuck it." Draken hissed as he dug his fingers into your hips, "Keep fuckin' bouncin', precious. Make a fuckin' mess."

Baji has to admit it to Mikey. He couldn't make it the whole month. Halfway through you were feeling empty, and Baji refused to budge. Until you got shirtless and sat in his lap with that sweet pout. "Don't do that, baby, you know I hate when you're upset." Baji mumbled, pushing your hair out of your eyes. "Then stop telling me no over some dumb game!" The sound of you whining at him was one he only liked when you were begging him to stop using you. "Don't whine." He pulled your hair back, nipping at your neck, "You know what it does." More whining, more pouting, more tantrums. Again and again and again. Until he was pressing more of those special little sounds out of your mouth as you tried to be quiet. "Oh, now we wanna hush?" Baji gripped your chin, "Let the upstairs neighbors hear ya', baby."

Unlike his friends, Mitsuya isn't too invested in the whole charade. If you two don't have sex, so be it. If you do, amazing. Either way, he'll be happy. But when you came into his home office and sat down angrily on the little couch, he couldn't help but inquire. "This whole stupid month and your stupid friends!" You huffed. Mitsuya can't help but laugh at the pissy way you spoke. You knew you could have him whenever you wanted, within reason, of course. "C'mere, darling." Mitsuya tucked the fabric on his table into the drawer, patting the desktop with a hefty hand, "Sit." He loves the way you do what he says so quickly. It takes one hand, one move, to pull his belt from its place around his waist, "Hands out, darling. Girls who throw fits don't get to touch."

Kazutora didn't even make it a few hours. The morning sun woke up and he couldn't ignore the pain in his groin. He rolled over and reached down to pull your waist closer to him and tuck your panties to the side. "Pretty girl, pretty girl." He groaned as he fit his cock between your legs and easily rocked into you, "Fuck yes, my pretty girl. Speak to me." He'd already failed, so why not spend the day with you in bed?

Haruki "There was a challenge?" Hayashida. He doesn't give a fuck. Doesn't even attempt to keep his cock in his pants. Caveman brain to the max, I'm talking: Food, water, fight, fuck. Nothing else. Pah has you on the couch, in the recliner, over the counter, anywhere that he can get you naked. The way you touch his scars as he fucks you through another orgasm, teary eyes and kisses as you hold him, "So handsome, Pah. So, so handsome." The way this man would kill for your compliments is FOUL. But he'll settle for bullying his cock deeper in your stomach.

[dollfacefantasy]

Rookiepillz: Here We Go Again

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: almost a year after the rookiepillz incident, you and your now-boyfriend play some video games together. he's got a special strategy to help you win.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief cockwarming, daddy kink, rookiepillz

word count: 1.8k

a/n: finally. rookiepillz has come back to tumblr. the most anticipated come back of the century in my book. i just needed something silly as a break from school. we'll be back to regularly scheduled programming momentarily. part 1 is here.

“ANOTHER GOJO!” you yell at your tv, flinging your controller to the other side of your couch. You feign a growl and look up at your boyfriend who’s lap you were laid up on. “Another fucking Gojo killed me. Can you believe this? It’s like a curse or something.”

He chuckles right next to your ear and kisses your temple. “You’ll get the win soon. You placed third that time, that’s not bad,” he tells you as you ready up again.

He was one to talk considering he planned and acted out a whole revenge scheme on you when he placed second. But hey, look at the two of you now. Snuggling on the couch, you wearing one of his shirts, playing video games in his lap while he gives you little smooches and whispers sweet nothings to you.

Sure, he used to be your stepdad, but he’s your man now. Sure, he dated your mom just to get back at you for beating him in a Fortnite match, but he also gave you the best dick of your life. And plus, he was pretty sweet when he wasn’t being a total asshole, so who are you to complain?

His arms squeeze around your waist, and he nuzzles the back of your neck, inhaling your scent as you beat on some innocent player in the lobby for having the default skin. He smiled as he watched your eyes light up with glee. He took in every word you said about how dropping at the pool house was the best strategy. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Yeah, he had fucked your mom as part of a long revenge plot over losing a victory royale. Yeah, he did humiliate you by spanking you and then revealing said revenge plot in the middle of fucking. But it’s only cause he knew you’d be his girl in the end. He was just having some fun with his sweetheart, right?

He half-watches you running around the map, giggling when you drive a car off a cliff or start doing the weeknd emote. A smile breaks across his face whenever you kill someone because you lightly tap his forearm and go “Look! Did you see that? I gottem.” And then he’d whisper to you, “mhm, that’s my girl” before planting another kiss on your cheekbone.

But what really got him going wasn’t the precious moments of joy or the sweet expressions of tension when you started losing health. No. What really fired him up was your rage. What could he say? It reminded him of nearly a year ago when he’d pulled you over his knee, the fire that had burned in your eyes. A day he’d never forget. 

All he had to do was be patient for your match to start winding down. Once that notification came up that said there were only 25 people left, that red monster inside you would start rearing its head. The “motherfucker’s” and “god damn it’s” would start flying, and in no time at all, you’d be wearing that adorable pouty expression.

Like right now. He watched your character explode into a pile of loot. You slammed the controller down on your laps and crossed your arms, sinking back into his embrace. “That’s such bullshit. At least it wasn’t Gojo again,” you grumble.

Fuck, it got him hard.

“I think I know your problem, baby,” he says. 

You look at him with a raised eyebrow. The one piece of certain leverage you had over your boyfriend was that you were a better Fortnite player. Whenever he gave you unsolicited advice on your playing, you made sure to bring up the fact that you had beaten him before.

“You’re getting so frustrated, y’know. I think you gotta calm down a bit. Let yourself relax so you can think and focus better. And I think I have a way you can do that,” he says.

“And what would that be?” you ask, tone growing softer as you start to catch on.

“How about you relax on daddy’s cock? I know you can only think straight once you’ve been filled up,” he purrs. His hands smooth up your stomach to your tits, coasting over your nipples that were already starting to harden out of instinct. Because if there was one guaranteed piece of leverage he had on you, it was that special word that you’d seemed so averse to just a few months ago.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you answer. It felt shameful that he could get a rush of arousal from you with just a simple word said in a particular tone.

You stand up, still working the controller as another match starts up. He tugs down your shorts for you, grinning like the madman he was at your lack of panties.

“Look at you all prepared,” he coos and kisses your hip, “You knew you’d be getting a treat from daddy today, hm?”

“Lucky guess,” you respond as he guides you back down. Your knees rest on either side of his thighs. He lines himself with your entrance and pulls you down until he’s bottomed out. You whimper and bite your lip, locking your eyes on the tv to focus.

For the beginning, he really does just let you sit there, nice and full. And maybe he was sort of right. You feel pretty calm so far. Everything is less stressful when, in the back of your mind, you’re noticing the way he twitches within you or the small grunts he lets out when you tighten around him.

You were so warm and tight. Felt just as good as the first time, and fortunately for you, there was no bombshell plot twist waiting around the corner. His fingers rub little circles on the outside of your thigh.

“What do you think? Is it helping, babydoll?” he asks.

“Mhm, thank you, daddy. Fits just right,” you say.

He chuckles at the cute way you say it. You work on sniping some people, he tests out rolling his hips. You sharply inhale but don’t protest. So he does it again. His cock slides through the warm embrace of your walls, kissing your favorite spots deep inside. You still seemed focused enough, so using his hands to hold you in position, he begins thrusting upwards.

Your breaths become longer and shakier, but you will yourself to maintain focus. The number of players was dwindling fast. He was bouncing you on his cock which normally left you empty-headed in seconds. But you needed this victory royale. You really were his girl.

He lets out a groan, leaning back against the couch cushions with his head tilted back. It wasn’t like he needed the win this time. He could let go. And so he did. He pistons his cock up into you faster by the moment.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Daddy there’s only two other people,” you whine in a plea for mercy.

“Almost there, baby,” he grunts. You honestly didn’t know if he was referring to your game or how close he was to cumming.

You don’t have time to think about that though because the circle is closing. You grit your teeth and grip the controller with all the focus you have left.

“Daddy, c’mon, I could win,” you whimper.

“I know, princess. You got this, pretty girl,” he mumbles while his eyes flutter. His abdomen twitches as he feels himself gearing up for release. “Tell you what. If you win this one, daddy’ll make sure you get a special reward later on.”

Now it is absolutely on. You can’t lose this. That’d be even more humiliating than the original rookiepillz incident. You’re dashing around the map as your boyfriend pumps in and out of you. It’s a difficult task, managing to hold off your release and try to win.

But soon enough you spot your targets. At the same time, it seems that Leon is reaching his. “Oh fuck, baby. So fuckin’ good. Daddy’s gonna fill you up just how you like,” he whimpers from behind you.

He bounces you, and you know your own peak is imminent. But you see the other players, and in an absolute miracle, you down one and then the other. The tv flashes gold with your victory as your body seizes with the white hot pleasure of release. Simultaneously, he unloads inside you, firing rope after rope into your tight cunt.

He fucks into you a few more times before actually coming back down to reality. You’re coming down too, melting back against his chest. He’s stroking your face when his eyes catch on the tv.

“Holy shit, you actually won?” he asks. His tone gives away that he’s actually impressed. and that’s your ultimate victory royale.

“Mhm, all for you,” you tease and lazily kiss his cheek.

“God, baby. Making me feel like the luckiest man alive right now,” he replies and reciprocates your small gesture of affection.

The two of you cuddle for a bit longer. You’re finished with the game, having finally gotten the win you wanted. And like always, he was such a sweetheart after, giving you kisses and praise, holding you close, even cleaning you up once he got up. Unfortunately, he had to go into work today, so it wasn’t long until he had to leave. He makes sure you’re content before he says goodbye with a kiss to your forehead.

