#better known as the ghost plant
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A Diplomatic Error
cw: enemies to lovers, kidnapping, being tied up, manhandling, size difference, non-human genitalia, oral sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex
male orc x fem reader
Word count: 9k
You were headed to another counsel meeting. You never really stopped attending them, despite the fact that they never listened to a word you had to say.
Your father said it was good for morale. You didn’t understand how watching someone sit around and not help was good for anyone’s morale, but you knew better than to question him.
The halls of the palace were quieter than you were used to. Almost everyone had been called to the front lines, even your closest guards had gone. You weren’t used to walking alone, nor were you accustomed to the typically lively castle looking like a ghost town.
So now you walked through the castle halls, more alone than you’d ever been before, no one there to wait on you, to protect you, to watch over you. Something in you said it should have felt freeing.
It didn’t. It just felt lonely.
As you walked, moving slowly as you wallowed in self-indulgent pity between war meetings, a pair of hands reached out of nowhere, one snaking around your waist to pull you back into the shadows while the other clamped firmly over your mouth.
When the guards had been sent away, you’d been assured that you’d be safe. It wouldn’t exactly be easy for a hulking orc to sneak in undetected. At least that's what you'd been told. With a massive hand that dwarfed your face locked over your mouth, suddenly the idea didn’t seem so ridiculous.
You thrashed under the figure's unwavering grip to no avail. He easily held you in place, barely needing to put any effort in to stop your desperate bid for an escape.
You weren’t one for swooning but suddenly a faintness came over you. You reached up to grab at the only stable thing in reach, hands wrapping around the figure’s arm, trying to keep yourself upright.
Your knees began to buckle and only then, mind slowed by whatever he’d dosed you with, did you begin to suspect foul play. Maybe something on his skin that humans were weak to, maybe something in the air. Was he holding a cloth? You didn’t think so. But then again, he seemed so far away not, even pressed up against you as he was.
You blinked your heavy eyes and when you opened them, you were thrown over a large shoulder. You watched the road behind you as the creature holding you strode along, still blind to what was ahead. His hand was wrapped around your waist, keeping you firmly in place, jostling you only slightly with each step.
It took you a second to gather your bearings enough to start struggling. Once you did, you started pounding on his back. It was a futile gesture but you were nothing if not persistent. At the very least, he knew you were awake now.
His shoulder shook under you as he chuckled. “Good morning, princess,” he said, his gravelly voice carrying across the road.
“Put me down, you brute!” you shouted, trying your best to kick your feet under heavy skirts. If you'd known you'd be getting kidnapped today, you'd have worn something lighter.
He paused and for a moment you thought maybe he'd listen to you. But you knew better than that, knew you'd have no say in any of this.
“As you wish.”
Your feet were planted on the ground, although he still had a heavy arm on your shoulder, holding you in place. A silent promise: you weren't going anywhere.
You whipped around, eager to see what was in front of you instead of the increasingly distant road you'd been traveling on.
You got your first look at the front of your captor, no longer flung over his shoulder.
Despite it being part of the little information you already knew about him, the first thing you noticed was that he was massive. He towered over you, with a broad frame to match. Tusks stuck out of his mouth as he sneered down at you, marring an almost handsome face.
You’d never actually seen an orc in person and despite years of being at war with them, it struck you suddenly that they were real. They were real and in front of you, no longer threatening figures discussed in crowded rooms you weren’t supposed to speak in but instead a real man in front of you with his hand on your arm. It radiated warmth, applying a firm pressure that told you if he wanted to he could crush you underhand.
In front of you, next to your very real captor, was a camp. The sort of camp you imagined soldiers slept in. You had no idea which side of the border you were on, disputed or otherwise. You hoped you were still in your own kingdom, but you had no way to know. It all looked the same from here.
Amidst the massive canvas tents milled a dozen or so orcs. At your sudden appearance, they’d stopped what they were doing, all peering at their new guest.
As they all stared at you, you panicked. Your feet started moving before your brain did. You managed to slip out from under your captor's grasp just in time to feel his hand dart forward, pushing you into the mud before you had a chance to get anywhere.
As you lay in the dirt, you heard something that sounded like orders being barked in a foreign tongue.
And then you were being hauled to your feet. You didn’t have the presence of mind to be upset at the manhandling as you looked down at your body, the front of you almost completely covered in mud.
You didn’t even have time to protest that before he cut you off. “Come on, m’lady. We have much to discuss.”
You crossed your arms, about to demand more respect from him before you were being lifted again and all you could manage was a surprised little squeak.
You watched helplessly as you were hauled into a nearby tent, all of the towering soldiers staring at you as you went.
You were deposited less than graciously on the floor of the tent, left to flounder and find your bearing on your own as your captor moved to look at you.
The tents were incredibly spacious, at least for someone of your size, the roof towering above you.
He leaned down in front of you, tone condescending as he spoke. “Here’s what's going to happen. You’re a bargaining chip for us. We’ll get you home as soon as your father allows it, princess.” He said your title like an insult, spat it at you in a way that made you flinch.
“And in the meantime?” you asked, trying your best not to look afraid. You'd make your way out of this with your pride intact. Well, as much of your pride as you could still manage to salvage as you stood there, covered in mud.
You could barely see the deep red of your dress under the grime. You didn’t even know how much of it was from your fall and how much you’d picked up on the road.
“In the meantime,” he said, “you will sit around until we need you.”
“Perfect.” You stood, futilely attempting to brush off your skirts as you did and taking a step towards the entrance of the tent. “Well, I should go find a place to rest until I am needed.” It was a long shot but you at least had to try.
Your captor followed you as you backed slowly out of the tent. “I don’t think you understand what’s going on here.”
“What’s the harm in it? Where do you think I’m going to go?” you shouted, gesturing around you at the thick woods. “If I had a death wish, there are far better ways to satisfy it than getting lost in the forest. Attempting to kill you, perhaps.”
He nodded. “It would be more honorable, to die in combat against me.”
You groaned. “Yeah, sure, that’s what I meant. It’d be so honorable of me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find somewhere to rest, maybe even clean myself.”
You managed to make it about two steps before his arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you as if you were a ragdoll.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
The words were hissed into your ear as he walked. You thrashed in his grip but it didn’t matter, he hauled you along just as easily.
You were thrown into a new tent next to a massive wooden pole, staked into the ground in the center.
He leaned down next to you, grabbing your arm, easily resisting your attempt to pull it away from him. As he easily held your wrists in one hand, the other reached back to pull out a length of rope. His hands were surprisingly nimble, threading rope around your wrists and securing you to the pole at the center of the tent with little difficulty.
When he let his hands get a little too close to your face, you bit them as hard as you could, locking your jaw down on him. There wasn’t any strategy behind it, you couldn’t escape or go anywhere, but the way he hissed and yanked his arm back filled you with a little bit of self-satisfaction. That had to be worth something.
He didn’t stick around long after. It seemed you had managed to piss him off at some stage in the kidnapping process. You couldn’t imagine when.
Your first night in the orc camp was spent restlessly, pulling futilely at your bindings as you sat there on the floor. You tried not to wallow in your misery. This wouldn’t be forever. Your father would get you out of here, one way or another. Until then, you could put on a brave face.
As the sun began to rise, the orcs’ curiosity in you seemed to reawaken.
Occasionally a soldier would peek in the entrance of the tent, never for more than a few seconds, or you would see them silhouetted against the canvas, hovering nearby. When you got particularly frustrated you’d shout at them, the snorts of laughter your yelling drew from them only making you angrier.
But anger was good. At least anger felt productive.
You’d become accustomed enough to the curiosity of the soldiers that at first, when your captor returned, you didn’t notice it was him. It was only when he strode towards you and began to undo your bindings that you realized who he was.
The second your bindings were undone, you made a break for it. You didn’t make it far. Your captor held you by your ankle, dangling you upside down, your various muddied skirt layers falling to cover your face as you struggled.
“This will be easier for you if you behave,” he said, and you could hear a layer of irritation in his voice.
You would've spat in his face if there weren't layers of fabric hanging in front of you.
His attempts to right you were thwarted by your thrashing until you figured out what he was trying to do and attempted to still yourself as much as you could, if only to get your feet on the ground again.
“We’re moving,” he said as you steadied yourself when returned back to solid ground. “I can carry you or you can walk.”
You opted to walk, both to preserve your dignity and to attempt to plan an escape.
The soldiers were shockingly efficient, completely packing up the camp faster than you’d imagined possible.
And then you were on the move.
You had to move swiftly to keep up with them, none of the soldiers willing to slow for you.
Your captor stayed diligently by your side, occasionally shooting you looks that seemed intended to tell you you had no chance of escape. You ignored him.
After about an hour of moving quietly, out of breath from all the walking, he was the one to break the silence.
“You’re slow.”
“Your legs are longer than mine. Besides, it's hard to walk when you’re covered in filth” you said, struggling under stiff, heavy skirts.
“And who is to blame for that?”
You gave him a pointed look. “In fact, I think you’ll find that you are.”
“You shouldn’t have run,” he said with a grunt.
“You shouldn’t have pushed me!”
He rolled his eyes and then you were being hauled off the ground again. You yelped in protest but were quietly a little grateful as he sat you on his shoulder. If you had to keep moving at their pace all day, dressed as you were, you might’ve passed out.
It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t keep up with a well-trained group of soliders. If anything, they should be impressed you managed to keep pace as long as you did.
Your hand rested on his other shoulder as he moved, trying to keep yourself steady, but realistically, you knew he wouldn’t let you fall, his arm holding you easily in place. You were just glad you were being allowed to sit this time instead of being thrown around like a sack of potatoes.
You spent the rest of the day like that, sitting on his shoulder as they traveled. As the sun began to set and the others began to set up camp, you expected to be set down.
It seemed you were wrong.
Instead of placing you on the ground or even tying you up again, he began to pace off in the opposite direction of the rest of the camp.
Nerves began to take over you. He may have said nothing would happen to you, but you did not relish in the thought of being alone with him, let alone him intentionally dragging you away from the rest of his compatriots.
You began to squirm again and his arm tightened, holding you in place. “Settle,” he said, his voice low and calm.
You did not listen.
Eventually, he did set you down, although you did not think your thrashing encouraged him to do so.
As he did, you noticed the sound of a swift-moving river just behind you.
He nudged you towards the river. “Clean. You’re too slow.”
“What?”
“You wanted to be clean,” he said, nudging you again. "You should clean”
“It’s a river.”
He looked at you like he was worried you’d hit your head. “It is.”
“And you expect me to wash in there? It’s full of dirt!”
He chuckled and you considered biting him again. “You’ll survive, princess.”
You groaned but decided that anything was better than the mud you were caked in. It was running water, at the very least. You weren’t certain why, but it did feel a little cleaner that way.
You considered bathing fully clothed but you’d heard too many stories of women drowning, weighed down by layers of dresses.
You began to pull at your dress, stripping off some of the upper layers, glaring at your captor as you did. It was too much to ask to be left alone, you knew that much, but it was still humiliating to get undressed in front of him like this.
You only took off as many layers as you needed to ensure you wouldn’t drown. You were almost fully covered but still, you felt exposed.
At the very least, he seemed largely disinterested in what you were doing, only sparing you the occasional glance.
You covered your chest as you moved towards the water. He looked down at you as you did, head cocked to the side. “What are you doing?”
“The skirts are heavy, I can’t wear them in the water or I could drown.”
He scoffed. “Little weakling. That’s not what I asked though, why do you hide? You’re covered.”
“I’m being forced to strip to my underwear, of course I’m covering myself.”
He stared back, clearly still confused, and you realized as you looked at him that the idea of being properly dressed was probably not the same for him. He was covered, but largely in leathers and furs, with far more skin exposed than you would ever have, even now in your underskirts.
“Listen,” you said, trying not to be too antagonistic, as it seemed he was truly trying to understand. “It’s different for us. Especially for me, I’m supposed to be covered perfectly at all times. Maybe you should give me new clothes.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked dismissively.
Any patience you’d been trying to put on for him snapped. “Sorry, I forgot you’re a heartless brute, I don’t know why I asked.”
And with that, you stormed off into freezing cold water.
The mud caking your skin began to wash off as soon as you touched the water and you let out a sigh of relief. The river looked to be snow runoff from a nearby mountain, it certainly felt cold enough for it, but for now all you wanted was to be clean.
You looked down as you scrubbed at your skin and your skirts and as you did, you realized the whites of your underthings had become translucent in the freezing water.
You turned and caught him staring, both looking away as soon as your eyes met. You turned your back to him immediately, feeling tears pricking at your eyes, trying to cover it up with the water that was rushing over you. It felt like you had nothing left, like this was the ultimate humiliation.
When you turned back to look at him once more, he was gone, not making so much as a sound as he left.
You weren’t foolish enough to think he’d truly left you alone, but you appreciated having at least the pretense of privacy. It was shockingly… kind?
No. You pushed the thought out of your mind as quickly as it occurred to you. You would not start thinking like that, not about the man who had kidnapped you.
You finished bathing quickly, the chill starting to set into your bones.
As you waded out of the river, he was still missing. It was evident where he’d been, massive orcs weren’t exactly built for stealth, but still he was nowhere to be found.
In his stead, you found a pile of clothes lying on the bank of the river. As you lifted them, the first thing you noticed was while they were far too big for you, they were too big by human standards. It was an old shirt, well worn, and a pair of pants you’d have to find some way to tie to keep up properly. They were slightly torn and upon closer inspection, you found speckles of a dark rusty substance splattered across the shirt.
Someone’s blood. From who’s side, you’d never know.
You tried not to dwell on what had happened to the owner of these clothes to leave them in the orc’s possession. They were yours now.
They were far more practical than your fine skirts had been, even if they didn’t quite fit properly.
As you pulled them on, you hesitated, holding your skirts. You didn’t need them any longer, but it felt like a waste to just leave them here.
But you had no time for sentimentality right now. You cast them aside, opting to forgo your shoes, despite the lack of new ones. Your shoes from the palace were not exactly built for forests and rough terrain. They’d only slow you down.
As you finished dressing, situating yourself in the unfamiliar clothes as best you could, you looked around nervously. You could find no sign of your captor amidst the unfamiliar foliage, but you had more than enough reason to doubt yourself. You felt lost amidst the thick trees surrounding you, it was hard to tell where you stood. You didn’t know what to look for or how to orient yourself, trapped in a foreign landscape.
You did what you could, checking for any onlookers, peeking through the trees, and once you’d made your decision, taking off.
You had no idea where you were, or where you were running to, but anywhere was better than here. There were surely search parties looking for you and even if you were on the other side of the border, orc civilians or soldiers who were unfamiliar with your status were a better bet than your current captors.
As your bare feet pounded down on a floor of sticks and rocks, you tried to ignore how cut up they were getting.
You were faster this way. That was what counted.
You focused on moving as fast as you could, the determination drowning out the pain until suddenly, the sharp rocks and twigs were underfoot no longer. Your brain took a second to catch up, feet still moving down to try and push off of a ground that was being pulled further and further away.
“Predictable little thing,” said a familiar voice beside you. “What happened to attempting to best me in combat? I didn’t take you for a coward, princess.”
A frustrated scream escaped you, cutting through the peaceful quiet of the forest.
Despite your protests, he continued to haul you back towards the camp, tying you up as soon as you reached your tent, a practiced routine for the two of you by now.
You had the night to sleep off your anger before morning came and you were on the move again.
Your captor did not wait before lifting you onto his shoulder and this time, you did not fight him. It was preferable to running to keep up with them, especially on newly damaged feet.
It felt strange to sit there, without struggling or screaming, just moving in silence. So instead, you spoke.
“Do you have a name?”
“Drakar,” he said. His voice was low but with your position atop his shoulder, it was easy to hear him, even over the bustle of moving soldiers.
“Thank you for the clothes,” you tried again, wanting to start up any sort of conversation to break the silence.
He didn’t even grace you with words this time, giving you a simple acknowledging grunt in return.
His answers remained brief, with no apparent interest in engaging in conversation. Eventually, you stopped trying.
When you came to a stop and the soldiers began to set up camp around you, you waited for your chance.
The second Drakar turned his back to you, you were off.
Another orc caught you in a heartbeat, hoisting you off the ground until Drakar could come fetch you.
He dragged you off with a huff, scowling at you as he set you down. “Why do you continue to fight and run? I’ve told you of our plans to trade you, you’ll fare better with us than on your own in the wilds.”
“I have no desire to be a bargaining chip against my own people. Besides, I’m no fool. I know good things don’t often happen to soldier’s prisoners.”
He scoffed. “Your soldiers, maybe. We have honor, unlike them. And you call us the monsters.”
“Monsters? Maybe. Uncivilized at the very least.”
“I assure you, your soldiers in my country are living in no more luxury than we are here.”
So you were still in your country, not yet over the border. If you could just get away, your chances were good. “Well, then they’re uncivilized dogs just like you,” you spat.
He never seemed to find your outbursts anything other than vaguely annoying or passively amusing. Right now, he seemed inclined towards amusement, despite your latest escape attempt. It was for the best, that tended to work out better for you. It was irritating nonetheless. “Perhaps.”
Your enlightening conversation was cut short as a horn sounded, a familiar announcing horn. The sound of one of your people. Drakar’s head perked up and before you understood what was happening, your legs were being bound together, untethered but severely limiting your movement. You might be able to move like this, but you couldn’t get far.
He did not feel the need to explain this to you or threaten you with hunting you down, trusting you to come to your own conclusions as he strode off in the direction of the horn.
You might not be able to run, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do anything. The least you could do was try to gather information, so you could be useful when you were saved.
If you were saved.
You managed to scoot your way towards the back of the tent Drakar had retreated to, out of sight of any of the soldiers, just close enough that you could peek under the thick fabric of the walls.
Drakar’s back was to you. You could barely see the messenger from your spot on the floor, his body blocking your vision. You could just see the tip of a feather, presumably stuck in a hat, bobbing as the messenger spoke.
As you got close enough to listen in, you caught Drakar mid-sentence. “- does your king think about our terms for his precious daughter?”
You held your breath, trying not to get your hopes up. This was a war. They couldn’t just be giving in to the first demands given. This could be a long, arduous process. You understood that, would never blame him for it. The country came first.
“The king rejects your terms.” You tried not to let it get to you. You knew this would probably happen, could understand exactly where your father was coming from. The messenger continued on, unaware of your quiet heartbreak. “Furthermore, he would like to close negotiations on this matter.”
You could not hold in the gasp that came at his words. You saw Drakar stiffen and knew he’d heard you, knew he’d figured out exactly what you’d been doing. A moment passed and he untensed his shoulders and continued on. You silently thanked him. You were in no state to face anyone right now.
“What do you mean close negotiations?” he asked, and you choked back tears.
You cursed yourself for putting yourself in such a tight spot. You didn’t think you could manage a quiet escape, at least not without being noticed, not in your current state, so instead you sat, a captive audience to a discussion of why your family had given up on you.
The messenger cleared his throat. “We do not negotiate with beasts.”
“So he chooses instead to abandon his daughter with them?”
The messenger disregarded his words entirely, his voice squeaking as he cried out, “You creatures will pay for the loss of his daughter.”
“She is not lost yet. He is choosing that fate for her, not I,” he hissed out.
“I have said all I was bidden to say. Do you have a message for the king?”
“Tell him if I see him or any of his scrawny little messengers again, I’ll rip them in two.”
With a little yelp, the messenger retreated. Drakar stood for a moment, the sound of his heavy breathing filling the tent.
After a moment, the canvas of the tent was lifted and your hiding place was revealed. You sat, crumpled, on the ground, bile rising in your throat.
That was it. There was no one coming.
He hauled you to your feet, undoing your bindings.
“What did you ask for me?” you asked as he undid the ropes, keeping you propped up on him as he worked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does!” you snapped. You needed to know what was so much more important than you, what you’d been given up for. “You will tell me. I’ve earned that much.”
“A full retreat. It never would have been taken, it was just supposed to be a start to the negotiations.”
“Hmm.” It was a ridiculous ask, obviously so. But to dismiss you completely? To not even try?
Drakar pulled you out of your thoughts with a question. “Would you even want to go back now? If I let you go?”
Your brows furrowed. “You can’t let me go. It would show weakness, show you’ll roll over if your terms aren’t met.”
“I know, it was just a question. So what do I do with you now?”
You shrugged. “You could kill me.”
“No. We won’t be doing that. I should have killed him, though. The audacity of them sending a little snot-nosed fool to tell me negotiations were over. I should’ve gutted him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He spared you a look that said more than you were sure he wanted it to, rage and concern both written across his face. “I had other things on my mind.”
He tried to speak to you again but you’d begun to shut down. It was all too much, you could do no more.
It didn’t seem too unreasonable a reaction. Your life had just ended, severed by your father without even a real rescue attempt.
But even if you’d shut down, the world had not.
And so it continued. Drakar seemed to have decided you were still useful somehow because every day you were hauled along with his troops, and every day you were given your own little tent.
He didn’t keep you tied up anymore. It wasn’t because you’d become docile, you’d attempted many escapes and he’d found you and brought you back every time. You weren’t entirely sure why you were no longer being tied up. Maybe it was because you weren’t valuable anymore.
You didn’t fully understand why you hadn’t been killed yet. What more could you do for them?
As days passed, the grief lessened to more practical thoughts, thoughts about your future. What was there for you now? Why were you still here? What else could they want from you?
You wanted answers.
You stood and stormed off. Several of the soldiers around you went to grab you until they realized that you were not headed out, but instead towards Drakar’s tent, letting you continue on your warpath.
You started to shout as soon as you entered the tent and he whipped around to face you. “You should kill me. Why won’t you kill me? What do you want from me? Whatever it is, I won’t give it. I have nothing to give. I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.”
He watched your outburst with a level of amusement on his face that made you want to attack him. “Are you done?”
You ran at him, trying to claw at him, bite him, anything. He restrained you easily, pinning you against him, but still, it fed something in you, trying to do something.
You felt him chuckle behind you and if you weren’t pinned down, you would have attacked him again.
“See,” he asked, and you felt the rumble of his voice through his chest. “You’ll be fine. You’re a fighter.”
“I will not fight for you,” you spat.
“I don’t expect you to. But you will fight for you. Nothing is over.”
He released you from his grip and before you could decide what to do with your newfound freedom, someone came crashing into the tent, armor shining a bright silver. He stood, ready to attack, sword in hand, but the second he saw you he froze. “You’re dead,” he choked out, words muffled through the metal of the armor.
You didn’t have a chance to respond before Drakar had thrown him halfway across the camp, orc soldiers rushing over to finish him off. He didn't stand a chance.
You stared at the spot he had just been in, processing his words, before slowly turning to Drakar.
“What was that?”
“An attacker. A foolish little man.”
You shook your head. “No not… why did he think I was dead?’
“Princess, the whole world thinks you’re dead.”
You head snapped up to look at him. “Why?”
“Because I told them.”
You reeled back. “Why would you do that? I didn’t ask you to say that.”
“Your people didn’t seem to care.”
“Oh, thank you so much then. As long as they didn’t care, then it’s fine. You speak of honor and then do this. Why? To torture me? Make sure I have nowhere to go and ensure that I know I am not loved?”
You’d had enough of this conversation, turning heel and storming off without another word, set on putting as much distance as possible between you and them.
You vaguely heard orders being barked to follow you, but that didn't stop you from running.
It didn’t change anything. No matter how far you ran, you had nowhere to go.
Drakar didn’t follow you himself, instead sending someone else to do his dirty work. A few orcs stood behind you, easily able to keep track of you and match your pace.
You weren’t even given a full hour of feigned freedom before one of them had picked you up and started pulling you back towards camp. You fought them the whole way.
You were set down in front of him, the whole process embarrassing. You straightened your ill-fitted pants as you desperately tried to regain any ounce of dignity.
Despite your appearance, he didn’t seem amused. “You shouldn’t run.”
“So you saw fit to have me kidnapped? Again?”
“I had to tell them you were dead,” he said, pushing past your outburst.
You scoffed. “You didn’t have to do anything.”
“I have orders to kill you. The negotiations failed, my people wanted you dead. It was the only way out of this for you.”
Oh. There was no reprieve for you on either side. You’d known your father had signed your death warrant with his refusal to negotiate but now the orders had been given.
“Then why am I still here?” you asked, your voice smaller than you would’ve liked.
“It is not just. I will not kill you.”
“So what now?”
“No one knows what you look like,” he said, his voice soft and low. “It doesn’t have to be over.”
It didn’t matter. Both sides had condemned you. You had your life, but nowhere you could live it. “I have nowhere to go,” you said, sounding braver than you felt.
“You’ll find somewhere. Until then, there’s always room for you in my camp. I displaced you, the burden of this wrong falls to me.”
You rolled your eyes. “And none of your men will send word that you’ve kept me here?”
“As long as they get to keep staring at you, I can’t imagine they’d mind.”
Your nose wrinkled at his words. “These are your honorable men? Letting me stay for the right to keep ogling me?”
“It’s not so odd. They’re fascinated by you, such a strange little thing.”
You supposed you were strange and foreign to them, as they were to you. But surely you weren’t the first, not with the combat they must’ve seen. “You’ve seen humans before.”
“Some of them haven’t. At least, not living ones that aren’t trying to kill us.”
“Who said I’m not trying to kill you.”
He snorted. “Well, you’re doing a piss poor job of it.”
“And if I stay? I won’t fight my own people, even if I was trained in combat. You’ll just carry around dead weight?”
“You’re hardly dead weight. I don’t even notice you up on my shoulder half the time.”
“You know that’d not what I mean.”
“I do. There are towns over the border where you could stay.”
You looked up, curiosity gleaming in your eyes. “They’ll take me? A random human?”
He nodded solemnly. “They will, if you wish to depart. If not… I am the reason your people forsook you. I do not regret it, I did what needed to be done, but I regret what has come to pass to you because of it. You’ve faced this better than I ever thought a human would. They’re cowards to have cast you out, I will not follow in their steps. It may not be what you’re used to, I am no prince and we are no humans, but you’re welcome to stay at my home. You will never be a princess again, that was taken from you. I took that from you. It is only fair to give what I can in return. It is not much, but it is what I have.”
You smiled, swallowing down the lump in your throat and willing away the misty feeling in your eyes. “Thank you. I’d love to stay, if you’ll have me.”
It was no great concession from you, you weren’t exactly drowning in options, but it felt like choosing it all the same. It was no less of a choice than your last home had been, born into it and forbidden to ever really leave.
This was being offered to you. You were being given the opportunity to say no. To run.
As much as Drakar had angered and frustrated you in the past week or so, you weren’t sure you’d ever been given this much respect. Real respect, not the fake respect of being placed in war rooms and told to be silent.
You gave him a final nod and a smile, adding a curtsy that you pulled yourself out of halfway through when you thought better of it, tripping over your feet a little as you did.
His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you and you wondered how you’d never noticed it before.
You went to bed that night feeling lighter, freer than you were used to.
As you left your tent the next morning, you almost tripped over a deer carcass left in your doorway.
You backed away slowly, rushing over to Drakar’s tent.
He was barely dressed for the day, the sun having only half risen past the horizon, and gave you a smile and a nod as he saw you rush into his tent. “Good morning, princess.”
You barely let him finish his sentence before you blurted out, “Someone left a dead animal outside my tent.”
He froze, his shoulders tensing.
You watched, waiting for a response and getting none, before adding, “Should I be concerned? It felt like a threat. Maybe they don’t like that you lied for me, that you're protecting me. Maybe they don’t like me like you think they do.”
“It’s not a threat,” he said with a swift shake of his head.
“How could you know?”
He explained it through barred teeth. “It’s an orchish courting gift. You’ve caught someone’s interest.”
Your breath caught in your chest. “Oh.”
“Oh indeed.” None of the tension had left him and he made no attempt to hide his irritation. “It’s odd, an orc taking an interest in such a frail little thing.”
You rolled your eyes. He was clearly upset that one of his soldiers had become distracted with you, maybe even disgusted at the prospect of one of them taking interest in a human of all things. Clearly your bonding the day before hadn’t taken you that far.
“I don’t know, I’ve heard I can be quite charming.”
He ignored your statement completely, shifting closer to you as he spoke. “You should stay close to me until I can find out who left it and tell them off.” He was being strangely protective almost, the disgust you’d assumed would be there instead entirely absent.