Later that night though, you were alone at your place just as Leon was at his. You get a text. His contact lights up your lockscreen with the message “Get on Fortnite?”

You smile, hopping on your couch and turning on your console. You text back a “yeah hehe :)” He facetimes you, and you beam when you see his face, something you would have never thought possible when you met him. While you wait for everything to turn on and connect, you ask him about his day and how he’s feeling. He answers softly, heart melting at your interest.

To your surprise, when the game finally loads up, you have a gift. From rookiepillz himself.

“Leon…” you say excitedly.

“What?” he asks, playing dumb at first, “Just open it.”

So you do. You burst into laughter as Gojo appears on your screen next. “You’re so funny. I love you,” you giggle. It slips out so casually, he’s not even sure you registered what you’d let slip. He lets it go for now. He would tease you about it later. Right now, he was just so enamored with you.

As you prattled on about wanting to be the skin with the blindfold on and how he should get one for himself so you could match, he realized something. He’d lose every Fortnite match for the rest of his life if it meant he got you. His own personal victory royale.

[daisynik7]

cw: established relationship, smut - PIV sex, cunnilingus, ass slapping, pet names (good girl, good boy) - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Author's Note: This is so so silly y'all, I'm sorry. As an avid fan of ugly sweaters, I just couldn't resist this one. 😬 Divider credit to @/cafekitsune!

It’s the ugliest sweater he’s ever laid eyes on, yet Nanami finds himself wearing it, grimacing at his own reflection in the mirror. “Honey,” he calls out to you. “Are you sure about this?”

The distinct sound of jingling bells grows louder the closer you approach him, wearing the same exact sweater. There’s tinsel haphazardly spread across the chest, puff balls sporadically glued throughout the fabric, and of course, bells littered in what seems like every inch. You found it at a local thrift shop and just had to buy it for the upcoming holiday party with your friends. With this, you’re determined to finally win the contest against reigning champ Satoru Gojo, who always wears the same sweater every year, one that plainly has the word “HO” stitched on it. 

You stand beside your husband, beaming at the mirror, admiring your outfits. “What do you mean? It’s an ugly sweater party! This is perfect!”

He pinches at the sides of it, cringing at how each movement emits a ringing that’s already grating on his ears. “It’s so…loud.”

You shimmy, sounding like a tambourine. “I know, isn’t it great?!” You grab onto his hips, forcing him to sway with you. “Come on, sweetie! Are you going to be naughty or nice for me tonight?” you tease him. 

He finally cracks a smile, giving into your silliness by wiggling in place ever-so-slightly to produce a jingle. You giggle, sliding your arms around his neck, giving him a big smooch on the lips. “Thank you. You’ve been a very good boy this year.”

He lingers on your lips, voice low and sultry now. “How about you? Are you going to be a good girl for me tonight?”

You bite your lip. “Kento…”

Soon, the both of you are naked from the waist down, ugly sweaters still intact. You’re bent over the edge of the bed, legs spread apart, ass cheeks stinging from Nanami harsh slaps on your flesh, enjoying the way it jiggles with each solid smack. “Good girl,” he says, squeezing your cheeks in his firm grip.

You can’t help but think this is some sort of payback for making him wear the ugly sweater, though you don’t mind it one bit. “Fuck me, Kento,” you whine, pussy already wet from foreplay.

“Not yet,” he growls, turning you over to face him, laying you flat on the mattress. “Your good boy is going to be very naughty first.” He dives into your arousal, licking your clit with long strokes of his tongue, lubed-up fingers pumping in and out of your slit. You squirm in pleasure, the bells of your sweater ringing with each little twist of your pliant body, yielding to his every touch. He puckers his lips around your swelling bud, sucking on it until you’re gushing all over his face. 

The cacophony only gets more intense when he’s pounding you from behind, you on all fours, him slamming into you. Each thrust produces a new chime adding to whatever symphony of sex you’re creating in the bedroom. After your third orgasm, Nanami flips you over one last time, a wicked grin on his lips, relishing the fucked-out expression on your face as he strokes his cock fast in his fist. “Naughty girl, getting our sweaters all filthy. I guess it won’t hurt if I get them a little messier, right?” He moans, shooting his load onto you, spilling his seed all over the bells and tinsel. 

You’re absolutely certain now that this is revenge for the whole ugly sweater thing, though you don’t let it deter you. After carefully hand washing it, the two of you manage to win this year’s ugly sweater contest, and Nanami can no longer contain the hard-on he has as you parade around in it, reminding him of when you first christened it. He rushes home that night to fuck you once again in that sweater, finally making his peace with it. 

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I found a probably illegal fighting range posting as a gym near my house and so, picture THIS

Engel just wanted to get a good workout near the place she lives. Not knowing German, she just googled first thing that popped near her on the map, and decided to get a first workout just so think if this place works for her.

Konig, getting his steam off in barely legal fighting range and very nasty, testosterone-filled gym while he is out of deployments. Engel in her dumb little workout clothes, with her silly water bottle, probably pink or baby blue or lavender, stands in front of the administrator desk because she was told it was a gym(((

Konig who uses her as a workout now!! Not even in a nasty way, just making her sit on him and so on, for the added weight. Bench presses with her on his back((( makes her cheer for his fight and acts like nasty personal trainer

My fellow yandere pookie!! I love this ask! 💋

I bet König would love to parade his sweet angel around some nasty, testosterone-filled gym/ fighting range :( Loves to show her off and also wants to murder anyone who dares to look at her! She’s too cute when she’s sweating and panting like that, don't you dare check her out when she's exerting herself in those dumb, tight sports clothes or else you'll get yourself a new asshole....

At least 90 % of the “customers” are men seeking a brawl so Engel stands out like a sore thumb, taking hungry gulps from her pink water bottle which is the only spot of colour in the bleak brutal gym. A kind, sweet girl just trying to have a nice lil workout, and they can’t turn her away because they have to pose as a real gym… (lol I’m not surprised Engel somehow managed to get herself into a situation like this AGAIN)

And König is so proud of her! Trying to attempt a squat PR with weights he uses for a quick warmup, it's too adorable. He cheers her on when she’s trying to do her very first chin up – he has to help her up because the bar is positioned too high.

These two are simply disgusting because Engel will flirt through the mirror as revenge for König being low key nasty, always putting his hands around her middle, trying to remind her to keep her core tight or some silly stuff like that. Climbs on his lap when he’s trying to bench press, they get a warning because they’re distracting the other “customers” and look it’s also potentially dangerous. König knows it but he’s got his pump on and it makes him a little soft in the head, besides Engel trying to help him in her own way only makes him lift more because of course he has to show off to her and to the other men. He’s the strongest male around here and he’s having fun with his darling angel, everyone else can fuck off with their warnings and rules.

And NOO not König kicking everyone’s butt at the range while Engel watches him with wide eyes 🥺 He’s being so violent again, she doesn’t know if she’s grossed out or aroused :// It might be a little sick but they both get turned on by this, König “letting out steam” and Engel being his “innocent” little cheerleader. They go home and take a shower together, Engel cleans his wounds too, whispering confessions on how scared she was – when in reality she knew all along that König would destroy those guys, like is this the same girl who screamed from joy when he bashed someone's face in lol – and König being more than happy to have a worried but sparkly eyed angel, fussing about his health after he just gave some poor guy a free nose job.

[auras-moonstone]

Hey, queen! Can I request a gf! Ethan x gf! reader based off of Taylor Swift's 'Getaway Car'??

getaway car — ethan landry

word count: 2,334

pairing: gf!ethan landry x gf!fem!reader

warnings: mentions of blood and murder. cheating.

summary: ethan helps y/n to get revenge on her boyfriend.

Y/N KNEW HER BOYFRIEND WAS CHEATING, HAD KNOWN IT FOR DAYS. Any other person would’ve done the obvious: break up with him, but why would she do that when she could do something more fun?

They were both in the Halloween party hosted by some frat boys, and her boyfriend had left her alone to play beer pong with his friends—and flirt with sorority girls behind her back—, so Y/N decided it was time to set her plan in action.

Her eyes scanned the room, and they stopped on a tall boy dressed as a character from Murder Party. She recognised him instantly, Ethan Landry, the guy from Econ. He was a bit awkward and silly, but hell if he wasn’t pretty. Even with his cardboard helmet on, she could distinguish his soft and perfect face features, and also spotted some surprising muscles hugged by his tight long-sleeved shirt.

She approached him with a confident smile. “Ethan, hey! Surprising seeing you here.”

“Y/N, hi.” he blushed. “Yeah, my roommate forced me. Says I need to meet some girls, get out of my room.”

He regretted those words as soon as they came out. He was really making himself look pathetic. Surprisingly, the girl laughed and sent him a flirty smile. “I have to thank him for bringing you here, then.”

He widened his eyes, being caught off guard. “Not that your company bothers me, but why are you talking to me?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Sure.”

“I found out my boyfriend has been cheating on me, and I thought… why break up with him and give him a free will to date this other girl when I can give him a taste of his own medicine?”

“So you want to make out with me in front of him and the whole university?” he asked, amusement reflected in his eyes.

“Yeah. I think you’re pretty, and I said why not.” she shrugged. Then she cursed herself for spilling her idea, she was really acting like a pathetic revengeful baby. “You don’t have to, though. I can keep searching.”

His next movement surprised her. Ethan grabbed her hips and turned them around, so that her back was pressed against the wall and he was hovering over her. He brought his mouth to her earlobe and bit it softly, his hot breath hitting the side of her neck and making her shiver.

“Let’s give him a fucking show, baby.” his husky voice made her clench her thighs.