“Why would you tell off my suitor? Surely I should do that myself. Besides, why do you even ca-”
Oh.
The reality of why someone courting you would make him protective set in and you looked up at him with wide eyes
You couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that plastered itself across your face. “Well, maybe I’ll accept it. I’ve got no future now, it couldn’t hurt to have a big, strong orc husband.”
He stood a little straighter as he understood the implication. “You seek protection?”
“Hm, I do, thank goodness I’ve finally found a suitable option, I was really starting to worry.”
Frustration flashed through his eyes as he realized what you were doing. “Fine, we should go find this suitor so we can tell him how graciously you’re accepting this courtship. I, for one, will be glad to be rid of you. Now you’ll be someone else’s problem.”
“We should. Unless there’s something you’d like to say?”
His nostrils flared as he glared down at you. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure? Nothing on your mind? Nothing like, I don’t know, having feelings for the, what is it you keep calling me? The weakling you kidnapped?”
He avoided meeting your eyes as he spoke. “Your force of will is admirable. The odds were against you but still you fought.”
You fought the urge to coo at him, at how flustered he looked and how it seemed like he was forcing out every word. You had no doubt he would rather have left you an animal carcass. You preferred it this way.
“I’m going to need you to be more direct than that.” Your voice was patient and kind and you could tell it was making things a hundred times worse for him.
“I had intentions to look into human courting, to find something familiar for you amidst so many new things you’ve been forced into. But given the situation, I suppose I can just tell you.”
“Tell me what?” you asked. You were going to make him say it, you didn’t care how long it took.
“About my intention to court you.”
You giggled at his pained face and he relaxed a little, looking down at you with fondness in his eyes. You wondered when that had begun. You wished you’d been paying attention enough to notice.
“What now?” he asked. “How do your human courtships go? I will do what I must.”
You thought about it, amusement flickering through you at the thought of Drakar trying to uphold the proper etiquette required while courting a princess. But the courting process was long and strained and if you were being honest, you preferred the brutal honesty you’d been given here at camp. “Frankly, I’ve had just about enough of how humans do it. What about you? We can skip the dead animal bit, but what comes next?”
He looked you up and down, some gears turning in his head that you were not privy to.
“I will have to be gentle,” he said, before hauling you over his shoulder and bringing you over to his bed of furs on the floor.
Your eyes widened as the implication set in. You’d been far from the perfect princess, having your fair share of trysts with guards and servants over the years, but this was a different beast.
And then he kissed you and you stopped thinking altogether.
It was desperate and urgent, his lips figuring out how to move against your smaller ones and you reached up, pulling his face closer as he set you below him on his makeshift bed.
He ground down on you, clothed hips moving to meet yours. Your disparate sizes meant to do so while kissing you he was contorted at a strange angle but he certainly wasn’t complaining.
He stopped kissing you, rushing to pull off his off pants, and his cock slapped against your stomach, thick and hard and hot and you wanted him inside you now.
But when it fell against you, it hit just above your belly button and you thought that perhaps your eyes were a bit bigger than your stomach.
He seemed to realize the impracticality of it at the same time you did, a hearty laugh escaping him. “Don't worry, princess, I'll get you nice and stretched out.”
You chuckled nervously. “I don’t know if stretching will be enough.”
He slid down, hitching your shirt up and pressing a gentle kiss on your stomach. “I won’t hurt you. If you’re not ready, that’s fine. There are other things we can do.”
He shifted both of you with ease, pulling you to sit on his chest as he laid back on his bed. You looked down at him, brows furrowed. “What about your traditional orc courtship.”
That pulled another laugh from him. “What part of this do you think has been traditional? The closest we got to traditional was when you bit me.”
You flushed red, recontextualizing the memory and wondering how many of the things you’d been doing to anger him had also been part of traditional orc courtship.
While you were busy blushing, he’d set to work on your pants, wrestling them off of you as he easily manhandled you. You barely helped, halfheartedly kicking them off. You remembered how much you hated being picked up by him when this had begun and how much that had changed. You were loathe to admit it but every time he lifted and moved you so easily, something stirred inside you.
As soon as he got your pants off you were pulled roughly forward, his hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulled you onto his mouth.
He ate you out with just as much urgency as he kissed you with, wasting no time before sliding his tongue through your folds.
His grip was unforgiving, pulling you down so all of your weight was on him.
His tusks dug into your inner thighs and he seemed to pull you impossibly closer as his tongue thrusted up inside of you.
Even his tongue was almost too thick, you walls stretching to accommodate it. You hands grasped at his hair, needing something to hold onto.
His mouth locked over your clit, sucking hard before moving back to thrust inside of you again, hands rising to play with your sensitive bud of nerves as he did.
As you began to fall apart above him, writhing against the onslaught of sensation, he only doubled his efforts.
You arched your back, your thighs clamping down on either side of his head, hips shifting with the waves of your orgasm that suddenly overcame you. He was content to let you ride it out, grip loosening to let you have your control as you moans filled the tent.
You came down slowly and it took a few moments to realize you were still sitting on his face.
You moved to sit beside him on the furs as soon as you did, your face warming.
You shifted your head to rest against him, staring down at his cock as you did. It was impossibly hard and practically pulsing with need, and you made a decision you hoped you wouldn’t regret.
“You know, it can’t hurt to try.”
He sat up immediately, eagerness evident in his face. “You’ll stop me if it’s too much.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.
You gave him a knowing look. “Of course I will.”
He shifted you, lifting you over him and you were happy to give over control. You trusted him.
It felt even bigger pressed up against your entrance than it had on your stomach and you took a deep breath. You waited but as nothing happened, you realized that Drakar was waiting for your signal.
No nodded and he began to lower you, incredibly slowly. As it pushed inside, you knew the girth was more than anything you’d taken before, but it was manageable. The stretch bordered on painful but it was slow and careful enough that you had time to adjust.
And then, as it went further and further, it became too much,
You winced long before he’d bottomed out, about half of it inside you. It was bordering on too painful and you pressed your hands against his chest, shaking your head. “No more,” you said quietly, already weak from your last orgasm.
He didn’t seem to mind, holding you steady as he pressed you close to him, muttering quiet praises to you.
You slowly adjusted, not ready to take more but more than happy with what was already inside of you.
You shifted your hips a little, pushing it against a perfect spot inside of you, letting out a quiet moan as you did.
He put a stop to it fairly quickly, holding you still. “I think I’ll just keep you there. You’re perfect, taking me so well.”
You writhed, trying to get the stimulation you were becoming desperate for but he held you steady easily.
So you tried a new tactic. “Want more,” you said, voice soft and sweet. If that didn’t work you’d try yelling at him, see how that fared.
“Careful, I promised I wouldn’t hurt you. You damn humans, so fragile.”
“I’m not fragile, you’re just too big.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Despite his words, he began to slowly move, shifting out of you before pushing in again, careful to not push past the point where you’d stopped him.
He moved you up and down like it was nothing, careful even as he began to speed up, hips shifting a little to meet you, chasing after your warm cunt as he pulled you back up.
His breathing grew shaky as he did and despite feeling overwhelmed with sensation, you fought to keep your eyes open, to watch him come undone.
As his grunts became more and more unruly, your walls clenched around him at the sight.
He immediately pulled you up, leaving just the head of his cock inside of you as he filled you with thick ropes of come.
His breathing was ragged and his grip on you tightened slightly, pulling you even closer to him.
He looked down at you, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, before pulling you off of him and settling back with you resting on his chest.
You made an absolute mess of him as he did, with no chance of keeping the frankly absurd amount of come inside of you.
He didn’t seem to care at all.
“We’re making a mess,” you said, despite suspecting the objection would fall on uncaring ears.
“You said you wanted an orcish courting, the mess is traditional.”
You weren’t sure if you were cut out for a traditional orc courting, already squirming as your thighs were coated in his spend.
But his chest was warm and his breathing steady and you couldn’t help but settle into the comfort of it.
“I'm gonna fit all of it someday,” you said, meaning it fully.
He laughed. “Brave little thing, aren’t you? Dreaming big.”
You snorted.
“What happens now?” you asked as you snuggled further into him.
“You reject that fool's advances.”
You hummed happily. “I will. I guess I’m lucky I caught your eye, don’t know if I would've survived this if I hadn’t”
“I meant what I said. I wouldn’t have let them kill you. It wouldn't be right. And you would’ve managed even without me. You wouldn't be the first human to sneak away to our side.”
That surprised you. “I wouldn't?”
He chucked, hands running through your hair. “You wouldn't. We're a more accepting group, I've found. Although you are a weak little species, we don’t have much use for you. You’re lucky you're pretty or I don't know if we'd put up with you.”
You scrunched up your nose. “You didn’t decide to court me because you thought I was pretty though.”
“No,” he said, like you both already knew the answer. “I decided to court you because no matter how many times we stopped you, you never stopped trying to run, to fight.”
You sat up with a sudden urgency. “If I said I wanted to go home, to my father, would you let me?”
You watched the panic flash across his face and some selfish part of you hoped it was panic over losing you and not panic over the consequences that could come if you showed up alive after his order to kill you.
He sat with it for a while and you let him, in no rush to pull an answer from him.
Finally, he seemed to find whatever he'd been searching for. “I would.”
“Good,” you said, a smug feeling welling up in your chest, right beside the warmth that had begun to fill you at his answer. “Then I'll stay.”
He tried and failed to hide his smile. “Good. Does that mean you’re done running from me?”
You grinned, knowing full well it didn’t. What would be the fun in that? “We’ll see.”
“I’m sure,” he said as he shifted the two of you, wrapping you up in furs to protect your modesty before picking you up once more, with one arm under your knees and the other below your back, keeping you close to his chest. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, princess.”
#orc x reader#orc#terato#monster bf#monster x human#monster boyfriend#monster x reader#orc boyfriend#orc romance#Bridal carries are also called princess carries and I think it’s so cute that that’s how he picks her up at the end#This wasn’t even the prompt that won the orc poll lol#This is not a democracy apparently
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Price shares everything with his boys. Gear, masks, eye black, weapons, ammo... you name it. So when he's informed he'll have to be away for the holidays, what kind of man would he be if he doesn't share his wife too?
Having known Simon before he became Ghost, John knows how much he struggles with the holidays even years later. It takes a little bit of convincing, telling Simon about his wife and how great she is, reassuring him that she'd be more than happy to have him there as long as he takes care of her needs. Every single one of them.
It started innocently, really, it did. Simon wasn't one for affection, but he found himself sitting closer to you on the couch, arm draped over your shoulder as you cuddled up to him. Simon never knew this much warmth, this level of intimacy and closeness was something foreign to him, muscles so tensed up cuddling with him felt like holding a boulder with arms.
Once his brain realized he was safe, he dared to be touchier. Starting the cuddles himself, holding you close while some show was playing on the background, muffling the lewd sounds coming out of your lips as his long fingers moved inside your wet cunt, his thumb rubbing on your swollen clit.
''That's it...'' He whispers right into your ear as soon as he feels your walls tighten on his fingers, needier and whinier moans leaving your lips as he helps you ride out your orgasm, giving you time to breathe before his hand goes up to your mouth, letting you suck your own cum out of his long fingers before pulling you in for a kiss. His tongue wraps around yours, free hand coming down to rub your needy cunt again until you whine out, holding his wrist and breaking away from the kiss.
''Need more.'' You almost plead as you look up at him, noticing the hesitation dancing on his eyes before he gives in to the desire that has been building up for almost a month. His mouth claims yours again, helping you lay down on the couch while his hands fumble with his belt, barely managing to unbuckle it once he feels his knuckles make contact with your wet pussy.
''Tell me I can have you.'' He's short of begging, brown eyes looking down at you and trying to find any hints of hesitation in your eyes, finding none at all. He manages to pull his hard cock out, laying it down on your stomach while planting soft kisses all over your neck, allowing you to see how deep he'll be inside you. He's big, as you expected, but you're not backing down.
''I'm all yours.'' For now, at least. He adjusts himself to be able to rub the tip of his cock over your folds, a small smile on his lips when he hears your whiny moan at the sensitivity. He sinks into you slowly, giving you time to feel and adjust to every single inch of his cock before he starts moving inside you, lips firmly planted on yours while he begins to pick up the pace.
The sounds of your combined moans and groans and the slapping of skin on skin has you both so distracted that you don't even notice the door opening, the man sneaking on both of you and watching the sinful scene with a smirk pulling on his lips.
''I see you've been busy.'' You tense up and Simon stops his thrusts, about to pull out until your husband speaks again.
''No, no. Keep going.'' There's some hesitancy in Simon as he looks up at Price, waiting until the man gives him a small nod and a reassuring smile before he resumes his thrusts, going deeper and harder than before, not wanting to disappoint his captain.
Your half-lidded eyes are set on your husband, looking at the way he starts to remove his gear, feeling the stress peel off of him as each kilo of heavy equipment comes off of his exhausted body. He turns around to give you a small smile in return, nodding his head once in acknowledgement before he sits down on the couch, legs spread and one hand rubbing his clothed cock up and down. Your body belongs to Simon for now, but your mind is reeling now that your husband is back, looking better than ever even when he's covered in dirt and sweat.
Simon's hand gently clasps your jaw to get your attention back to him, looking deep into your eyes before he's claiming your lips again, thrusts now being slower and deeper, much more passionate. He's not fucking you, he's making love to you while your husband watches. Like a conditioned dog, the sound of John's pants unbuttoning almost gets your attention back on him until Simon's cock hits your spongy cervix, dragging a whorish moan right out of your throat.
''Focus on me.'' He whispers, his words nothing short of an order as he keeps hitting that spot over and over, mind reeling at the way your eyes roll back and your cunt tightens up around him. He's close too, hand coming down between your sweaty bodies just for his thumb to rub your puffy clit in circles. You can hear your husband's footsteps, yet you're too far gone to even look at him no matter how much you missed him.
Simon's stimulation becomes too much as your orgasm washes over you, legs hooking on his waist to pull him even closer as your lips meet again, feeling his fat cock throb inside you as he goes all the way inside you, shooting ropes of sticky cum into your needy cervix. You only break away from the kiss once his head gets pulled back by John, too fucked out to even register the warm cum shooting down all over your face.