She took off his helmet and quickly pulled him into a kiss. They devoured each other in a way that made her forget why she was doing it in the first place. His lips were soft, but they captured hers with ferocity and roughness and it was the best kiss she had ever had. His hands explored everything—the back of her neck, her scalp, face, waist, hips, ass. His touch was all-consuming, intoxicating and wild. Her fingers were tangled in his perfect curls while the other hand caressed the muscles on his back. They were completely drunk in lust, and the only reason why they pulled away was because of the boy yelling at them from across the room.

Y/N saw his boyfriend marching towards them with a furious expression, making both of them laugh. The girl grabbed Ethan’s hand “Go, go, go!” she screamed between giggles as the boyfriend ran after them.

“My dorm building is close, let’s go there.”

They entered the building in between laughter. “Holy shit that was fun! Thank you, Ethan.”

“You’re very welcome. It was a good kiss.” he said, blush coating his cheeks.

“It really was. You blew my mind” she nodded. “It was a double win. I got to piss him off, and I also got the most amazing kiss I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad you got your revenge. If you need to do it again, you know who to call.”

She took a step closer and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips, wanting to get one more taste before leaving to finish the revenge plan. “I will.”

WITH GHOSTFACE BACK IN BUSINESS, Y/N THOUGHT IT WAS THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO GET RID OF HER ASSHOLE BOYFRIEND. Y/N walked back to the block of the party where her boyfriend was waiting for her in an ally. She had called him from a public phone and asked him to meet her there, as he had her phone with him.

“What was that shit about?” he asked furiously, handing her phone back with aggression. “Making out with that nerd in front of everyone? That was humiliating.”

“That ‘nerd’ is one hell of a kisser.” she smirked. “And you felt humiliated? Good. That was my first goal of the night.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice was a mix of confusion and anger.

“I know you’ve been cheating on me, asshole. Feels like fucking crap, doesn’t it? That’s how I felt when I saw you fucking her on our bed.” she spat harshly. “My first goal was to humiliate you. The second one it’s more of doing some good for the world.”

“You are not making any sense.”

“The world shouldn’t have dirty cheaters living in it. I’m doing a favour to the girls.” she faked a smile before grabbing the knife hidden on her skirt and piercing the skin on his stomach.

The boy fell to the floor, moaning in pain as she stabbed him repeatedly. "Please stop! I'm sorry!" he cried.

"You should be. These stabs are your fault. They are the consequence of your own actions. I hope you learned your lesson."

"I did, I'm sorry. I won't do it again." he let out a whimper. "I won't tell anyone, I swear. Just let me go."

"How stupid do you think I am?" she spat, twisting the knife, making him cry even louder.

"You won't get away with it, girlfriend's are always the prime suspect."

Y/N laughed. "Yeah, probably. But there is a murderer on the loose, you won't be an isolated case. They will think it was just Ghostface striking again."

"You are crazy" he panted. "And if I cheated on you, it was because you were awful in bed."

"I was awful in bed because your tiny dick didn't motivate me." she said in a dry tone. "Enough chit-chat. It's time to say goodbye."

She raised her knife, ready to stab him in the heart when a voice stopped her. Y/N froze, thinking she had been caught. "That is not Ghostface's style." the familiar voice spoke.

"Ethan?" Y/N furrowed her brows.

"I have to say, I'm pretty surprised. This facet of yours is both unexpected and hot."

He didn't seem to be horrified by the scene, nor tempted to call the cops. "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"I see. Making out with me wasn’t enough, was it?" the boy laughed. "I'm just saying, if you want the police to believe this was a Ghostface kill, you have to do it their way."

"Oh, yeah? And how's that?"

"Well, Ghostface is more gory."

"Is chopping his dick off gory enough?" she asked, gaining an amused laugh from Ethan and a scary whimper from her ex.

"Absolutely"

"No, please." the boy begged.

"I'm sorry, man. You deserve it. You get a chance with her and then have the audacity to cheat? You deserve to get your dick cut and then being fed to it."

Y/N smirked at the boy. "Oh, I love how your mind works."

"Thanks, gorgeous. You should hurry, tho, it's not the safest place."

The male murderer watched with amusement the way the girl got rid of her pathetic ex-boyfriend. He had had a crush on her since the very first day—her doe eyes, smart mind, and innocent smile pulled him in. Now, seeing her dark side, which was the complete juxtaposition of the girl he thought he knew, Ethan couldn't be more intrigued. Y/N Y/L/N had turned out to be a Pandora's box, and he was obsessed.

"Done" she said at the same time they started to hear sirens. They both widened their eyes, and Ethan instantly took Y/N's hand and ran out of the ally straight to his car. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Relax, it's not the first time it happens to me." Ethan said in a soft and calm tone, making her look at him in confusion. "I'll explain later."

Ethan drove the getaway car, and the sound of the sirens soon became distant and the beat of Y/N’s heart turned normal again. The feeling of adrenaline was now replaced with curiosity as she watched Ethan from the shot gun seat, trying to figure him out.

She couldn’t believe that was Ethan Landry, the shy and intelligent boy, who she had always thought was too pretty. The guy driving was nothing like that, he had a mysterious aura, a confident demeanour and an unexpected dark mind. This Ethan Landry wasn’t just pretty—he was hot, attractive, beyond intriguing.

“We should be safe now.” he spoke up, parking the black car. “Ask away, wannabe Ghostface.”

“Why are you not freaking out? What did you mean by ‘Not the first time it happens to me’?”

“Because, gorgeous, you are looking at the real Ghostface. Well, one of them.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise “So you’re the one killing your friends?”

“Not my friends, but yeah.”

“Why would you let me get away with the murder?” Y/N questioned.

“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be behind bars. Plus, I have a tiny crush on you, so… couldn’t let you get caught.”

“How did you find me?” she asked with a tiny smile painted on her face because of his words.

“I followed you.” he said simply. “You were acting weird. I thought you were feeling a bit sad about your boyfriend. I chased after you, and well, you surprised me for the second time tonight.”

“Can I ask what’s your motive? You know, for being Ghostface.”

And so Ethan told her about his family history, and she heard with attention, her heart breaking for him and his sister. His father? Not so much after hearing the way he treated Ethan.

“Well, if you ever need help with that, you can call me. I owe you one, anyways. I can be the driver of the getaway car”

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/N/N. I did that because I wanted to.”

“I want to help you, too.”

“I don’t want you tangled in this mess. There’s no guarantee that we will get away with this. Sam has won once, she can win twice.”

“Then, the more the merrier, right?”

“Y/N…”

“Ethan… let me, please.”

“Jesus, fine.” he sighed. “But you follow my orders, okay? If I say leave, you leave.”

“Yes, Clyde. I'll be a good Bonnie” she teased.

[chvnnie]

on the topic of dad!skz. dad!minho picking out a itty bitty kitty halloween costume for his baby girl with the softest little cat ears, a floofy tail and he finds a little makeup pen that he researches and researches to make sure it's okay to put on her skin because he wants to draw whiskers on her but not if it's going to hurt her!!!! and he walks home with the biggest smile on his face and gets home so excited to show you what he bought - only to see you putting your daughter into a puppy costume you bought earlier that day.

the days leading up to halloween are spent with bickering over which costume she should be in (minho almost foaming at the mouth because cats are his thing how can his daughter n o t be in a cat costume) and on the day she ends up in???? (this is where you come in bc i really can't think of denying minho anything)

Seungmin is behind this. Somehow, Minho hasn’t really figured it out yet. He just knows it’s his fault because who else could have convinced you of this?

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” He says with the most humorless expression on his face. “Where he is?”

You furrow your brows. “Who?”

“Ah, come on. What other puppy do we know?” Minho gestures at his daughter on the ground, ironically chasing her fake tail.

It clicks, and you can’t help but laugh. “Minho, you’re joking.”

Blank face. He’s not even joking a little bit. Sighing, you stand up from the couch, walking right past him towards the kitchen.

“Think what you want, Minho, but I do have the ability to make my own decisions.”

When you get into bed that night, you don’t face him. Rolling over to stare out the window instead.

He really didn’t think that you’d be this mad about it. More than anything, Minho thought it was a silly joke. Like ha ha ha, Seungmin weaseled his way into dressing his daughter as a dog. Did he do that with Jisung’s daughter, too? Changbin’s boys? It’s so in character that it was easy to just believe it.

But he can tell with how you’ve acted with him since he got home — only really talking to your daughter, insisting on doing bath and bed by yourself — it was a stupid thought that he shouldn’t have ran with.

“Hey.” He rolls on his side towards you, a hand on your shoulder. “Come on, talk to me.”

“I’m tired, Minho.” It’s a lie — the bed is shaking with how jittery your legs are.

“I’m not going to drop it.” Minho says plainly. “You know that.”

With a sigh, you sit up, knees to your chest. Not really looking at him and instead fiddling with your sweatshirt. “Fine. It made me mad that you reacted like that to her costume.”

Minho smiles sadly, reaching for your hand. If you keep playing with that thread, you’ll ruin that shirt, and he knows it’s your favorite thing to sleep in as the weather turns. Though reluctant, you let him take your hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated it like a joke—“

“She looked really cute and I thought you would really like it.” There’s a cry catching in your throat, one that you’re desperately trying to swallow down. Minho’s heart shatters when he hears how much it upset you.

Bringing your hand to his lips, he slowly presses his lips to your palm. Peppering them around the hand; the tops, the wrist, over your wedding ring. “She did look very cute.”

“She always looks cute.”

The way you say it, with such a pout, makes Minho giggle a little. He shuffles in the bed, lying his head on your knees to get a better look at you. “It’s because she looks like you.”

Ah, there you go. The corners of your lips peeking up before you remember why you’re so upset. “Stop with that cheesy bullshit—“

“It’s true! If she looked like me…sheesh.”