#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#ghost cod#simon riley#call of duty#simon ghost x reader#cod mwii#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x f!reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost smut#mw2 smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon x reader#mw2 simon riley#simon riley imagine#ghost simon riley#ghost x female reader#john price cod#john price#price x reader#price x you#price x y/n#jonathan price#captain johnathan price#captain john price#captain price
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ANOTHER ONE
fucking stupid part 2 i did for my yuuji fic for ao3 :) and decided to post here lol
2.1 K words
warnings - 18+ mdni !!, pwp, penis IN vagina, thigh fucking, tummy bulge (+pressin on it), minor headlock action, yuuji is hesitant but not NOT into it, a lot of drool, mentions of sukuna's cannibal past (not sexified)
Yuuji excels at the single most important tenet of being a boyfriend.
Compromise.
A giver at heart and selfless and so, so loving, he practically bends to your every whim - something Nobara and Megumi love teasing him over. Yes, he would crab walk over glass if you so much as asked, but he will not bend to this.
“I don’t trust you,” Yuuji is stubborn on this, and this alone.
“I’m the reason you’re with her!” the red eye stabs him through your bathroom mirror, “You forget that, vermin!”
“You’re literally in my body,” he sighs, “And keep your voice down, I don’t want her hearing us argue,” at the unimpressed stare Sukuna levels him with, Yuuji only sighs louder, “I don’t know why you even think she’ll want you.”
“I know her body more than you could ever hope to, worm,” if Sukuna notices the way Yuuji huffs, he certainly doesn’t let it be known, “Studied it to perfection years ago, and spent my time in solitude remembering every detail. Every stretch mark and curve and swell of fat - I know her body better than you. I know it.”
Well, he was stubborn on this.
“Be nice,” Yuuji grips the smooth counter of your sink, he could never hold out against you and your batting lashes and sweet voice, “I’m taking over the second she seems upset.”
Another low-lidded, testing glare from Sukuna, and Yuuji shakes his head before throwing the bathroom door open.
“Well?” your fingers lace together in your lap, bottom lip tight between your teeth.
Centuries ago, in different bodies, the two of you were in this same position - with a different question on your lips.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Sukuna had settled in beside you, the tatami mat squishing beneath his heavy weight and he still towered over you, “Speak up.”
“Well,” you leaned back, head falling against your pillow and fluttering your lashes up at Sukuna, “Would you eat me?”
Rolling over, Sukuna planted a knee between your legs with two arms holding himself from crushing you, the remaining two curled around your waist, “How do you mean, hm?”
Reaching a hand up, your soft palm cradled the unhardened side of his face, giggling when his tongue lolled against the tip of your thumb, “You know how I mean.”
He did. It’s something you’d mentioned since falling into poor health - a stiff question that leaves his heart cold and skin raised. When he should’ve been used to this. He was. He’d eaten many people before you and, even then, he was certain he'd eat many people after you. You’d fed him. You’d helped Uraume cook his meals. You were used to this.
Sensing his hesitation, you slid your hand from his cheek to ghost your fingertips over his lips. Kissing the pads of your fingers, Sukuna’s lids were low as he stared down at you - and he knew the answer you didn’t want to hear.
“It’d be an honor,” you cooed, because of course you already knew which way he was leaning, “To be with you like that. Forever.”
“Greedy,” he teased, slipping from his knees to sit back. He scooped you up with his hold around your waist to settle you atop his lap, his other two hands cupped your cheeks. Your own hand moved down to the base of his throat, fingers tracing the bridge of his collarbones, “Eating you would be a disservice to this beautiful body.”
The word is nourishing, spring water on a dry tongue. You used to fear a long, drawn-out death (not death, not around Sukuna), you’ve seen these same sunken eyes and shaking hands in others. And you did not find them awe-inspiring. But Sukuna has given you no question if his eyes still fell upon you kindly.
You frowned and he scoffed, “You won’t even think about it?”
But Yuuji has no idea about any of that.
Yuuji sits beside you and takes your hands tightly between his, “I can always come back.”
“I know!” you lean in and kiss his cheek sweetly, “I’m just curious.”
Because there has to be something Sukuna can offer if he insists on maintaining this obsession with you (in front of your boyfriend, no less).
…
“Are you nervous, bunny?”
Your heart beats in your throat. Your palms soak into the sheets when you grip them. Your bottom lip is on the brink of bleeding between your teeth. But no, no you are not nervous.
No matter how much you probably should be. And no matter how much it should’ve taken, Sukuna doesn’t take long to put you on your back - lips locked to yours. He cackles cruelly when you huff after he pulls away.
Sukuna binds your knees together, plush thighs trapped against one another. Releasing one knee just to feed his cock through the wetted spot between your thighs, he quickly flushes his chest against the back of your thighs. Both arms winding around your legs to keep them shut around him.
“So wet from just a little kissing,” he stares down at where the head of his cock peeks out, kissing your clit on the way. He fucks your thighs slowly, taking earnest joy in how you whine.
Your teeth sink into the back of your hand at the sensation of Sukuna parting your lips and bumping your clit with his dick. He groans, deep in the back of his throat, when he can feel that gush of slick from your cunt.
“I knew this brat couldn’t care for my bunny as I can,” he slips from between your thighs entirely to press his tip inside you. Your chest rises in a quick gasp, jerking at the intrusion, “You missed me,” he states simply, settling his weight on his elbows beside your head as he teases slow thrusts, “Cunt’s sucking me back in,” he snickers at your squeaking as his hips speed up, “You missed me so much.”
You have no idea what he’s talking about. But you can’t call him on it when he’s clawing at your sides and thighs to flip you onto your stomach, perking your hips snugly against his.
“I’ve seen him,” his hand presses against your lower belly, thrusting down and deep and hitting that spot Yuuji magically detects and obsesses over - that spot that makes drool humiliate the corners of your lips, “That brat abusing your poor clit. Like you can’t cum without it.”
“Huh…” your mushy brain barely registers the disrespect to your boyfriend, “hey…!”
“Do you wanna show him I can fuck you better?” despite that questioning lilt, you don’t think a response could change his pre-determined mind, “I can make you cum without setting a fire between your legs.”
He pulls out slow and miserable, smoothing the hand not on your tummy down your back and curling into your hair.
Sukuna leans his weight into you when he bottoms out, he laughs watching your cheek smush against your mattress. He laughs as his hand untangles from your hair to squeeze around the soft fat of your hip. He laughs when you wheeze with the springs as he pulls out and thrusts back in, rolling his hips flush against you.
“What a good bunny I have,” he coos, slicking his hot tongue over the exposed flesh of your neck, relishing in how his skin audibly pap, papa, paps against yours. You moan, lightheaded, and your forehead hangs into your pillow. He presses on that spot where he bulges inside you, going mad over the choked gasp in your throat, “My sweet bunny.”
Curling an arm around your throat, Sukuna’s muscles squeeze around the soft flesh of your neck. Desperately, the skin of his chest clings to your back as he leans down, teething at the sensitive spot on your shoulder - the one Yuuji bites and the one he bit for himself centuries ago. Licking the sweat from your body and cackling as you squirm under the slick, wet run of his tongue.
His hips quicken, borderline battering that spot in your cunt to really make you messy. You bury your face into the soft pillow, but Sukuna ‘tsk’s and undoes the arm from your neck to lift your chin. He licks up the drool from your lips and swallows the pitchy moans he’s been starving for from behind Yuuji’s ears.
He consumes you, melding your skin to his and ensuring you cannot leave again.
“Good- “ he grits it between clenched teeth, “girl! Good girl. Good girl,” he grunts each word between thrusts. He groans, thick and gravelly, digging his nails into your soft skin, “My best fucking girl.”
Your face is on fire, the backs of your thighs clinging to Sukuna’s, and the wetness of your cunt stringing between the both of you. Loud, sloppy echoes of that wetness only make the fire burn hotter. You whine, hands scrambling back and clinging to Sukuna’s thighs, nails biting into the thick muscle.
“Aw, you’re squeezing me,” Sukuna refuses to slow down, bouncing your body on his cock from behind, “Are ya gonna cum, bunny?”
And any respect you were trying to maintain for your out-of-commission boyfriend is quickly tossed aside, “Yes! Yes, ‘m gonna cum, Sukuna…!”
“You want me to make you cum?” he reaches both hands down and takes hold of your face, fingers dipping into your open mouth, “Say it, bunny - fuck - say you want me to make you cum.”
As best you can through his fingers parting your lips and pressing on your tongue, you cry, “Please, Sukuna- please, please make me cum. Wanna cum, wanna cum with you, need you to make me cum…!”
“Need me,” Sukuna repeats, palms soft against you despite bullying his cock into your weepy hole, “Need me, need me, need me…”
“Uh… huh,” you whine, the coil in your stomach eats at itself and your thighs shake, “Need you, Sukuna! Need - hah! - need… cum, please!”
“Cum for me, bunny,” he teases his fingers further into your throat, just to see if you’ll remember.
“God- fuck!” your hands cinch around his thighs just as your cunt does to his cock, tugging him closer, deeper as you finally soak him in your cum. Chanting his name with a sugary, soft, “Sukuna! Sukuna! Sukuna!”
You don’t seem to recognize it, the need to cum overshadowing the need to meld your bodies into one.
His cock spits hot cum in your tight, sucking cunt despite the realization. He keeps himself pressed against you, dragging his fingers from your mouth and circling his arms around your soft waist.
Sukuna rolls onto his back, pulling you on his chest and letting his softening cock slip from you. He peppers your raw, marked shoulder in tender kisses - then moving to your neck - then your cheek. He feels your cheeks ball up in a grin under his attention.
Your ditzy head falls against his shoulder and he doesn’t know how much longer he has like this. So he ignores the cooling saliva on his fingers and the mixed cum flowing from your hole and onto his thigh. He never minded the mess before, and he certainly doesn’t mind it now.
“Don’t forget me, hm?” you blink up at him drowsily, “If you ever get tired of that brat.”
You don’t remember asking him to gobble you up, and you don’t remember wanting to clutch his hand in your final moments, but you still see something in him. Something he thought was sealed away long, long ago.
He misses you. Whatever life you shared, he hasn’t been able to mourn.
Giggling, you nod and kiss his cheek. He slips hair from your hair and studies the way you flutter into sleep. Commits it to his memory and lets Yuuji take back the body with little more than a scoff.
You rouse later in the night, feeling your bed dip beside you, a thick warm arm sweeping you into an equally warm chest. A steady heartbeat ba-dumps into your ear. You nestle into the cradle.
“Cleaned ya and then showered,” Yuuji murmurs, lips soft against your forehead, “I take it you liked the big guy?”
Snorting, you nod sluggishly, cheek sticking to his skin, “Mhmm.”
“Good,” he suddenly groans, “Sukuna doesn’t know anything!”
“Mh?”
“I can make you cum without your clit,” he pouts, looking down at you despite your closed eyes, “You believe in me, right, babe?”
“Mhm.”
“Exactly. Thank you!” he kisses your forehead this time, “Alright, we’ll try that another day. Get some sleep already, jeez!”
“Hm!” you huff fitfully.
“Okay, okay,” he whispers, “Shutting up now.”
And, for now, you ignore how right it felt to have Sukuna’s mean fingers fucking your mouth.
~~~
people i think will be into this @moonlitdivination @kingofthe-egirls
#jjk x reader#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna smut#yuuji x reader#jjk drabbles#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x you
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"Better Luck Next Time"
Laios Touden/Reader
Not poofread, I blacked out and this was on my phone notes. English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes
No warnings
600 ish words?
You took out the small notebook out of your apron pocket and braced yourself to go to the table where your regulars had just taken a seat. You couldn't help but stare in spite of yourself. You were capable of appreciating a handsome face, and Laios was rather dashing. In fact, if he would slow down on his rambling, you'd almost want to ask him out. Almost.
There was a certain charm to him, he carried himself with grace and had gained a certain reputation over time- After all, the Touden siblings were an odd pair. You had served them before, they seemed nice enough. Decent tippers, polite. Almost too educated to be mere gold peelers. You had been tempted to ask, but everyone had their own reasons to enter the dungeon.
Now, in the perceived privacy of their table, Laios Touden was happily chatting his sister's ear off, talking about monsters and ghosts. Falin had a dopey grin on her face, matching her brother's energy effortlessly and adding observations of her own in regards to the nature of ghosts, unnerving the nearby patrons.
With an amused huff, you walked towards the oblivious troublemakers and interrupted them by clearing your throat and flashing them your best customer service smile. "Welcome to the Laughing Wolf, what can I get you?"
The knight seemed to jump within his armor seemingly taken completely off-guard by your presence- His posture shifted from relaxed to stiff, back straight as ramrod. The cleric, on the other hand, gave you a placid smile. "Ah, it's the Baraselia lady!"
You blinked owlishly at the bizarre nickname. "Pardon?"
Falin simply tilted her head and pointed at her own head, around the place where your updo was. Your hand reflexively reaches out to the side of your head, grazing the hairpin that held your bun together, and the flower charm that hung from it. "Is that what this is?"
The woman simply turned to look at her brother, your gaze shifted to follow hers. Poor Laios seemed to be shaking in his seat, face beet-red. "They are a… A plant in the dungeon. They trap things and use them as fertilizer and are strong enough to crush bone…"
"Huh?- Is that a good thing?" You took off the pin, hair cascading free as you brought the item in front of you and scrutinized the delicate ceramic flower charm. You hadn't given it much thought when you bought it, in all honesty. It just was a cute white flower with purple accents.
"Yes!" The knight startled you out of your trance with his zealous response. "It's beautiful and strong, and it's… It does- That is…"
You never thought you'd see the oldest Touden so flustered, much less when it came to talking the inhabitants of the dungeon. He was, after all, known to be enamoured by monsters and rather oblivious- To the point he would infodump any bystander that showed an iota of interest on monsters.
Your brow furrowed in concern. "Are you feeling okay? You look…off. Are you sick?" The thought made your chest tighten. These siblings were already wearing clothes in such a rough state, they didn't seem like they could afford proper medical care. "Hang on! I'll whip you up something."
And with that, you stormed away, slamming your little notebook shut and shoving it inside your apron's pocket.
Once you were out of sight, Laios' body slumped, not unlike a puppet getting its strings cut, face first into the table "Hnngg".
His frustrated (and rather pathetic) whine elicited a small chuckle from Falin, who gave her brother a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#laios touden#laios dungeon meshi#Laios x Reader#dungeon meshi x reader#set before canon#his autism rizz is too powerful and i want to smooch his dumb face#no beta we die like men#one shot#shoutout to me for getting on yet another obscure fandom whoop#i have an idea of sorts for a sequel but it would be after the ending of the manga and i think i ran out of writing juice...
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*:･｡☆ warnings: heavy gore, torture, hurt/comfort, whump, s/a towards reader, men being gross, gunshot wounds, stab wounds, blood and violence, branding (torture method), waterboarding (torture method), reader (thaye) is a badass, first kiss, dismemberment of fingers, eye trauma, protective!ghost, implications of smut/sex, aftermaths of torture. (there is probably a lot i missed, but idc lol all the other shit should b enough warning!!)
〔☆〕 desc: you and the 141 are deployed to austria with the intel of a drug boss known as rolmuth who is harboring romanian soldiers to the east coast to smuggle illegal mercenary personnel into america. what happens when a rapid snowstorm picks up and you (callsign 'thaye') are separated from the others then further captured and interrogated alongside your lieutenant?
—✩ PHANTOM TOUCH ✩—
word count —15.6k
a/n: sorry for my inactivity! the entire time i was workin on this shit... let me tell you.. this is 51 pages on google docs LMAO so i hope the length and word count makes this fat fucking hurt/comfort one shot worth it.
VIENNA, AUSTRIA.
“Move, move, move!” Price yells.
Snow fell and blanketed the ground beneath you, you were dressed in white camouflage tactical gear.
Your movements were slower as you trudged yourself through the snow, you turned in every direction searching for your captain.
Your lieutenant.
Anybody.
Rapid snowy winds smacked you in the face, nearly forcing your eyes shut as you traveled through the gusts.
“Soap?!” You shout, planting your feet below into the patches of snow,
Your arms raise to cover your face.
“Fuck!”
“Thaye!” A voice echoed through the snow that encased you in a blanket of long silence.
Snow nestled into the ground below—everything around you seems to just slow down.
You traipse yourself heavily through the thickness around you as you snap a clip into your M4 carbine, swinging it behind you like it had been previously.
Thump.
Your head droops down and you feel your heart drop into your stomach seeing the body of one of the men you were deployed with face up.
His head four inches deep in the snow and his right eye completely destroyed, his chest marred with several bullet wounds.
The root of his nose is fractured to the point where it’s flattened into what’s left of his skull.
You swallow the knot in your throat that might have also been barf trying to make its way out of you, kneeling down to peel the soldier’s dog tags off of his corpse.
Hudson “Scooter” Wheeler.
It makes you smile slightly, your thumb dragging over the metal tag to wipe off the thickness of blood that had coated the carving of his name.
“I’m sorry, Wheeler.”
The loss of fallen soldiers leave footprints and engravings on one’s heart that never allows them to be the same, again.
You wished sometimes you could just be without the worry about who you have to lose and who you have to save.
Restless nights followed by mornings and afternoons full of nothing but unpromised resolutions. You nearly felt as if insanity would be a better route than going through the pain of losing the people you stood side by side with, enduring the effects of grief, bloodshed, and war.
Although there were moments of bonding and camaraderie that were forced to turn into utter gore and distrust due to the change of the objective that deemed those to turn against one another in hopes of survival and success.
Pride; a fickle sense that could drive an individual to the depths of madness and create a staked claim to prove more power then they own or deserve.
You didn’t understand it. Nor did you want to.
You were left in a society where the drabness of gray ruled the world and pain of loss clenched to the soldier’s hearts almost desperately.
And yet that perpetual colour of gray; a colour so dull but so compelling, it still lights the depths of hell you lived in by merely a petite dose.
Your mouth had begun to feel tacky with your muscles stiffening as the weather conditions intensify by every fleeting moment.
Inside your combat boots, you feel your feet begin to grow numb; similar to the feeling of stepping on fresh-cut grass and grazing dull needles.
Now, you wonder what hypothermia would feel like. You weren’t used to this sort of weather.
Even under your white half-face balaclava, you felt your lips and their absence of moisture.
Still, you trekked forward, squinting eyes searching for any sign of life around you.
Your face lights up at the sight of a shadow-like movement through the blistering storm and rapid winds once you wipe off the frost lingering on your goggles.
They moved closer—it seemed to be one person.
There’s a tree to your left—your legs manage to jerk themselves through the snow until you're beside it.
You cautiously lower your body into the snowpack below you, clutching your rifle in your grip while your eyes fixate on the moving figure ahead of you.
Your finger grazes over the trigger of your carbine rifle.
A leg comes before the torso, then the face.
The skull mask.
Ghost.
Relief washes over you immediately—raising to your knees.
“Lieutenant!” You call.
His head immediately snaps in your direction, and the time spent staring at each other seemed everlasting, though in reality it was just a few seconds before his large hand was squeezing your shoulder and he was right in front of you.
“Thought we lost’ya,” Ghost rasps.
“What’s the sitrep?”
“Enemy force has ordnance on standby—Price ordered all units to the West Safehouse,” he says.
You nod softly.
“Why’d you hang back?”
His eyes widen under his balaclava and you open your mouth to speak—Ghost tugs you by your vest, pulling you to the side.
“Gh—“
There’s a person behind him.
Sounds muffle around you, complete silence surrounding you as Ghost’s head is slammed with the butt of a rifle.
Your hands reach down to pull your handgun from off of your hip, pointing it towards his attacker, squeezing on the trigger and unhesitantly dropping him to the ground before he can double back and finish him off.
No words leave your mouth as you turn in one quick jerk, the barrel of a L1A1 being aimed between your eyes.
Not even seconds later was the thick handle of a bowie knife met with the back of your head.
Immediately, your body meets with the snow, and you feel the coldness of the snow over your mask.
You struggle to pick up your head, pain surging in the back of your head enough to blur your vision.
Keeping your eyes open was a challenge—they constantly blink shut as you watch the enemy force yell at each other, manhandling Ghost by ripping his weapon sling off of him and dragging him by his fur-lined parka.
His body was dragged up into a Humvee and roughly thrown in before you were picked up by your ankles and wrists and tossed right on top of him.
Your head slumps against Ghost’s bicep as you're washed up by incapacity, your mind fogging against your will. Enervation holds you captive and sweeps you off your feet.
You’re met with blackness, next, yet the only thing you could think of was your failure to protect your superior.
☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆
You awoke to the sounds of struggling—something teetering on the floor.
It takes a moment for you to come to your senses and stir from unconsciousness, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings.
The ever-present smell of waste and deteriorated flesh smacks you with reminiscence, the overbearing cold, the taste of grime, blood, and bile in your mouth.
When you go to move your hands, they’re immobile; binded by thick ropes that with your state of exhaustion and physical weakness, would be impossible to escape from.
Your heavy head manages to shift for oneself to observe the room—your gear was purloined, leaving you in your cargos and a tank-top.
Below you, the ground was concrete and stained with blood that led to the large metal door that had a closed hatch.
Vaguely, you recall in short and brief flashes why you were there, your eyes shutting for a few moments before opening once again.
Ghost.
Where was Ghost?
“Lieutenant,” you cough. “Ghost, wh—“
“‘M here, kid.” Ghost wheezes. “To’yr left.”
Your head turns, stopping at the sight of his mask on the concrete, blood smeared across the maw of the skull, over the eye socket.
“Ghost, are you injured?”
“No.”
Slowly, your eyes trace up the ground beneath you until Ghost’s boots are in view.
His soles skid against the ground as he attempts to drag the dentist chair he’s strapped in. “Fuck!”
You shift in your wooden seat in an attempt to reach your hand down to pull up the velcro flaps of your cargos. You couldn’t reach.
Ghost’s boots stop skidding against the floor as the metal door’s rusted hinges creak, the door being flung open to welcome a man inside—three other men were behind him holding military grade rifles with drum magazines.
The man inside the room raises his hand, offering departure in the Hindi language, to which his men shut the door behind him.
His arms were wrapped behind his back, the sound of his heavy boots echoing off of the thick stone walls.
He walks around the room for a while, allowing you to raise your head to take in who he was.
A European man that’s approximately 184 centimeters with long pushed back shaggy dark hair; his eyebrows arched, a bushy beard.
On his cheek, a nasty deep laceration scar that reaches the end of his eyebrow. Under his left eye, another scar reaches the bridge of his nose.
The man is inches from your face, now, a tilt in his head.
“We see how long it takes to break you, Sergeant.” His eyes crinkled as his lips upturned in a depraved smile.
He lifts himself from his bent position, grips the crest rail of the chair, and pulls you farther from Ghost.
“Who is your commanding officer?” He asks, feet spread apart as he looks down at you to assert his dominance.
“Fuck you.” You bite back.
The man’s hand roughly takes hold of your chin, tilting your head up towards the dangling ceiling light.
“I eat boys like you for breakfast.”
Ghost chuckles beside you.
His eyes narrow as he releases a choked scoff, his head swinging back before bursting into laughter.
“My drug ring reigns across the entire country—my men swarm all city.”
His accent is thick, though his English isn’t terrible.
“It is either you tell me now and you and friend die quick, or you die slow of bleeding until we find on our own.”
“Good fuckin’ luck,” Ghost grunts.
You swallow thickly, groaning as the man pulls your head back by the scalp of your hair.
You purse your lips as you collect saliva from the walls of your mouth, spitting just above the man’s eyebrow and watching as the gob runs down over his eye.
He snarls, dragging an open hand down his face. Using that same hand, the male flexes his hand into a fist and socks you in the jaw.
“Hey!” Ghost shouts.
You hear it pop and you immediately outstretch your neck and slam your forehead into the bridge of his nose, arms jerking in an attempt to escape your restraints. “You motherfucker!”
He lets out a groan, his head flinging back as blood streams down his nostrils, his hand trembling over his nose.
“Bitch! Madarchod! Bevakooph veshya…” He hisses through clenched teeth. “Broke my nose!”
His palm smacks you across the face so hard, a pinkish red hue starts blossoming across your cheek. He repeats it again, then again, and again.
You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself as numbness circles inside the flesh of your cheek, a similar feeling to those static electricity globes that you’d get for your twelfth birthday and press all five of your fingertips against.
“Hey! This is between you an’ me, a’right?” Your lieutenant gives a sharp nod, trying to reason with the man.
He stares at Ghost for a few moments, squeezing his fingers in his fist before leaving the room, the door slamming loudly behind him.
You take the moment to actually look at Ghost, your eyes taking in his features entirely.
From his long and messy dirty blonde undercut, to his shade and stubble.
To his bruised and bloodied lips and the thick scar running from his top lip to the underside of his chin.
To his thick and beautiful eyebrows, the scar on the start of his left eyebrow, running down to the bridge of his nose.
To his deep and all familiar brown eyes—long and light eyelashes accompanying their shape.
To the scar that spread out from the right inner corner of his lip and across his cheek as if it was the engravings of a smile line.
There were several scars littered across the male’s face; each one of vast distinction from the other.
Once again, the door thrusts open and the man returns, cotton wads up his nostrils with another male by his side, pushing in a rolling mayo stand with different tools and items you assumed were torture devices.
“Hey! Hey! What’re y’doing?” Ghost jerks in his seat, his eyebrows furrowing as the man picks up a syringe, flicking the glass and squeezing out a droplet of the liquid inside. “What th’fuck is that?”
“You will have your answer soon enough,” he simply replies.
“Agarwal—blade.”
The second man grabs the rotary tool from off the tray, a saw blade in the other.
Your hands tug against their bindings enough to chafe your wrists, it feels as if your skin is being shredded with a cheese grater.
“Paip rinch, ab.” The taller man holds out his arm, to which the man who was now identified as Agarwal hands him a pipe wrench.
“English, asshole.” You grunt.
He slings it over his shoulder and slowly walks towards Ghost as he whistles.
Ghost’s eyes don’t avert from his gaze, even as the pipe wrench drops from off his shoulder to clatter on the floor, hanging from his wrist and dragging along the ground.
“Who…is…your…superior?” His voice is grim, each word coming out as he takes a step.
Using the hook jaw of the wrench, he lifts Ghost’s chin.
“Piss off,” the blonde huffs.
Not even seconds later does the man swing the wrench around and belt it into his stomach. Ghost lets out a wheeze, his body lurching over in reaction to the sudden pain coursing through him.
“No!” You yell.
“Who.” He asks again with spite in his tone—he was demanding, it no longer was a question in his favor.
“You’ll know who when he comes’a knockin’ ‘n blows lead thru th’lot of ya.” Ghost says with a slight raise in his head.
The wrench is swung back into his stomach, causing Ghost to hurl and expel vomit onto his boots.
“Leave him the fuck alone!” You kick yourself forward a bit using your boots. Agarwal’s hands grip the slat of the chair and pull you back towards the tray.
“No, no,” he nearly coos, yanking your head back by the thinner group of hairs on the nape of your neck.
You clench your jaw and subside, lifting yourself up with your hips to help avoid the pain.
His eye’s strain, beads of sweat rolling down the end strands of his hair regardless of how cold it was inside of the formidable room.
“Get me my player,” the bearded man says as he trails his 12” redwood handle knife across Ghost’s jawline.
Agarwal’s hand releases your hair to your relief and he leaves the room.
“Disgusting—“ the male snarls. “Making mess of my floor.”
Your eyes narrow as you watch a pool of blood start to form as he slashes Ghost’s cheek, a groan spilling from your lieutenant’s throat.
“Fuck you ‘n y’r floor,” Ghost coughs.
He drops the wrench to the floor, then uses a rag that was hanging out of his pocket to swipe off the blood from the knife’s blade.
Two men walk in, one pushing in a record player and the other holding a tactical vest and a book.
Your vest and your book.
His name patch reads “Gamble”, the one who throws your vest and the book onto the floor.
“Rolmuth, the woman—she has had access to our radio frequency and has been writing down our shipment codes and locations.”
Ghost’s head raises, his pupils shrunken as he takes in the sight of the morse code book.
The man holding the knife cracks his head in your direction before proceeding towards you.
“Thaye…” he susurrated.
You don’t flinch when his arms raise to swing the knife over towards your temple, a maniacal laugh escaping through the barriers of Rolmuth’s teeth.