You move too quick for him to catch, grabbing the pillow you’re propped up on and hitting him with it. Minho tries to pull it from your hands, ready for revenge, but you won’t give.

“Say that again and I’ll hit you HARDER next time.”

“Oooooh, so scary. So big and tough with your pillow, huh?”

Minho gives up on trying to take your pillow.

And grabs one of his own.

///

It’s your turn to walk into a surprise. Less than a week left until Halloween, and there’s your daughter. Sitting in the high chair as her father, your husband, delicately traces lines from her nose.

“What is this?”

While Minho is still, it makes Jisung jump. The baby in his lap crying from the sudden movement. “Sheesh, knock next time.”

Your brows raise. “It’s my? Home? What’s going on here?”

Jisung looks from you to Minho, spinning the baby is his lap around so you can see. A pretty little heart painted on the tip of her nose, teeny whiskers across her face. The costume she’s wearing identical to the one your daughter has on, only a few sizes smaller.

“Doesn’t she look so CUTE?” Jisung is so giddy, cooing as he bounces the baby on his knee. “We wanted her to be a pumpkin, but then Minho came over and said he got her something—“

“We haven’t decided on a costume.” You say sternly, looking at your husband.

“Yet.” Minho’s eyes flick up to you. “You haven’t seen her as a cat yet.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Nothing is going to steer me away from—“

Your heart leaps from your body. Never have you seen something so precious, so tiny. Her nose is pink, the whiskers twisting out to just about her mid cheek. Her eyes light up when she sees you, babbling on and on as she reaches out for you.

“Oh, look at you.” You coo, quickly gathering her in your arms. She giggles, snuggling into your shoulder. Her little headband brushes softly against your neck. Oh, you could cry.

Minho looks a little too smug for your liking. “So what were you saying about not steering you—“

“Shut up.”

///

“You really liked the cat costume—“

“But, Min, the dog—“

“She just looks so cute as a cat. Come on, baby, you have to see it.”

“And she doesn’t look cute as a dog?”

“Of course she does! I’m just saying—“

Jisung is in his office, windows shut, and he can still hear the two of your bickering from the other side of the fence. There’s no hard feelings there, just the two of you are too stubborn to give up. Cat, dog. Dog, cat. Over and over and over—

Sighing, he pushes himself up from his computer chair. Grabbing the car keys from his bag and leaving with a quick goodbye kiss to his partner and daughter. Just a teeny little errand.

You answer the door, Minho meowing obnoxiously somewhere inside the house. “Hey, Jisung—“

“It’s my turn to pick.” He forces a plastic bag in your hand before turning around and leaving. Even after you call after him, your voice fading as he walks the short distance back to your house.

You open the bag, the costume still perfectly in its wrapper. Soft, tan fur decorates the onesie. A hood to cover her teeny little head and keep her warm.

You throw it to the side. A lion, really? What a silly choice, so basic. It’s her first halloween, you’re not going to waste it on something like this.

///

She went as a lion.

hehehehehe

[buccini555]

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞

╭♡ Sanzu, Rindou and Ran reacting to their wife being slapped by a Bonten lower member after he felt disrespected for a silly reason

┈﹒H e a d c a n o n s !

: ❝ 𝑭𝒕. Sanzu Haruchiyo, Rindou Haitani and Ran Haitani

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐲𝐨

"What's wrong my baby girl? You're crying." Sanzu would be extremely worried to see you crying, noticing the redness on your face, he would question who dared touch his wife.

"Who does this little shit think he is to have the audacity to slap my wife in the face? His end will be truly regrettable, I'll make sure it is, after all, no one touches what's mine." He would say.

As soon as he found out who it was, he would definitely go after the person, but before that, Haruchiyo would calm you down and give you all the necessary affection to make you feel good again.

When he went after the disgusting person who hit you, you can be sure that the person regretted being born.

"It's too late, learn, never touch or think about coming near my wife." Torture was not enough for Haruchiyo, he wanted to see him suffer, making it clear to everyone what that person had done, to serve as a lesson so that no one would ever disrespect or approach his wife again.

𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢

"Are you crying my little girl?" Rindou would definitely be filled with pure hatred as soon as he found out, as soon as he saw you with your face scarred, he would make you tell him who was the daredevil who did this to you, then he would calm you down and promise that you would make him regret it.

It didn't take long for Rindou to find the guy, so it was at that moment that his fun began, he would really make that guy regret touching a gangster's wife.

"Let this be a lesson to the next son of a bitch who thinks of touching my beautiful wife, always remember who her husband is, you won't want to challenge me, will you?" He would torture the person who hurt you in the most sadistic way possible, also exposing the reason for such torture to all the other members, ensuring that it served as a lesson for everyone.

After Rindou got rid of the person, he would give you affection and gifts, also promising to keep you as safe as possible, Rindou would never let something like that happen to his wife again.

𝐑𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢

"Your face is so red..." Ran thought it was the greatest audacity of all that anyone had the courage to hurt his wife's beautiful face, as soon as he saw you crying with your red face, Ran immediately took care of you, already thinking about what would do to the person who hurt you.

"Don't worry my little princess, no one will ever touch your pretty face again, hmm? I'll take care of it personally."

As soon as he found him, Ran just wanted to get rid of him in the cruelest way possible, not caring about his suffering or pain, Ran would just do everything to get revenge on the one who dared to touch his wife.

"Have you seen what happens to those who have the audacity to touch my wife? You better think about that before disrespecting her." He would leave that as a message to the other lower Bonten members, not allowing any other daredevils to dare to come close to his wife.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement. 

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this. 

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime. 

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air. 

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava. 

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after. 

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life. 

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!” 

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately. 

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.” 

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger. 

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint. 

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets. 

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!” 

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling. 

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!” 

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds. 

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice. 

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?” 

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things. 

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.” 

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.” 

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again. 

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had. 

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision. 

“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider. 

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line? 

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.” 

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.” 

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead. 

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough. 

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing. 

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!” 

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out. 

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly. 

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes. 

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment. 

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline. 

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand. 

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth. 

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them. 

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones. 

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment. 

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas. 

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt. 

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh. 

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad. 

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow. 

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond. 

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed. 

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!” 

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door. 

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger. 

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge. 

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide. 

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle. 

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms. 

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused. 

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs. 

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile. 

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience. 

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes. 

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette. 

At the end of the train, only the engine remains. 

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man. 

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering. 

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet. 

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time. 

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher. 

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame. 

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion. 

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts. 

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor. 

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air. 

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake. 

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you. 

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.” 

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch. 

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot. 

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple. 

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you. 

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.” 

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up. 

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!” 

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.” 

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse. 

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you. 

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.” 

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves. 

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck. 

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch. 

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.” 

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat. 

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard. 

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up. 

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains. 

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion. 

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now. 

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming. 

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood. 

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh. 

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast. 

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony. 

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly. 

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath. 

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat. 

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice. 

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function. 

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack. 

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist. 

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty. 

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh. 

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction. 

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.” 

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied. 

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you. 

But he can’t move.

“Harp!” 

And you can’t feel your fingers. 

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry. 

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross. 

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils. 

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy. 

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze. 

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this. 

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly. 

You can’t break—not like Rorke. 

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull. 

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless. 

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out. 

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do. 

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you. 

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later. 

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before. 

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.” 

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open. 

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood. 

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth. 

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh. 

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse. 

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes. 

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches. 

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt. 

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

 “Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground. 

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage. 

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!” 

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion. 

Keegan? 

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.” 

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger. 

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid. 

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed. 

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.” 

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad. 

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.” 

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!” 

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again. 

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head. 

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious. 

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.” 

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him. 

“Christ,” he hisses. 

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick. 

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane. 

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge. 

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold. 

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding. 

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan. 

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead. 

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body. 

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still. 

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes. 

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you. 

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion. 

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!” 

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob. 

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on. 

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.” 

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how. 

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind. 

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence. 

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard. 

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had. 

Two months. 

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet. 

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President. 

He’d denied all of them. 

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety. 

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open. 

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention. 

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none. 

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you. 

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing. 

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?” 

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight. 

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully. 

It’s a moment before he answers you. 

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.” 

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room. 

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared. 

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say. 

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy. 

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you. 

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again. 

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent. 

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks. 

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there. 

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them. 

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it. 

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr. 

Hesh. You want your Hesh back. 

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging. 

Home. 

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.” 

You push yourself into him tighter. 

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture. 

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love. 

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

TAGS:

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[kaisertheadvisor]

Alright, time for some obscure Persona 3 history. I was browsing the old Japanese Persona 3 website, when I stumbled across something interesting. This is what it looks like normally (Vanilla P3 specifically)

But on certain captures of this website on the Wayback Machine, it was set to midnight (JST). The website was coded to have a special easter egg that goes off around that time, as the Dark Hour clock appears...

And then the site is now in the Dark Hour.

Click on the Akihiko, Mitsuru, Fuuka, and Junpei, and cause them to disappear, and Yukari will start to glow.

And you will have unlocked a secret section of the Japanese website! This mostly contained diary entries on various perspectives regarding the Dark Hour (on one section, there even was text regarding Strega's revenge request site), but there also were some secret downloads, namely a supposedly early version of a Persona 3 commercial (which Google translate says it was rejected by a TV station for containing subliminal content?), MP3 downloads, a video showcasing the P3 girls in maid costumes in Tartarus, and a message from Elizabeth to the player (which acted as a tease towards the new Elizabeth requests being added in FES). I have the latest capture of the secret section of the website, as well as a capture of the website during the Dark Hour so you can try this for yourself! (You'll need Ruffle for this)

Speaking of the Persona 3 website, let's go over some of the evolution of the P3 website! Here's the original version of the website when Persona 3 was first announced.