The knife lowers to release one of your hands, though before you can reach for anything, he slams your arm backward against the back leg of the chair, the feeling of your bones snapping beneath your skin causes you to let out a sharp, excruciating cry as your now-broken arm falls limp to your side.
“Thaye!” Ghost shouts. “Fuckin’ bastard…”
“How?!” Rolmuth yelled through his teeth, lips drawn back in a snarl as he nearly foamed out of his mouth.
His fist meets with your cheek and your eyes squeeze together in grimace to the pain as he punches you again.
Ghost calls out your name and you can hear the metal of his chair scrape and grind against the ground.
You feel your cheek begin to swell, the tender flesh on your face blooming into purple and blue bruises.
He walks to the record player and takes a record out of its sleeve that was resting on the shelf of the small table the player was brought in on. It has wheels on it—similar to the mayo tray.
Rolmuth blows on the record, though the sleeve looks too clean to hold any dust, then places the record on the platter. After pressing play, he drops the tone arm down.
The record scratching sends chills up and down your spine before the music almost beautifully fills the room.
Why does the sun go on shining?
You watch Rolmuth pick up a pair of pliers.
Why does the sea rush to shore?
You wonder if he’s going to try to rip out your teeth.
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,
He clasps them around one of your fingers on your broken arm.
Fuck.
The cold metal around your finger makes you nearly want to cry.
‘Cause you don’t love me anymore?
He was going to rip off your finger.
“Who is your captain?” His hand squeezes the pliers, applying pressure to your singular finger.
“Go…to hell—“
A scream rips itself from your throat as you feel your sinew and flesh tear, the pliers tearing your finger from off your bone.
“Tha’s enough!” Ghost jerks and flails in his seat, there’s a sip of panic in his voice. “Get th’fuck off of her!”
Why do the birds go on singing?
Rolmuth wriggled the rest of your finger off, your eyes daring to skim down to look at the bone sticking out from your knuckle.
Blood spews out of the gore, coating your entire hand and dripping from the crevices of your skin into your lap, staining your cargos, turning their white color into several distinct shades of red.
Rolmuth sets the finger—your finger down lightly on the standing metal tray besides you.
Why do the stars glow above?
A penetrating ringing fills your ears; one so loud it felt like it’d be the cause of your tears instead of the pain surging through the entire left side of your body.
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?
You’re in shock, unable to speak. Your jaw is locked, your teeth are clenched so hard it feels as if you might shatter your teeth.
It ended when I lost your love.
Ghost’s voice echoes in the back of your mind, when he calls out your name, you’re pulled out of your trance. You jerk your slumping head up.
You want to call out his name, but it seems like your throat is swallowing every little word that is being screamed inside of your head.
The room is spinning and you can’t feel your arm, you can’t feel the finger move that was just severed from your hand.
“Look at me, look at me, love…” your lieutenant simpers.
Your eyes search the room until they land on Ghost’s, he sounds far away. You feel your eyes widen as cold metal wraps around another finger once again.
Why does my heart go on beating?
Rolmuth’s lips close in near your ear as he tugs lightly at your middle finger.
“You don’ want to lose this finger, do you?” You feel the man’s hot breath run up the side of your face and brush past your ear.
“Who…is…your...captain?”
Why do these eyes of mine cry?
Every nerve in your body seized, your spine stiffening with every urge to kill the man standing beside you.
Ghost coughs up blood; internal bleeding.
“I’ll fu…cking…skin you…” you croak, your words finally becoming coherent.
He laughs. Rolmuth’s single arm raises in a humorous gesture of surrender.
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?
Your eyes squeeze shut, though shoot open at the rush of heat, the pliers applying clutched pressure to your finger before Rolmuth started ripping off the second finger, wiggling it until it broke off skin and sinew.
It ended when you said “goodbye.”
“Look at me, Thaye.” Ghost’s voice sounds desperate, so you offer him a short glance as your jaw slacks and your body retracts.
Your strained eyes snapping to the bearded man as he places down your middle finger on top of your pointer finger.
A gag surfaces in your throat and your body twitches as you watch your finger fall and roll almost as if it’s the most natural thing.
Ghost yells your name again.
You finally focus on him, your eyes welling up, reddening and puffing against your will.
“Jus’ look at me, angel,” Ghost’s silked voice calms you, although in a manner you can’t hear him as well as you want to.
Every muscle and ligament inside of you feels tense and stuck.
Why does my heart go on beating?
You had three fingers on your left hand—three fingers.
Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring.
“Y’ll kill her, she’s losin’ too much blood—she’s goddamn delirious!”
Gamble’s fist barrels into the side of Ghost’s head, you hear a feral groan leave his gullet.
At least I can still put a wedding ring on my left hand. You thought.
Those three fingers trembled and twitched, it was the only movement on the left side of your body besides for your left eye—is he going to take one of my eyes? Your head is swarming with thoughts.
“Ghost…” you slur, still locked onto the blonde’s eyes.
“I know, love,” he says as gently as he physically can. “So proud of’y…”
His speech comes out as a garble, but you’re still able to understand him.
“‘M gon’ get us outta here…alive, a’right?”
Your head slumps at the attempt of a nod.
“Save y’r energy, lovie.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Agarwal grips Ghost’s earlobe, pulling him closer. You’re not able to cognize his words, but you’re aware of the vexation in his countenance.
You flinch once Rolmuth drops the pliers on the metal tray. He removes his latex gloves that were blanketed in your gore and throws them onto your lap.
“Clean them up—she still is of use to me.” His voice grows more distant as he leaves the room.
Gamble injects Ghost with a syringe that was hanging off of his waist, casting him with drowsiness, his eyes struggling to keep open before he’s blacked out.
“What did you do—…what did y’do to him?” Your eyebrows stitch together. “What did you do?!”
They unstrap his arms from the chair, then his ankles.
“Answer me goddamnit...” You seethe, tears warping in your eyes.
“Shut the bitch up,” Gamble nudges Agarwal in the shoulder before he pushes Ghost further out of his restraints, his body still and unconscious allowing the scarred man to bind his wrists with zip ties.
Agarwal simply nods and paces toward you. The stock of his gun smashed into your jaw before you could react.
☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆
DAY TWO.
The woman in the doorway was bedraggled; tired eyes and shrunken tear-stained cheeks.
There’s a light illuminating from the pulled-back curtains—a light so bright it could dry the shining tears that spill out scarlet fluid over the eyes of the miserable.
You feel only patient while waiting for the morning sun to rise over the horizon line of the ocean side.
It’s deteriorating yet caliginous frame of murky grey stone and vast sorrow of an arched entrance sat in disposition from harrowing memories filled with bloodshed, grief, and war.
Your face relaxes at the distinctly ravishing but delicate overcasted ray of light shot down from the amidst along the ruins, the melancholy ambiance nearly sent chills down your spine.
Heavenly cries of forgotten mothers begging for forgiveness of their past sins, children's playful and beatific screams, although it was nothing unknown to you.
Screams were usually followed by split rib cages and bullet wounds—tears, blood, those screams and sweat, you went through it all just for it to lie unheard and forgotten.
You searched the odd and seemingly afterlife-like realm with your eyes, you could only wonder where you were, and why you were there.
Why the flowy white dress draped over your body oscillated with the wind in a gorgeous motion.
You're lifting your head out of the water now.
The taste of salt seems so thick, heavy. Like you could drown in it. Like you could get drunk off of it.
The waves crashing onto shore sound so loud atop the eerie silence, their white crests phasing through your body as if your presence was unknown to them.
You loved the ocean because as opposed to the ones who were supposed to; the ocean loved you and was never afraid to come too close, even at your worst.
As you move farther from shore, the water slowly travels up your body, submerging your frame.
You close your eyes as your head is the last thing the water consumes. You feel the water bubbles tickle your skin and elevate themselves up to the surface.
It doesn’t take long for that familiar burn inside your lungs and that familiar feeling of being gagged by the water to swarm your senses.
Your head jerks up and you let out a loud gasp as you fade into consciousness, slipping into colored imagery instead of just monochrome.
Waking up felt like hell; your mouth was dry and most of your limbs felt unresponsive.
Only when you see Ghost curled up on his side, laying on the floor in front of you, are you able to register where you are and what’s going on.
His knees bucked up into his abdomen with his hands zip tied behind his back and his face battered and bruised.
Specks of dried blood ran from his scalp down his face reaching his compression undershirt.
He was asleep.
There was a gentle rise and fall with his chest—you could still hear his labored breaths from where you were.
It felt colder.
Your eyes wander down to your left hand that was wrapped in bandages that were stained red, your two fingers missing and replaced with nubs that were uneven from each other.
If your arm wasn’t broken, you could use it to break the leg of the chair and wield it against the next person to walk through that large metal door that made you wonder if it was life or death upon you.
If your fingers weren’t missing, you could use them to untangle your restraints on your other hand.
You could barely move your wrist—the pain that swells your entire arm makes it nearly impossible.
Ghost stirs on the floor, his body curling into itself further before his legs straighten out.
“Lieutenant,” you mumble. “What did they do to you…?”
His eyes flicker to yours.
“‘M alive, aren’t I?” Ghost says.
His voice is so hoarse and weak—he sounds dehydrated.
“You are.”
Your eyes close a moment to allow yourself to breathe in the air around you.
The single door breaking up the dull room that held them hostage creaks open on rusted hinges allowing Rolmuth to enter.
Two different men from the day prior push in the same record player and the same rolling metal tray that was stained with your blood.
“Rise and shine,” one says, his boot meeting harshly with the lower section of Ghost’s back.
The blonde’s eyes stay intent on the movements of Rolmuth as he lifts up different record sleeves to read their names. He slides one out and places it on the platter.
That familiar sizzle fills the room before the gentle hum of the music begins.
A short gasp leaves your mouth as Rolmuth kicks down your chair by the back stile, your head immediately jerking forward before it slams down onto the cement floor.
He dismisses the two of his men.
Rolmuth’s hand levitates over the tray and he grasps an old tan hand towel, draping it over your face.
You can hear the buckle of Ghost’s pants tink lightly on the floor as he jerks himself. “Fuckin’ bastard!” He yells.
I don’t want to set the world on fire.
It was going to be okay, you told yourself. You trained for this. Truthfully, you were one of the best swimmers on the task force. You can hold your breath—but if that rag manages to cave in, you’ll most likely panic and lose focus.
I…just want to start a flame in your heart.
“Are you ready for talk, now?” Rolmuth arches over you.
In my heart, I have but one desire…
Your voice muffled, you call him something along the lines of an asshole and a prick, which is quickly silenced by the pressure of water that smacks you in the face.
And that one is you, no other will do…
Ghost watches the man pour a jerry can of water over your face. His breath hitching in his throat watching your body twist and turn trying to evade from the water.
I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim
Your body arches up in protest, head jerking side to side as if it would make it any more easier on you.
I just want to be the one you love…
Focus on the music, you tell yourself. You can barely hear your own voice.
And with your admission…that you feel the same,
Rolmuth’s smile is ear to ear as he continues tipping the canister over your cloth-covered face.
I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of, believe me…
You violently thrust your body, panic surging through you as you feel water invade and swallow your lungs.
I don’t want to set the world on fire…
Involuntarily you gasp and choke in more water, you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head.
I…just want to start…a flame in your heart.
Your throat was burning like scolding lava, your heart throbbing inside your chest threatening to rupture. You don’t dare to make noise.
You’re gagging, gasping, sputtering. That you can’t handle. But you don’t let yourself cry. Not like this.
I don’t want to set the world on fire, honey,
The music is starting to garble.
Why is it starting to sound so distorted? You ask yourself.
I…—you too—uch.
“Stop, y’ll fuckin’ kill her! Bloody tosser!” Ghost grits his teeth before spitting out words.
Now that you have the chance to think about it, that song reminds you of someone.
I just want to start…
Your grandfather—you’d sit on that circular crocheted rug and listen to that song as him and your grandmother baked apple fritter.
A great big flame…
He loved that woman more than life itself; when she’d started to get sick with bone cancer, he helped her bathe, he helped her eat, get dressed.
Down in your heart.
Your mother told you about how he had asked her doctor to keep the fact that she only had three weeks left to live just between them.
You see, way down inside me,
She was still happy. So happy. He wanted to spend those last three weeks with her. He retired from his job and took her to all the places she’d talked about visiting.
Darling, I have only one desire.
She passed away, and he spent every day doing all her favorite things. He watered her plants, he baked. He listened to her favorite songs.
And that one desire is you,
He adopted a puppy—a beautiful Australian Shepherd which he named after her. Your mom would say that your grandma’s being was reincarnated into that dog.
And I know nobody else ain’t going to do.
Would that happen to you too? Who would you want to belong to? What kind of dog would you be?
A deafening ringing fills your ears, you finally stop fighting. Breathing.
“She’s not movin—“ Ghost wheezes. “She’s not fuckin’ movin’!”
He was trained for this. He couldn’t break. He couldn’t.
“Enough!” The blonde yells again.
They could crack him, but they can’t break him. They wouldn’t kill her.
Rolmuth finally puts down the canister and removes the rag from off your face, his body bends over to lift your chair back up.
Your body twitching, struggling to release the water clogged in your gullet
“Wake up, bitch,” he snaps and his open palm cracks against your cheek. Your eyes shoot open.
Your mouth opens, your strained and bloodshot eyes widen with horror as you vomit out water, sputtering between your lips as you hack and gag.
The taste of bile is sickening to your empty stomach.
Ghost calls out your name, catching your attention as you stabilize from your state of stupor.
“So proud of’ya, Thaye,” he groans. “Y’r strong, ‘lright? We’ll kill these bastards, all of’em.”
You can hardly spare the man a small nod before your chin is grabbed by Rolmuth’s uncut nails—blood and dirt caked underneath them.
“You tell who you are work for, I consider sparing life.” Rolmuth runs a blade across your cheek, increasing the pressure slightly to slit your skin—a feeling similar to a paper cut. You moan in pain. “Your friend I can not speak for.”
Blood trickles down from the incise, slowly flaring through your cut and pushing from the barriers beneath your top layer of skin.
“F…uck…—“ your silenced by sudden metal on your tongue, scraping gently like a threat.
“I will carve out ur pretty little tongue, cut it in bits, and feed it to you.” Rolmuth coos. “Would you that, yes?”
“Y’sick fuck, get th’fuck away from ‘er!” Ghost attempts to jerk himself up, the bonding on his ankles not allowing him to, his bruised ribs protesting in pain as he lets out a sharp breath.
Your eyes burn into his, your neck flinching as he slowly pushes the blade farther down your throat, his hand prying your mouth open.
He chuckles lowly, small “ah’s” leaving him as he slowly opens your mouth farther to allow the tip of the knife farther down. You salivate, drool racing down your chin and over the creep’s knuckles.
Ghost’s eyes divert from your face to the man’s hands. Disgust laced in his features.
He swallowed thickly, he could feel his skin boiling. He wasn’t angry.
Pissed.
He was incensed.
More than that.
“G..host…” your slightly muffled voice trembles.
His gaze fixes back on yours, watching as your left eye twitches at each of Rolmuth’s motions.
“I know, love…J’s look at me, ‘lright? J’s look at me.”
It presses onto the skin of your tongue, it’s curved edge digging into the fragile skin and tissue causing the metallic taste of iron to taint your sense of taste.
You still bore into your lieutenant’s gaze.
Saliva and blood dribbles down your neck, the sight no doubtedly arousing the male in front of you—his tongue leapt out to slowly trace along his bottom lip.
You might drown in your own saliva at this rate.
Your lieutenant purses his dry and cracked lips, but he doesn’t look away.
He takes the blade out of your mouth, rubbing it against the cloth of his pants to clean it.
Rolmuth raises the knife and pierces your thigh, the feeling of cold metal hitting you first along with the shock, the sound of cloth tearing.
“I want names!” The man hollered, spit landing on your face just below your eyes.
Ghost watches your pupils shrink, his own eyes widening and slowly shifting to your thigh.
An intense tingling sensation swarms your entire leg, then a heat. A heat that felt unbearable.
Ghost searches for your eyes again, his mouth moving, though you can’t hear anything he says.
He broke through skin and sinew, twisting the knife inside of the laceration.
“Talk, bitch!” Rolmuth’s eyes darken.
It takes a few moments for the pain to surface, and when it does, it’s scorching. Your jaw slacks open as your eyebrows pinch together, a shrill whimper escaping you.
“Don’ look, don’t.” Ghost pleads with you. Even he was struggling not to look at your thigh.
It didn’t take eyes to tell there was blood bubbling from the wound and dripping down your pants and trembling leg.
A narrow vertical split across the midsection of the flesh of your thigh. Your eyes didn’t leave Ghost’s.
Was his hair bleached? It seemed like such an unnatural shade of blonde. Brunette underneath. He must bleach it himself.
Rolmuth gave it one more twist, releasing a thin, raw, scream from your throat.
Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them get the satisfaction of that from you. Especially not you.
“They’ll b’ere soon, Thaye.” Your lieutenant says.
“You are weak,” Rolmuth spits. “You will break.”
He rolls his shoulders before gripping your pointer finger and holding a jab saw above it.
Your eyes flicker to Rolmuth’s and Ghost calls your name.
“I want a name!” Rolmuth’s scream makes your head spin.
“Fuck y—“ your voice is replaced with a high pitched cry followed by gasps and whimpers as Rolmuth’s new blade carved through sinew and bone. He lifts up your finger against the blade and with one swift movement, your finger falls onto the floor.
“I’ll fuckin’ kill you, y’bastard!” Ghost’s lips twitching in pain mixed in with a whole lot of anger.
Your body jumps up, an animalistic noise escaping your throat as you swing your head back and wince loudly, the pain in your thigh
“Name! Or I take another!” Rolmuth yells just inches from your face.
You couldn’t handle it—your vision is swarmed by black spots and your head is killing you. Your body is in so much pain you feel so much, but so little all at the same time.
When your eyes roll to the back of your head and lolls, you can faintly hear the man yell ‘shit’ before you’re unable to comprehend what is happening.
Everything fades into a subtle blackness, and the last thing you hear is Ghost yelling your name. Screaming your name.
☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆
DAY 4
You wake up to the sound of loud groaning and thumping.
It takes you a few moments to register that you’re awake and you can actually move.
So you do—you upheave your head and take in the light spilling in the room from between the iron barred vent.
It stings your eyes, blotchiness surrounding your peripheral before you’re able to adjust to the light.
Ghost is on the floor taking blunt forces into his lower abdomen—the blonde sputters out a cough as his entire body jerks at the contact.
The man grips the neckline of Ghost’s shirt, lifting his head from off the ground as thick red paste runs down his split and swollen lips.
His legs lift themselves up in an attempt to propel his body up and out of the man’s grasp, but he falls flat as his neck is slammed back onto the cement.
Before Ghost can gasp for air the moment his neck is released, a closed fist slams into his cheekbone, knocking the wind out of him.
“Stop,” you rasp. “Let’im go…”
Ghost is twitching on the floor, blood spilling from his mouth. His entire face is caked in red flakes and black and blue blemishes—the entire left side of his face is fattened with knots.
“No…” you snarl.
The man whirls his head and glares at you, an amused expression of disbelief stamped onto his face.
“No?” He says cockily.
The man paces towards you and cuts off your bindings, bundles your hair in his fist and drags you over towards Ghost, you whine and raise your unbroken arm to try and pry his hands off, but he only tugs harder.
He pulls your hair up until you're positioned on your knees, chin raised up and neck tilted.
You hear a click, it wasn’t a gun.
He unsheathed a pocket knife. It was a fairly decent size. You were tired of seeing knives.
Ghost watches the man’s hand lower to your abdomen, fingers pirouetting across your delicate skin, it sends a shivering fear throughout your entire body like electricity.
“Please…” you meekly whisper, attempting to pull yourself away, your body is so weak from lack of use. Your voice came out as a croak.
His other hand holds a knife that teases the neckline of your shirt.
Ghost thrashes against the floor attempting to wrestle out of his bindings. “I’ll skin you,” Ghost’s voice is hoarse.
“How would you feel If I just…” His fingers trace along the scars on your stomach. “Touch her, ever so lightly…Right in front of you?” The man snickers.
You yelp as his knife cuts a thin line down your blood-stained neckline until your cleavage is exposed.
Tears surface the corners of your eyes.
No, no, no, no…
“Keep y’r eyes on me,” Ghost whispers weakly. “That’s it, love.”
You feel your shirt tear entirely down the middle and fall down your arms, pooling around your wrists.
Your vision blurs and your mouth starts to feel dry, teeth chattering in unison with your trembling lips.
When the knife rests over the center gore of your bra, your breath hitches in your throat and tears bead down your cheeks.
The blade slices through the cloth and immediately your hand rises to cover your nude chest.
Ghost’s eyes stay locked with yours, one half-closed from being beaten beyond his control.
You feel his facial hair scrub raw against your skin, sipping in your fear and vulnerability.
“Team Delta en route for seaside, Corbin, what’s your report?”
His radio.
The man pauses and takes his hand off the midline of your ribcage to grab his radio.
“Delta, this is Pooch on standby—hostages are stable, the woman is awake.”
You release a choked sob, causing the man to release the talk button and bash it against the side of your face, sending you straight onto the floor.
“Thaye…” Ghost croons.
You clutch your chest with your one hand as you feel the right side of your face swell.
“It’ll ‘b over soon,” you tremble, releasing a shaken breath. “They’ll find..us…”
“Shut the fuck up,” his voice is slicked with spite. “Both of you.”
“Pooch, this is Delta, rog that. Don’t kill our intel—0-7, signing off.” It crackles.
You lift your head and turn it slightly, blinking causes the pain on your cheekbone to burn like acid.
“Go to h—“ the radio is bashed into your face again causing your vision to swim and make your head stumble.
The sound of blood trickling and hitting the floor fills your ears, your left palm flattens against the cold floor. Missing fingers wrapped to keep you alive, not because they care.
He punches the radio into your right eye. You keep your head down in submission.
“You wanna act tough? Get treated like you're tough!” He yells.
His hand tugs your head back—you can see your own blood splattered against the communicator before you’re met with the same fate.
Ghost watches as the man beats the right side of your face in with the butt of the radio until it’s practically unrecognizable—caked and blistered. Bruising and swelling so tender on your skin.
He can’t do anything.
He can only watch.
You whimper and cry, hissing through your tears while your jaw clenched, the radio mercilessly landing on the same spot allowing more blood to cascade from the wound.
The last hit is the hardest, sending your numbing cheek staggering back down onto the ground, you wheeze.
If Ghost’s hands weren’t tied behind his back, the man standing above the two of you would be a mangled corpse. He knew that.
Your breaths are shallow and rasped. It feels like hell to breathe—to move your face. Crimson just pools beneath you as Pooch flicks off your gore from his communicator.
He grunts in disgust as specks splatter onto the ‘cleaner’ side of your face. Like water spots on a windowpane or glass shower door.
When you hear the door slam behind you, it makes you flinch.
Your body has broken into tremors now, maybe it’s not tremors—but your spasming.
And your hand is still covering your scar-ridden chest, but you feel like you might pass out again.
Ghost’s own breaths are ragged—you wonder if lunderneath all the blood on your face if you’d look just like him.
“Sleep,” he rasps. “I’ll watch ya.”
You relax as much as you possibly can, your single eye twitching shut in favor of your other one.
All you’ve had these past four days was sleep, yet it didn’t replenish. It didn’t make you feel any less tired or exhausted.
With your bones feeling brittle and sore, it was hard to shift yourself into the mindset of falling asleep, but you tried.
You felt Ghost scoot himself towards you, possibly just to shield your unclad chest and give you a taste of comfort.
Your eyelids feel heavy with pain and fatigue, your body stilling as you allow yourself to sleep.
☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆
DAY 5
Your hands are tied above your head, a gag set between your teeth which you gnaw at in an attempt to drag it down to hang around your neck.
Ghost is a few feet away from you—both of you hanging on metal piping with rope around your wrists.
Ghost’s boots were on the floor, he was too tall to hang like you, where you could swing your feet. Did they take your shoes?
You watch the steel poker ignite in the industrial furnace; the end of it glowing all shades of red, yellow, and orange.
It was two different tools Rolmuth was holding, now. They had two different symbols on each one that you were unfamiliar with. He was choosing.
Rolmuth spun the branding irons with his thumbs and pointers, chuckling dryly to himself as he approached Ghost, setting one of them back inside the boiler.
His boots were so loud, they echoed off the walls of the room they were in—It looked like some sort of boiler room, but you weren’t too sure.
You two must’ve been in a warehouse of some sort.
Rolmuth has to look up to look your lieutenant in the eyes.
When they’d woken you up, they threw you a gray tank top, so you weren’t as exposed as you were before.
The Hindi man pulls down Ghost’s gag.
“460 degrees of heat on metal…” he says as he lifts the hem of Ghost’s shirt. “You talk, I spare you more scar.”
“Go fuck y’self, y’manky twat…” the blonde snapped.
An open mouthed yell left Ghost’s throat as the metal is lanced firmly over the middle of his stomach, tugging at his flesh and skin.
Ghost’s eyes squeeze shut as loud whimpers escape from him, ragged winces.
“Stop!” you cry.
God, you’d never heard him in so much pain. You never thought you’d ever hear him scream in agony, in physical pain.
You're forced to watch the smoke trailing up the rod, Ghost’s back arching in tormentation.
“You piece of shit!” You twist and turn your body causing the rope to shred through layers of your skin.
His muscles tense and his knuckles go white from how hard he’s gripping the pipelines holding him up.
Rolmuth removes the metal from Ghost’s skin—it could be described as a flesh eating parasite; the way that his skin sticks to the rod as if it’s desperate for that contact.
A hitched gasp manages to make its way past his lips as he feels a tinge of relief, his body twitching and pained moans and hisses filling your ears.
You jerk your body weight down, kicking your bare feet until you feel the metal start to dent.
Rolmuth sets the iron back onto the furnace over a rack, he’s bending over to adjust the heat, the fire is roaring.
You tug your arms down and you let out a strained whine at the feeling of your wrists starting to bleed.
When the metal gives in above you, it creaks and drops you down.
You slide down the metal and Rolmuth’s body swings up from fidgeting with furnace levers and knobs.
His arms are immediately reaching for his gun while you lift your legs up and kick the heels of your feet into his shoulder blades, hard.
Rolmuth’s head slams back into the brick base of the furnace, he lets out a groan, his form dragging down and slumping against the floor.
Your body lands harshly on the ground, an excruciating response coming from the back of your head.
Black spots cloud your vision as you slowly try to regain your composure. Your vision is blurring, everything sounds far away and echoed.
The gun slides across the floor.
Your jaw clenches as you pick up your heavy head, your eye searching for the gun regardless of the pounding that distracted you.
When you spot the muzzle, you lurch yourself forward and reach, finger grazing the trigger guard before your pulled back by your hair, earning a yelp to leave you.
Your lungs refuse to cooperate in your chest as your scalp is nearly torn from your head.
Rolmuth growls with clenched teeth, pulling you away from the gun and towards him as he kneels himself over you.
This was the first time you were able to get a decent look at his face—if it weren’t for your messed up eye—but you only can see the rage dispersed over his face as his hands gather around your throat.
He slams your neck down, adding onto the pain thrusting through the back of your head.
“Bitch!” Rolmuth snarls.
You suck in your gag, causing panic and adrenaline to rush through your entire body as your binded hands thrash and attempt to push him off of you.
You duck yourself, bend your leg and kick it against his ankle to heave yourself up with all your weight upwards.
He exclaims in his native tongue, some of which you can only recognize as insults and swears.
Ghost calls your name weakly.
Rolmuth’s hands slip from your throat allowing you to breathe and sit yourself on top of him, you tug your body and maneuver yourself until you're behind the man, pulling the knot of your bindings against his throat and crossing them over.
His neck lifts to try and give himself access to air, though you tug and hold his waist steady between your knees.
You yell with your clenched teeth, the fabric between your lips making the muscles in your jaw ache.
Him wheezing beneath you, fingernails clawing at your split and abused hands before he shifts.
“Thaye!” Your lieutenant hollers.
Rolmuth’s hands reach down to his vest to pull another gun, aiming it at your foot and pulling the trigger causing you to let out an agonizing scream, pain racking your entire body.
The bullet shoots clean through, you knew that for sure. It was too close.
Your grip on his neck loosens so you can slap the gun out of his grip.