It was updated from P3's initial announcement in March towards May when the newer website was launched, last major update was Fuuka Yamagishi's character profile. Here's a Wayback Machine link for you to try it out yourself.

Here is the website around the time they were teasing FES. Makoto is replaced with Aigis, and there was a section containing audio messages from the developers that would help tease FES. (So far, they are lost media? Hopefully some fan manages to recover them)

And here is the FES version of the website, with both the normal and Dark Hour variations. (Metis replaces Yukari on the Dark Hour variation of the website, though I cannot access the secret section, probably because the silly toaster is blocking the way)

And just for funzies, I thought I'd include this link regarding P3 ads in this blogpost on the old AtlusNet. Hopefully somebody will get high quality scans of the magazine ads and promos used to promote P3 in both Japanese and English.

Now to wonder, what other crazy P3 promotional stunts did Atlus do? I know there was a countdown on the Atlus USA website that counted down the days until the release information on FES would be provided to the world, and I'm well aware of various Japanese gaming magazines that had various info on P3 (that so far only exist as JPEGS on the old Digital Devil Database and other websites), but man, I wanna know more. The fans should be archiving a lot of this stuff. Reload has re-triggered my Persona 3 phase, and I want to know more secrets about the game. I honestly think there's a lot of cool things waiting for us down the line...

[starillusion13]

Imagine your friends!NCT are secretly mafias, falling in love with you…

[I’m doing with my bias line so if your bias is missing means they are my bias wreckers and as am being ot23(I will always be their supporter so don’t expect I love any of the members less) please read the end note.]

Remember this is my top bias line:

Lee Taeyong

Being the leader of the biggest mafia gang, NCT he is very passionate about his life. Never for once he thought of getting you in his life. An innocent but suicidal girl but also a very daring girl. He is attracted to you because of your multiple personalities and this is the reason he finds you different from other girls. He is good at pretending that he is not getting attracted to you day by day or simply he is deeply in love with you. But what about you? No one knows as you are just friends with him, a very close one. It’s a very simple story. But the problem is that you are only familiar with mafias in story book but you don’t know the dark secrets of your cute and handsome friend, Lee Taeyong.

Kim Doyoung

Your most caring friend who literally takes care of you like an older brother but he has made it clear not to call him your brother. He treats you more than you ever need. He takes you on luxury friendly dates when Taeyong(his bestfriend) is busy or that man would not leave his chance to tag along( you are afterall spending his money even with Doyoung). His gummy smile is everything you need before going to work. Those gummy smiles hide the devilish smirk when he is torturing his victim brutally and his sharp eyes watching the helpless condition of them. But to you, he can heal your every pain as a true friend.

Jung Jaehyun

the most charming guy you have ever met. Anyone would want him as their boyfriend including you but you bet he has girlfriend as you feel he hides things from you and that can be possible if it’s his gf. Once late at night you came across him on the streets and you thought him as any celebrity and that’s how your friendship began. He has the show-off attitude and would always buy you costly dresses, jewelry and other accessories and urge you to wear them on friendly dates and workplace. He has this possessiveness in his every move and words as if he owns you. He is a loyal NCT mafia member who has swear not to get distract by anything but why he is losing his mind for you.

Lee Mark

the sweetest and the most innocent guy. You feel this urge to protect this silly boy from this cruel world. Cruel world? He is a walking devil with a facade of innocence. His silly speech, his innocent heartily laughs and his securing embrace is like alluring you to trust him with your whole. But it’s a trap to keep you close. You don’t know how his awkward behaviors in front of you are just the opposite when he plants bullets in his enemy’s head and throat. His soft big and innocent eyes are the dangerous hell-hole for his victims.

Lee Jeno

well, you doubt him as a gangster sometimes because of his physique and personality. But He can’t be because next moment he is giving off his eye smile melting your heart along with his sweet gestures. A perfect soft boyfriend with some dominating aura. He likes to order you around like those are simple and sweet but somehow he has that controlling attitude. His helpless and worried expression if you are hurt for some reason is just the opposite from the one when he makes sure to burn the victim or bury it 6-feet under and his eyes burning with the rage of revenge, nowhere to be seen those cute eyes looking at you in awe and adoration.

Lee Haechan

a playful menace. You question sometimes why you are being friends with him in first place. His teasings are out of hand and loses your mind but the next moment he is the dearest friend to you. But you have fun with him in sleepovers, sneaking out for late night long drives playing ‘Highway to Heaven’ and he sings along the song’s bridge, his fav part ‘oh she’s so bad, I’ll make it last’ and looks at you in your eyes. Even behind his mischievousness, there is a lover boy. He cuddles you to comfort and a perfect bestfriend and you are thankful for such a nice friend. But you don’t know that the annoying boy with heavenly vocals is a hacker of the ruthless mafia gang, NCT.

Na Jaemin

a total cat person. He even has an insta account for his cats and mentioned himself as their father and you as their mother. A boy with heart on his sleeves and he doesn’t let a moment to fall in vain without making you blush. A family man and not gonna lie you have a little crush on him. His endearments and sweet gestures always make you feel like that you are a couple and sometimes some people even assume it. Even if you deny it, he proudly smiles and agrees with them. But this sweet Angel boy is the devil who can shoot someone and bury them in a stance and then act like he tugged his cats in bed to sleep.

I’m writing such above things just casually because even if it’s late at night yet am not feeling sleepy😭 actually I was preparing a NCT! Mafia draft so felt like sharing some imagines. If you guys need any particular member imagine then you can send me asks(also Yuta Lucas Renjun Ten Yangyang and Kun are also in my bias list tho🥹)

Should I make a NCT! Mafia series with my bias line x reader? Of course after finishing ‘Like We Just Met’?

Perma Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @hwanring @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon [open!]

[oftenwantedafton]

A New Afton - Stepfather Steve Raglan/William Afton x Stepdaughter Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content, daddy kink

Also available on AO3

taglist @yellowbunnydreams

William Afton thinks, perhaps, he is moving things along a little quickly.

It’s only the first night; it’s barely been a few hours. And here you are, your school uniform clad body pressed against him, your soft lips touching his.

He could argue that time was of the essence, there’s no time like the present, whatever other platitudes there are about that elusive entity that enslaves mankind, but he’d recognized that look in your eyes. You’ve been devouring him all evening, consuming his face and his body as thoroughly as you’d knocked back those beers. Coveting.

He knows about coveting. Intimately. It starts with the children at the arcade. A higher score. A bigger prize. Continues to the dining hall. Another slice of pizza. Another piece of cake. Outside. The Emily girl bullied. A kind of hum in his ears, as if her blood has a frequency. He wants to silence it. He craves revenge. He covets the power it brings.

Then there’s the simple fact that, well, he wants to fuck you. So yes, things are progressing rapidly. It’s just the nature of things. Fate taking him along by the hand, guiding his path to you.

The warmth leaves his lips as you and he draw apart. “Steve…”

He frowns. This won’t do at all. “There’s going to be a new rule around here. You won’t be calling me that when we’re alone together. You’re to refer to me as what I am. Your stepfather.”

You blink at him, looking uncertain. “You…want me to call you Stepdad?”

His teeth flash. “Nothing so proper. We can shorten that right down to Daddy.”

A little hitch of breath, a flutter of lashes. God you were gorgeous. He can’t wait to see what other sounds he can elicit from you.

***

Your stepfather has just kissed you.

Closed mouthed, it could almost be considered chaste and innocent except it’s everything but. You know you’re supposed to feel guilty. You know it’s wrong. But you like it. You like the warm hand on your shoulder and how he cradles your bare knee. You can smell the shampoo from his recent shower and the cologne stirs your pheromones.

You’ve gone on a few dates over the last couple of years, but have never really had a steady boyfriend. You’re still a virgin. You wonder if Steve knows this, if your mother has ever mentioned it. About your boyfriend situation, or lack thereof, that is; not the virgin thing. That would have been weird.

Not that cheating with your mom’s new husband isn’t weird in and of itself. When he suggests you call him Daddy something thrills within you. You feel the place between your legs throb and tingle. You’ve had a couple of guys try a few clumsy fumblings there but nothing serious or experienced. You think this man in his fifties must be quite the opposite.

“Ok, Daddy.” You try the phrasing out. You feel his body shudder beside yours. He kisses you again, his mouth lingering this time. The kiss becomes wetter. Lips parting. His tongue probes gently. Your stomach flutters and your pussy throbs again to remind you of the growing need within. You lay a hand on his cheek, sliding over his beard. This texture is new to you. All of the boys you’d been with have been clean shaven. The tendons in his neck are taut beneath your fingers. You’re too shy to explore any further just yet. His mouth tastes like mint. The scent of his cologne is heavy in your nostrils. It’s intoxicating. You have a pleasant buzz from the beer you’d imbibed earlier and in your body from your arousal. Every touch of his tongue against yours strums another chord inside you.

He sucks your bottom lip, tugging gently with his teeth. You feel the smile before you see it. “You like doing this?”

“Yes, Daddy.” It still feels a little silly and awkward. Or maybe that’s just you. You want to sound sexy for him. You’re just not sure how.

“Good girl,” he says, and the pulse in your sex is palpable, demanding attention. “I’m sure a good girl like you is still a virgin, right?”

You like the praise. Your body likes it too. “Yes, Daddy. I haven’t…I haven’t done very much of anything.”

“What have you done?”

“A little touching. And kissing. On the mouth,” you add hastily.

“Do you ever touch yourself?”

You worry your bottom lip, cheeks flushing. “Sometimes.”

“How? Show me how.”

You face grows even hotter. “I…I’m not sure…”

“Suddenly shy are we?” He laughs softly. “Its ok to feel a little embarrassed. You’ll get over that. What if I were to touch you instead? Would you like that?”

Your pussy immediately answers yes, throbbing and sending another wave of fluid. You know your panties are wet. You nod.

“If you don’t like it, tell me to stop, okay?”

“Ok, Daddy.”

He kisses you again and you feel the hand at your knee shift, stroking up your thigh, first on top, then shifting to the inside. “Open up a little for me.”

You part your legs, letting out a little whimper when you feel his fingers stroke you through the crotch of your panties. Only the first touch and it’s already a million times better than anything you’d previously experienced.

“You’re quite wet already,” he murmurs. He traces the outline of your clit through the cotton fabric and your hips jerk involuntarily, grinding you against his hand. His caress is electrifying, the nerves sizzling and snapping. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You gasp when his hand moves and shoves beneath the waistband, his fingers now touching you directly. A needy sound escapes you. You pant beside his mouth.

“Is this how you touch yourself?”

“No, I…it’s so sensitive I just use a pillow or a stuffed animal between my legs. With panties on. It’s…”

“Have you ever cum?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“I’d like to make you cum. Either with my fingers, or…my mouth.” His tongue darts out to stroke your lips and you moan. “What do you think, sweet girl? Which do you prefer?” His middle finger teases your entrance while his thumb strokes your bundle of nerves. It’s all very gentle and slow. You can’t even stop yourself from pressing against him in search of more contact.

“Whatever you want,” you respond breathlessly, forgetting to add his new favorite title, but if he minds he doesn’t show it.

“What I want, hmm?” Steve withdraws his hand and sucks on the fingers damp with your juices. “Oh, you’re fucking delicious.” He shoves the coffee table back and kneels in front of you, lifting your skirt to admire the tiny pink bows printed on that delicate bit of fabric before hooking thumbs into each leg hole and the rest of his digits curling over the waistband, jerking your underwear down, over your hips and thighs and knees and calves and ankles. He flips the skirt out of the way and grabs your hips, tugging until you’re barely still sitting on the couch, the edge digging across your ass cheeks as he pushes your legs back for you to hold, your cunt presented to him. He spits on your sex—completely unnecessarily, you’re already soaked—but you find the gesture filthy and erotic. “Tell me what you want, baby girl.”

“I want you to…please eat my pussy Daddy.”

He plants a trail of kisses along your inner thighs, teasing you, his beard tickling your skin. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Are you going to cum in my mouth like a good girl?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He rests a hand on the space below your navel, fingers spread over your mound, pulling slightly to draw the skin over your clit taut. His tongue slides across the nub in a sharp lick and you see stars. His mouth presses against you and he sucks and you moan. Better than anything you’ve ever tried, far better than anything anyone else has ever offered you. He’s slurping on your pussy like it’s the best meal he’s ever consumed, moaning at the taste and the vibrations echo within your core.

You release your grip on the back of one of your thighs and slide your fingers into the older man’s hair. So silky soft. Slightly damp, from the shower or sweat; you’re not certain which. It’s overwhelming, the feel of that ravenous mouth on your private place, all lips and tongue mashing and sucking and laving. You keen and whimper and mewl against him, insensible noises of pleasure, of need, of lust. You feel perspiration spark at the back of your knees. There’s a coiling knot of pressure building within your core that’s becoming unbearable. His eyes meet yours, dark and depthless and it sends you over the edge, spasming violently against him as he focuses all his attention on sucking your aching clit relentlessly. Your trembling legs fall and your thighs reflexively try to clamp down on him, the sensitivity skyrocketing. The fury against your pussy lessens and he laps more slowly, letting you ease down off your high, your body still wracked with spasms until he finally, finally emerges from between your legs.

***

Your stepfather wasn’t kidding when he says you’re delicious. Forget the best pussy, it’s the best fucking thing William’s ever tasted, period. Honey sweet. And the sounds you create. It makes him want to eat you out somewhere with vaulted ceilings so he can have that sound echoing around him. Fucking incredible.

So good he’d had to unzip his fly in the process and stroke himself to completion while he was devouring you. As much as he wants you to touch him—and fuck does he want that, those delicate hands and your sensual mouth and that tight virgin cunt wrapped around his cock—he’s not so far gone over in the lust that he doesn’t realize he needs to pace himself, for your sake. He likes you being needy, but he doesn’t necessarily want you reluctant or fearful. He wants you to want it. To beg, like you just had. It’s so much more satisfying to corrupt than to simply force. It takes skill and patience and Afton has plenty of that.

So for this evening, he’s settled for his hand accompanied by the flavor of your inner essence on his tongue and it takes the edge off. He shuts off the television and retires to the bedroom he shares with your mother while you shower and get dressed for bed. Perhaps you’re lying there awake right now, heart pounding, sex still tingling, limbs still feeling the aftershocks of your release. Not so much the young innocent girl anymore, the one who had chosen to wear pink ribbon patterned panties that morning before going to school, perhaps admiring the row of plush toys from your childhood lining the bookshelf beneath the window gone now, left behind, a relic of the past. Maybe you’re staring into the dark void above your head, cuddling whatever stuffed animal you’d previously used to pleasure yourself, wondering if he’ll come to you again.

The taste of you still floods his mouth and he thinks perhaps he will. Or perhaps he will wait.

It is only the first night, after all.

[hopelessromantic5]

I’m in a silly goofy mood. Here’s some merthur crack.

Nimueh is seeking her revenge on Merlin for thwarting her plans.

She sneaks into Camelot, disguised to be hidden among strangers. But to Merlin, she will appear as what his heart most desires.

Thinking it would be a beautiful woman, she lies in wait, until the manservant stumbles upon her and his eyes bug.

“Arthur, what are you doing here?! Uther will have my head if you aren’t in the-“ The manservant stops rambling and stares at Nimueh.

Nimueh, of course, is shocked. This is a plot twist.

The boy still hadn’t looked away from her eyes. Searching for something and coming up short.

“You are not Arthur.” He breathes out.

And before Nimueh can think to act on her ancient sorceress instincts, Merlin has her paralyzed and face up in a turnip cart, covered with potato sacks.

Well this is going splendidly, she thinks to herself, as she rolls to an unknown location.

Not only is the manservant desperately in love with his master, but he’s also got his wits about him enough to know the real thing when he sees it.

At this thought, she pauses. This boy must be someone. He has power and knowing that she’s never seen in a person so young. So mortal.

Eventually the cart stops and she’s tumbling out onto the floor of a very dusty apothecary.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” An older gentleman’s voice comes closer.

“Gaius, look at this and tell me what you see.”

The older man appears in sight, peering at her with a permanent quizzical brow.

“Looks nothing more than a kitchen maid. What is the meaning of this, Merlin? What have you done to the poor girl?”

“Wait, you’re telling me you’re seeing a kitchen maid and not the Prince of Camelot?”

“The Prince of-“ The old man looks to the boy “Have you injured your head today, Merlin?”

“No, Gaius. That’s what I’m telling you. When I came into the court yard after just leaving Arthur with his father, I can promise you I did not expect to see Arthur again, leaning against a wall, suddenly craving a tan.” The boy, Merlin, stares and keeps staring. “I think she’s a witch, or a sorceress.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, the fact that she looks like one person to me and another to everyone else. And…I can feel it. She must be powerful, I can feel the current of energy underneath.”

The old man, ponders for a long minute.

“Do you remember the creature in the water supply? The Afanc?”

Merlin nodded.

“I told you I believed it to be the work of an ancient sorceress names Nimueh.” The woman internally gasps at her own name. “I also feared she had been keeping an eye on her attempts to destroy the Kingdom. It seems now, she knows you are responsible for her plan not taking hold.”

“You mean she did the on purpose? Came here, in broad daylight, to come after me? Dressed as the Prince of Camelot?”

He sounds hysterical. Perhaps it’s affecting his psyche. This image she’s in now.

“That part is strange.” Gaius muses still staring down at her body like it will tell them more. “You said it looked like Arthur in the court yard, how did you know it wasn’t him?”

“I don’t know.” A lie. A terrible lie, followed by his face turning bright red. She could almost laugh at the foolishness of young humans. “I just…did.”

There’s no reply for minutes.

Then Merlin speaks again.

“I say while she’s paralyzed and without her power, we dose her with a truth serum and find out what she’s doing here.”

‘Without her power’? Excuse you?

She’s only now beginning to feel it. Her magic is still there, in her core, but it’s been locked away. Covered in layers and layers of blankets. Blocked by someone else’s will. Someone with more power than they know.

Now she’s really in for it. If only she could learn to let things go.

“And what are we supposed to do if the real Arthur comes looking for you?” Gaius turns in question.

“Just tell him I’m at the tavern, he’ll never make an appearance there if he doesn’t have to.”

“What are you going to do with her when her powers do return?”

“I will wheel her into the forrest tonight. The spell should last us well past morning light.” This time, Merlin speaks to her. “I’m hoping at that point you’ll just go home and rethink your decision on murdering everyone here and destroying the kingdom.”

Then she’s in a chair, tied down with belts. They forced a tiny tube of liquid down her throat. Or more like poured it in, considering she can’t fight back.

And then they sat back on their stools, six feet away, and studied her.

“Speak.” Merlin commands, followed by a flash of golden eyes. Nimueh was beginning to understand that she didn’t have the upper hand here. Not in the slightest. Her centuries of learning are almost nothing against this boy with the magic of the earth inside him.

“That was disgusting.” Are the first words out of her mouth.

“Well it’s not supposed to be a treat.” Merlin spits. “Why are you here?”

The words come out before she can scramble for control to stop them.

“I’m here to switch a goblet in the chambers of Lord Bayard for the cursed chalice in my possession.”

“For what purpose?” Gaius demands.

“To poison the Prince. To start a war that would tear Camelot and her crown to tiny pieces.”

“Explain your appearance. Why isn’t anyone else seeing Arthur?”

“You were correct, Merlin. You were my target. The enchantment transforms me into the deepest desire of your heart. To everyone else, I was nobody, a peasant they wouldn’t waste the time to look over twice.”

The silence in the room after is deafening.

Merlin is staring at her with wide owl eyes, utterly horrified.

Gaius is looking at Merlin, perplexed.

“What- what’d- I don’t-“ comes out in a string of syllables. “That can’t possibly be.” He whimpers and then buried his head in his hands.

Poor boy.

Love is a miserable beast.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Question for the previous on König and highschool sweetheart ask— Would König consider trying to treat her more gently on a round 2 to make up for her first time? Or he’d just act like it’s not a big deal and think that she can take it?

Unrelated one— If his sweetheart is ever caught being upset or sobbing with full on tears over something like work or a crappy coworker, would König ever try to comfort her in his own way or just leave her be?

Oh for sure he’d be more gentle. I think his remorse would override even the silly need to be some ultimate gentleman when it comes to virgins.

König is a little crazy with these revenge fantasies but at the same time, he can’t stand to see his sweetheart hurt. He wants to make her yearn for him (bro what do you think she has done for the past +10 years??) but he would never abuse her, cheat or anything like that. The thing is he doesn’t quite know what to do with her. He can’t live with her, and he can’t live without her!

Highschool sweetheart actually wanting him to be rough is so confusing to him. She seems to love it that he plays this confident distant jerk, and König can’t stand it, appears she never loved him when he was kind, shy and weird?? At the same time she's star-eyed on the 2nd round because “oh you’re making love to me now? how cute!” and it's making König’s brain hurt – all he ever wanted was to treat her right! Now it’s too late! And besides what does this girl even want?! And how can he (not) give it to her? He needs to make her pay! Not today... But some day. He will. Yes…

Her crying and sobbing would instantly make his chest hurt, and he knows what it means – of course he fucking loves her still because he’s cursed or something – and the need to run to console her is greater than the goddamn gravity but he takes a feeew extra seconds before strolling to ask if everything’s alright. Fights the urge to pull her into his lap, but she climbs there herself, sobbing and sniffling, and his heart just hurts hurts hurts until he can’t take it anymore, he has to caress and console her. Now then, who was mean to you…? :|

(He’s going to kill whoever made her cry… And then he’s going to come back and make her pay. Some day! Not today, because she’s crying. But some day.)

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 08

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,6k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), a/n: this chapter smells like a soap opera, but i couldn't help myself. i was in a silly goofy mood, please don’t hate me<3

series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: But you and Bucky didn't follow the other guests. You didn't know the detailed layout of the rooms in that house, and the only secluded place you knew was the toilet. You dragged Bucky there almost by force, and apparently expecting an escalation of whatever was on your mind, he allowed you to do so.

“I'm sure you'll look beautiful, sweetheart,” Winnifred cooed. “I can't wait for the final result!” she added on her way to leave the room.

You spent the past few hours in Rebecca's bedroom, because that's where – aside from a large mirror, which rather every bedroom in the Barnes house was equipped with – was a vanity table; a really convenient solution when it came to doing your makeup and hair. 

The upcoming ceremony didn't quite meet the criteria of typical weddings; there were only a few days to organize everything since the pre-agreement was signed. In all the chaos, there was no room to think about the choice of wedding dress or hall; you didn't have time to choose the flowers, the design of the invitations (there weren't even any invitations), the cake or the music. And you didn't particularly regret not having the opportunity to do so. It wasn't a real wedding – it didn't take place because two people who loved each other decided to get married. And since it didn't matter much, you didn't feel the need to care about any of the details.

It was different for Winnifred. She was aware of the same things as you, but that didn't stop her from beaming with excitement. You found this extremely charming; largely because of your own mother. As you left the house this morning she said, This boy will be the death of you.

Rebecca entered the bedroom, which surprised you a little. She had every right to be in a room that belonged to her, but since you had arrived at the Barnes mansion a few hours ago, Rebecca had been avoiding you.

You hesitantly put down your mascara, regretting that you had only just finished doing your eyes. Otherwise, you would have had an excuse not to confront Rebecca in any way.

“My mom is right. You will be a lovely bride,” she said, giving you a weak smile. 

“Thank you.” You returned the friendly gesture, but were able to guess that it looked rather inept.

“Listen…” Rebecca sighed. “I'm sorry for the way I acted at dinner that night. I feel really horrible.”

“That's okay. You just had a bad day, I get it,” you replied. You didn't dare confess that you knew Rebecca's reasons for behaving the way she did. You feared that she would be furious to learn that her own sister had told you about this side of her life. 

Rebecca seemed unsatisfied with your words. “I'm really sorry for what I said. Especially since I can see that you are not some random girl at all.” 

Only after a moment did you realize that her gaze had landed on your engagement ring. Immediately, you felt a hot wave of sickening shame. 

“I'm sorry, I'm not the one who should be wearing it,” you claimed, asserting what you had told Bucky earlier.

“Jamie wouldn't have given it to you if he thought it would end up in the wrong hands.” Rebecca smiled a little more confidently. “He obviously knows what he's doing.”

Yes, you've heard that before.

“Do you need help with your hair?” she proposed. “I swear I'm not going to destroy it in revenge.” 

You laughed quietly. “Yes, please.” Accepting this offer had little to do with politeness or wanting to make Rebecca feel better. Indeed, you needed help.

Rebecca stood behind you, reached for a brush and began to comb your hair. She did this with extreme gentleness. “Are you nervous?”

“A bit,” you answered after a short thought, looking at your reflection. “But considering I'm marrying someone I've only known for a few weeks... That's normal, I guess.” 

“You shouldn’t be. I am not trying to sell you my brother,” she remarked, raising her eyebrows. “But he will take care of you. You should just be careful what you wish for.”

You didn't show in any way that Rebecca's words intrigued you. You guessed that they had to do with Robbie's disappearance, but you chose not to ask. Rebecca was reaching out to you, being even a sweetheart, like the big sister you needed on that day. Destroying it would be a real stupid thing to do, and you weren't going to sabotage the atmosphere around your own wedding.

She did your hair, and although you weren't sure what you actually wanted, Rebecca managed to achieve a satisfying result. When it was time to shed your robe, Connie's absence began to bother you. You needed someone to point out your lace lingerie and crack a few dirty jokes about your wedding night. You weren't counting on Rebecca. Even if she had a slightly different character, the very thought of talking about it with the groom's sister was uncomfortable enough.

You fixed your gaze on the white dress spread out on the bed. Since this wedding wasn't exactly a traditional wedding, you hadn't quite understood why you couldn't have chosen a dress in any other color. And surprisingly, the person who explained to you some of the issues around this subject was Michael. Now you knew that when marrying someone like Bucky Barnes, the right symbolism had to be taken care of – purity and innocence. You had to give the impression of being untouched, waiting for your husband, apart from whom no other man existed. You had to be innocent; to do him no harm, to agree with his opinion, to submit to him. You didn't believe that anyone from the two Families – who were the only guests at this wedding, witnesses to the joining of the two clans for good – cared whether you were a good, silent virgin with no opinion of your own or not. But it was all about appearances. Though, perhaps, the elders of this community actually cared about such details?

After Rebecca had also helped you with your dress, you finally stood in front of a large mirror and looked closely at your reflection. You couldn't make up your mind how you felt about it all; before the wedding, for which you hadn't decided on the slightest thing, in the dress you and Winnifred had bought at the last minute. Staring at yourself like that, you realized that nothing really mattered much to you. You just wanted to get it over with.

Winnifred returned to the bedroom; you first saw her only in the mirror, and when you turned around, you noticed a bouquet in her hands. “I knew you would look beautiful,” she said with delight, her gaze expressing a tenderness you couldn't recall seeing in your own mother. She shook her head as if she had just remembered something. “I have something for you.” She handed you the bouquet of pink carnations and white freesias, tied with a silk ribbon in a pale shade of pink matching the color of the carnations. Somewhat caught off guard, you accepted the flowers. “Jamie just brought it.”

You took a shaky breath. “Oh…”

The ceremony, from start to finish, was to be held on Timothy's property. You didn't understand this aspect either, and Michael didn't clarify it to you, but given the significance of the white dress, you were able to draw your own conclusions – there was no greater, more important sanctity than the Barnes Family, therefore instead of any temple, there was the home of the head of the Family.

When you arrived, nothing had been clear since leaving the car. You weren't even sure if you were actually there – your body definitely, but everything else?

You and Michael stood in front of the entrance to the ballroom.

You weren't wrong about the temple analogy, and were made aware of it now as you saw more or less its interior; filled with chairs and guests sitting on them, it resembled a sanctuary of some kind – even the table at the far end of the room was an altar of sorts. Nevertheless, there was no traditional walking down the aisle; Michael led you down a corridor formed between two sides of the rows of chairs, but only because you needed his help – your veil made it difficult to see and the lengthy material of your dress to move freely.

Walking forward with the not-so-slow step you usually observed in brides, you kept your eyes on the ground. Paralyzed by some sudden fear, jitters, you were unable to focus it on anything else. All this nervousness was making you more and more distant from the reality of the situation.

Completely relying on Michael, you stopped when he stopped. Only then did you dare to lift your gaze, but the degree of transparency of the veil didn't allow you to see much. All you knew was that you stood right next to Bucky; that he had Steve and someone else at his side; that there was a man in front of you, acting not only as a priest but also as an official. At least that's what you thought, as you tried to logically interpret each element.

Normally, it should be Michael, in some way replacing your father, who should lift your veil in order to present you to your future husband, your new protector, provider. However, that right belonged exclusively to Bucky. Because Michael wasn't giving you away, he wasn't handing you over to good hands; it was Bucky who took you, if that was his will, accepted you, included you in the Family. From that moment on, your whole life depended on your husband.

But he didn't uncover your veil right away. It was as if you were to remain his sweet secret for as long as possible, protected from the gaze of others. Soon, though, he lifted the material and placed it behind your head, and he did so with such delicacy and concentration that you still didn't believe it was real.

Finally, you could look at his face, and although you could see the obvious tiredness and nervousness on it, he was still the most beautiful man you had ever met. And he was going to be yours for the rest of your life, until death do you part.

If there were actually vow words spoken – any words at all – you didn't hear them. Still numb with fear and anxiety, you stared at Bucky. He was scared too, you had no doubt about that, but instead of getting even worse, you felt... safe.

You approached the table on which the agreement rested. The priest handed the pen first to Bucky. But when Bucky leaned over the document, his hand holding the pen hung in the air. You only saw the side of his face, so couldn't tell much from it. Your forehead furrowed slightly; was he hesitating? Panicking? Had he suddenly changed his mind and was about to run away, leaving you at the altar? 

Finally, however, he signed, bringing you back to breathing.

He moved the piece of paper towards you and handed the pen, without even glancing at you. You, too, leaned over the table, once again sweeping your gaze over the agreement, in effect realizing that something was wrong. It had expanded by at least one condition and some bold print.

The WIFE is obliged to provide the HUSBAND with an heir within a period of twenty-one months, i.e. the WIFE and the HUSBAND are obliged to conceive a child within twelve months from the date of the wedding.

Breach of any of the conditions will result in immediate termination of the agreement and a material penalty agreed by the parties.

So far you have felt so weak that you had the impression that you were about to faint. Now, you felt anger boiling up inside you; a sense of betrayal, of being a victim of trickery, pierced your heart painfully. You tightened your fingers on the pen with such force that it almost broke under their pressure. Despite everything, you signed the agreement, with the tip of the pen almost tearing through the paper.

There had been a lot of inconveniences in your path lately, but you couldn't recall any of them putting you in such a horrible mood. And when Bucky’s eyes met yours, you knew he saw that awful disappointment. Just as he should – he should be aware that he had hurt you. Did you expect to see guilt in response? Probably. But instead, there was anger, irritation, and somehow you knew it wasn't directed at you.

You also felt it when exchanging rings; Bucky squeezed your wrist a little too hard as he slid the wedding band onto your finger. He turned his jitters and anxiety into resentment; a phenomenon that intrigued you enough to make you forget your own for a moment.

The priest grabbed a previously prepared dagger; it had been resting on the table since the beginning, waiting for basically the most important part of the ceremony. “The act of joining two bloods.” The man took your hand carefully, turned it over and gently moved the dagger blade across your palm, leaving a bloody, not very deep line. You winced slightly, muffling a whine of discomfort. “So that two Families become one,” he added, proceeding to do the same with Bucky's hand, and he accepted it without the slightest movement; as if the blade had not even tickled him.

Thinking little of it, you reached for Bucky's wrist to draw his hand closer, then covered the inside of it with yours. As if by reflex, his fingers closed and embraced your hand gently. Maybe you were angry, but your body followed its own rules, and as Bucky made this small gesture, you felt warmth coming from where your hands touched; it spread to your chest, to the pit of your stomach.

The ceremony came to an end in as grave a mood as the whole of it. Timothy invited the guests to the garden, where a tent had been set up earlier – Winnifred's idea, as she had refused to let the feast take place in Timothy's cave. She insisted on this dose of romance, and it wasn't until after the ceremony that you realized she was right. The tent in the garden, in the middle of spring, was truly uplifting.

But you and Bucky didn't follow the other guests. You didn't know the detailed layout of the rooms in that house, and the only secluded place you knew was the toilet. You dragged Bucky there almost by force, and apparently expecting an escalation of whatever was on your mind, he allowed you to do so. 

“What was that?” you asked before he managed to close the door behind you. Anger surged inside you again, and the best way to get rid of it that popped into your head was to hit Bucky with whatever you had in hand – in this case, your bouquet. “Promise me you’ll be my partner,” you quoted his words from a few days ago, and the flowers collided with his arm again. “My ally.” And again. “My wife.” And again. 

“Y/N…” he sighed, patiently taking your harmless punches.

“You tricked me into continuing your bloodline!” Paying no attention to his calm tone, you didn't stop to hit him with the bouquet, which, by the way, wasn't as destroyed as it should have been.

“Y/N!” he hollered, suddenly grabbing your forearm, therefore stopping you from striking again. “Let’s talk about this. Like reasonable people.”

“So I am a person?” Your eyebrows rose. “Not a breeding stock?”

“I didn’t know!”

“How could you not know! You worked on this agreement together!”

And you were yelling at each other again, this time locked in that small space being the bathroom in Timothy's huge house. This only increased your frustration, because neither of you could escape. Besides, you couldn't escape not only physically; you were now stuck with each other.

“I didn't know. Okay?” he said much more calmly, although you felt that a gentle push would be enough to shatter all that calm again. “Timothy changed the deal behind my back. I should’ve known that he would pull something like this, he was too compliant…” He shook his head, looking away.

You thought it would be easier if you also stopped looking at him. So you concentrated on the bouquet; you pulled out the flowers that were only appropriate for throwing away. “You expected that he could pull something like this,” you began in a hushed voice, tentatively lifting your gaze to him. “And you didn’t do anything about it?” 

He also looked at you, unable to hide that your words had affected him. At that moment, you regretted that they had left your lips, but on the other hand, maybe he should have heard them? After all, you were the one who was the most violated in the situation, and although you yourself once mentioned that a baby-free deal was rather impossible to achieve, you felt cheated. 

“Don’t say that.” Bucky's voice sounded as quiet and weak as yours, his eyes expressing a begging; asking you not to give up on him like that, not to throw him into one bag with his uncle. “I’ll talk to him,” he added quickly. “I’ll talk to him now.” He seemed distracted, heartbroken, waiting for your approval. 

On that day, he was definitely not himself. And it hit you, what you had promised him – not to make this any harder than it has to be.

“Bucky-” you spoke tenderly, touching his arm, which only a few minutes ago you had been punching. “Do it after the party, okay? I don't want to ruin it for you. The penny has dropped anyway, so…” You shrugged.

You were still angry, betrayed, disappointed. But in all this, you forgot to see that Bucky was trying; that he was carrying a little too much weight on his shoulders. It appeared that he had been tricked, too, and you were probably the only person who could – should – show him some support.

Bucky smiled sadly, his lips pressed together. You didn't know him long enough, but just as before you were able to sense that he wasn't angry at you, now you got the strong impression that there were processes going on in his head that could lead to dangerous consequences.

You joined the rest of the guests in a tent at the back of the house. They didn't notice your absence, or took it as perfectly natural – slipping away to satisfy some burning need; that maybe you couldn't wait any longer to fulfill your marital duty. You would have preferred it to be exactly that instead of new problems.

Although you didn't doubt Bucky's intentions anymore and believed that he didn't know about his uncle's ruse, there was this lingering sense of unease accompanying you all the time. Maybe it had something to do with the stress of the last few days, which had reached its zenith just today? Or would you have been able to relax at home, away from all those people?

During a seemingly endless conversation with Winnifred and Rebecca, you noticed that you had lost sight of Bucky. The last time you saw him talking to the man who had introduced himself to you earlier as Sam Wilson, but you couldn't pinpoint when exactly that was – fifteen minutes ago, but it might as well have been over an hour.

You decided to try not to panic. He was talking to someone again, this time out of your view, or holed up for a cigarette.

Somewhere outside the fence sounded the loud roar of an engine, followed by the screech of tires. A few guests stopped their ongoing conversations and listened for a moment, while the rest were not particularly concerned about the noise. You were not part of either group; anxiety suddenly grew to enormous sizes, turning your stomach inside out.

Someone touched your shoulder, and you immediately knew it wasn't him; Bucky would do it differently. You looked over and saw Michael – white as a sheet. “Can we talk?” 

You excused yourself, and Michael, keeping the appearance of being completely in control, led you into the house. You didn't ask what had happened – you sensed that something bad hung in the air. 

Michael brought you to Timothy's office. He, on the other hand, looked furious; he was sitting behind his desk, and there was a burning smell in the room.

“Your agreement.” He pointed to the desktop; to the charred scraps of paper resting on it and the ring – the same one you slid onto Bucky’s finger a couple hours earlier. 

At first your stomach dropped. He destroyed the agreement and left. And without Bucky, without the agreement, you were ruined. 

Despite the fact that you were terrified, you were not going to break down in front of Timothy. He had humiliated you enough. “Which one?” Having tilted your head to the side, you lifted your eyebrows. “There were two versions, right? Were you inspired by Rumlows with the second one?”

Your biting tone did not go unnoticed by Timothy. “You are acting very boldly for someone who will soon be left with nothing.”

Painfully aware that Timothy was right, you glanced at your secured future – burnt, useless. Not only that was burnt and useless; you and Bucky had burned all the bridges together; Bucky had first beaten Brock Rumlow, then humiliated John Walker and finally vanished into thin air himself. 

But why exactly did he do it? He didn’t listen to you and talked with Timothy anyway; there had to be something his uncle had to have done; something that pushed his limits, tipped his balance. Or maybe his sweet words meant nothing and he decided to show you that marriage really wasn’t for him?

“Looks like you're back on the market.” Timothy stated. “I'm really ashamed of what my nephew did to you, darling.”

Unable to listen to Timothy any longer, or even look at him, you turned to Michael. “Can we go home?”

“Certainly,” he answered in such a gentle, almost fatherly tone that you have never heard from him before.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

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