In three quick motions, Rolmuth’s back atop you with his hands grasping your hair again, dragging you towards the furnace until your face is close enough to feel the heat radiate onto your face.
You feel the thickness of gore engulf your foot and drip down your toes onto the floor.
Your grunting, muffled, and loud breaths make your head pound as the man squeezes your jaw and forces your neck towards the mouth of the forge.
“No…” you snarl with bared lips, kicking your legs regardless of the pain, throwing yourself towards him to keep yourself as far from the flames as you could.
Rolmuth laughs dryly accompanying his guttural breaths, his body stretching yet keeping a firm hold on your mandible as he takes hold of one of the branding rods.
“No!” Your eye widens and your hands reach up to push his face away from you.
“Fuck!” He growls, shaking his face to keep your hands off as he pulls the iron out of the furnace.
He wastes no time pressing it into your side regardless of the thin tank covering your skin, and the cloth does absolutely nothing in regards to the sudden gut wrenching sensation that makes it feel like your entire body was drenched in gasoline and set on fire with a blowtorch.
Your cry is deafening to the ears and the smell of burning charred flesh is quick to fill your nostrils. You feel and you hear your skin bubble up, sizzle, then pop, then stick to the metal and entangle itself around the start of the handle taking the appearance of something similar to chewed bubblegum.
Even trembling and shaking, you manage to find a way to position your hands so you can plant your thumbs into his eyes and use some of the only fingers you have left to press them into his eyes, causing the man to yell.
Still, your screams aren’t matchable as your fingernails gouge into his sockets and claw at his eyelids, shredding through flesh easily as blood began to dribble down his face and over his lips like tears. You still manage to scream louder in anger than the man can in pain.
Your fingers shove deeper into the grooves of his eye sockets, the organs are pushed so far back that blood sprays across your face and he finally releases the rod.
It clangs to the floor, and he starts sobbing in his native tongue, convulsing hands reaching up towards his red-painted face as you pull your gag out.
“Go to hell,” You seethe wobbly as you lift yourself and steer yourself behind him, taking Rolmuth by the nape of his neck and forcing himself inside the mouth, against the grills inside the furnace.
He shrieks and cries, moving erratically as his face is engulfed by the fire. Slowly, yet quickly, his skin is shredded by the blazes and the bottom rows of his teeth are exposed.
It takes him a while to stop making noise before you pull his head out and throw his twitching body onto the ground, then you finally allow yourself to lean against a boiler tank and take pressure off your injured foot.
You propel yourself off the tank by your palms and drag yourself regardless of your ankle to the edge of the furnace, turning yourself around to scrape the rope against the brick.
A gasp releases from your throat at the sudden relief around your wrists, the rope falling to the ground.
“Ghost?” You lift your head.
“‘M here.” He replies.
“I don’t know if I can get up.”
“I know you can,” Ghost urges. “Find…” he sputters up blistering coughs.
“…Fin’a knife, ‘n get me outta these binds, yea?” He huffs. “‘N I’ll do the rest.”
Your eye blinks as you grip the ankle of Rolmuth’s corpse, pulling him toward you to start flipping up his vest and pant pockets.
He didn’t have a knife on him.
Got to be fucking kidding me.
A door is swung open, a singular set of footsteps stepping into the room.
Your eye searches for a weapon—anything that can deal enough damage.
A metal fire poker is hanging off the wall to your right, so you swing your elbows back and lift yourself up by the palms of your hands.
As quick as you can, you hoist yourself up by using the support of a metal deaerator, your arm sliding against it as you limp and throw yourself towards the wall creating a subtle thud.
“What the fuck…?” A man’s voice murmurs.
You silently curse to yourself under your breath as you grab the fire poker off the nails that were being used to hold it up.
Using the heel of your injured foot, you shuffle against some shelving, looking between the gaps for the man inside the room.
He’s holding a Fennec, nothing you haven't dealt with before.
He’s twenty seconds to your left, carefully skimming along the floor with his eyes down the sights of his gun.
You pinch a metal screw off of one of the shelves and toss it into the corner closest to you to lead him your way.
“Fuck,” the younger male jumps slightly. He looked young and lanky, at least from his physique.
When you hear his boots start to rub against the floor, you lift your head slightly to watch him turn towards your direction.
Your fingers and nubs flex on the thin metal, it’s hard to gain a clear grip.
The man comes around the corner of the shelves, the sounds of his tactical gear shuffling alerting you when he gets closer until his helmet is in sight.
You immediately thrust the fire poker into the gap below his collarbone and into his scapula, dampening the fabric of his undershirt in that area as it rips.
Out of panic and shock, his finger grips the trigger and you have to jerk him away before any of his bullets are able to hit you.
“Please!” The boy pleads, gun dropping to hang around his neck as he grips the caps of your shoulders. You only glare at him before plunging the fire poker further into that same spot until it tears and mauls through his back, sticking out on the other end.
He’s gasping out, but it’s almost like no air is exhaling, mouth held agape as his grip on your shoulders releases.
You shout and cry out at every thrust until the hole carved into his skin is able to suck in the hooked tip.
The male’s head falls and you allow his body to slump down and forward, the metal rod holding his stilled body up.
You heave dryly and press a palm on the wall to support yourself, your foot is killing you—literally.
The blown out flesh and puckered skin walls made you want to barf. You could stick a finger through your foot and feel your pulsating muscles just hug around your finger.
You lean down and unclip the knife holster from the gun belt, unsheathing it then hobbling around the shelving towards Ghost who was still hanging from the pipes.
“Okay, okay…” you breathe sharply, struggling to lift yourself up onto the brick platform of the furnace, nearly stumbling off before you catch your footing.
“Keep still,” you say, arching your hand to start cutting at his bondings until he’s dropped onto the floor.
Ghost lets out a loud groan, his arms clutching his ribs. They’d broken one of his ribs, maybe multiple. You both were in bad shape.
It takes him a moment to get himself off the floor as you seat yourself and scoot off of the hearth.
He grabs both of the hand guns that had been dropped onto the floor, holding one out to you.
You unclip the magazine, then snap it back into the chamber at the sight of one missing bullet.
It was the same one that Rolmuth used to shoot your foot.
Ghost’s hand rests on your cheek, gently. “Y’did good, ‘lright?” He spoke with a lilt.
“Can y’walk?”
“A little.” You nod. “Fuckers took my shoes…”
He lets his hand fall to check his magazine, then he nods. “‘Don’t know if I can carry ya with m’ribs.”
“It’s okay, just don’t wait for me.” You reply.
His eyebrows furrow. “Bloody hell, Thaye, I ain’t leavin ya.”
“I know but—“
“No.”
Ghost’s half-lidded eyes glare at you, giving you all the warning to stop.
“Stay behind me.”
He starts walking towards the door, slowly peeking it before leaving with you behind him.
Walking hurt—even while you only applied pressure to the heel on your injured foot, the muscles contracted and the pain was torturous.
One man entered the hallway holding a box from another room, which Ghost took care of by shooting a single bullet between his eyes.
The box had opened and dropped glass equipment, alerting four others who had been lingering in the room he came from.
They yell and communicate in their native tongue, one sticking his head out of the door threshold to aim his rifle.
Ghost fires his pistol and the man swings his head back into the room, still opening fire into the hallway.
“Fuck!” You hiss, dodging the bullets and moving quickly behind a filing cabinet, lowering yourself down.
Ghost’s back presses against a door to your right, pulling himself out of cover to fire at the man.
Two bullets miss and the third causes his head to fling back and smear blood as his body arches and falls down to the floor.
You lift your head and aim your pistol, gasping when your throat is suddenly hooked back from behind you.
When the combatant turns you around and attempts to make a slash at your throat, you manage to extract yourself by gripping his wrist and snapping his elbow out of place, the sounds of bones snapping as he yells.
His knife drops from his hand and you scramble to pick it up from the floor.
You groan as his boot digs into your bandaged hand before you're able to pick it up, then his hand grips your neck to lift you up.
He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, locking his wrists over each other at your back. You clench your teeth and jerk violently in his grasp.
Ghost is fighting four other men, locking them in the crook of his elbow and smashing their skulls between the doors.
The man holding you in position crushes you in his grasp even with his broken arm. He tries dragging you into another room.
��Let me the fuck go,” you gasp, causing the man to laugh.
“You will regret ever trying to leave your room,” he utters.
You breathe a moment, heart pounding through your chest as you swing your head into the side of his neck and sink your teeth into his skin with all the strength in your jaw.
Crimson liquid seeps into your mouth and down the front of your neck as you yank out the flesh of his throat. You spit out the skin and blood, wiping your mouth and tongue against the skin of your arm as the man’s grasp loosens
His shoulder blades and chest are glistening in red, gore spurting out of the torn spot in his throat as his body stumbles and he’s gargling on his own blood trying to speak.
“Fuck you…” You shutter weakly, eyes slowly skimming down to the knife lodged inside your waist.
Shit.
He must’ve stabbed you before lifting you up, your adrenaline pumping so fiercely you couldn’t feel it until now.
You stumble on your feet slightly, shaking hands lowering to wrap around the handle and pull it out of the slit.
The runnel of red paste turns into a thick stream down as it drenches your tank top.
You lift your head slowly and throw the knife overhead across the hallway, hitting a man who’s pointing a handgun at the back of Ghost’s head.
It’s blade spades into the back of his skull and makes his body wriggle down onto the floor.
“Ghost…!” You gasp and press your open palm over your soaking top and open laceration.
Ghost steps over both legs of a bloodied man before shooting him dead and advancing towards you.
“Shite…” He huffs, gently removing your hand and placing it back after gaining a clear inspection.
His hands grip the hem of his shirt and roughly tear at the fabric creating a long strip, then he moves your hand aside again to tightly secure it around your wound.
You hiss and groan, hand gripping his shoulder as he tugs and pulls at your body while tying the knot of the fabric.
“I’s ‘lright.” Ghost mollifies as he scoops his arm underneath your armpit.
It offers you some support as he guides you both out towards a staircase.
It wasn’t a warehouse—you and Ghost were just in a basement that was turned into a meth lab.
Boxes and boxes full of lab equipment scattered along the floors.
You’d never seen such a big basement, one with torture chambers and stonework rooms.
Hell, in the corner of the room with all the steel liquid tanks and chemical barrels.
A woman is in bright blue hazmat coveralls and a chemical mask standing on top of a metal stool.
Ghost raises his pistol and you lower it slightly with your palm, his eyes glaring at you with his head kept facing forward.
“You can’t miss, we don’t know what corrosives are in these tanks. Is it worth it?” You keep your voice low, personal between the two of you.
He doesn’t reply, instead he looks forward, then squeezes the trigger and picks the woman off by shooting her in the side of her neck.
You swallow thickly as her body spasms on the ground, the stool getting caught in her ankle as crimson fluid rises and bubbles inside of her mouth.
Ghost guides the two of you up the cobble stairs, one hand dragging up the wall and the other across your lieutenant’s wingspan.
Your eyes flash at the sudden two objects being thrown down the stairs, the sudden silence as they roll down step…after step…after step before Ghost is swinging you up into arms and yelling.
He’s breaching himself through the door, into open fire before the staircase you had come up from explodes into the emitting heat compressed air and blasts behind the two of you sending you both flying forward.
Smoke engulfs the room, giving both you and Ghost coverage to get behind cover.
You're pulled by the back of your shirt behind a deep freezer, bullets flying and hitting the metal.
“Fuckin’ pricks got us pinned!” His head lifts over to fire at three of the men who have ballistic shields covering those firing LMGs behind. “‘N I’ve got four left.”
You can’t see through the thick smoke—you can’t breathe while wheezing into the crook of your elbow. “Seven,” you inform him.
“Cover me,” Ghost grabs your arm for a moment, letting go and serving around the freezer.
You follow behind him with a raised pistol, shooting off at any glares you're able to see through the fumes.
Six…Five…
A man steps out from cover behind a wine cabinet, but before he can fire his rifle, you pop him in the eye.
Four…
Ghost quickly crouches down and shimmies the rifle out of the corpse’s grip, grabbing at a magazine and stuffing it into his vest he’d managed to keep.
You groan and push over a bookshelf behind Ghost once you’re both out of the smoke. He takes aim and opens fire at three men, blowing holes in their chests before he rams into the fourth with a loud yell and slams down the stock of his assault rifle into his face until his teeth and nose are finely pressed into the persian rug.
You finish off two more who try to walk through the threshold of the room, turning your head over your shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Two…
You jerk yourself away before you get slugged by a riot shield, ascending yourself and shoving your firearm past the barriers of his lips from behind. You pull the trigger and his head flings as the bullet rings out and creates a sizable hole in the back of his head.
One…
Before his body hits the tile, you take hold of his riot shield and deflect the hail of gunfire from the individual who came emerging from the threshold corner.
You walk forward until his clip is empty to drive the shield into his vest-covered chest, stunning him so you can push it aside and fire your last shot into the underside of his jaw.
Zero.
Bullets continue spraying throughout the entirety of the house while you make sure you don’t pass out from the amount of blood you’ve lost.
You grab the TAQ-V from off the floor and click a new magazine into it, shoving a spare into your back pocket before pushing into the same room as Ghost.
He’s piling bodies on the floor, wrestling for dominance over a knife.
You fastdraw another handgun you’d grabbed off of one of the bodies and shoot the man in his knee cap to allow Ghost to gain the upper hand and pierce the man’s temple with the weapon.
“Thanks,” he says gruffly.
You nod softly, inhaling sharply as you feel wet blood pool around your uninjured foot.
They took your shoes for no reason, like they had a use for them.
Maybe it allows you to move around more quietly, but it still disturbed you that they took the time to even peel off your socks.
“What intel did y’know that we didn’t?” His chest is against yours, head craning down to keep the conversation between the two of you.
“Lieutenant, we don’t…” You pause a moment, your head spinning.
Hunger, thirst, the cold, the blood loss. There was so much holding you hostage and you weren’t even able to comprehend how you were still standing—limping.
“Well, Seargant?” His voice is low, still holding the same husky British drawl.
“We don’t have the time for this, for now—“ Ghost shoves you aside before you can finish, raising the muzzle of his rifle to open fire on the men entering the room.
“Fuckin’ riot shields!” He pulls you behind a flipped over tattered blue couch that had already gone through its fair share of bullets.
A bullet flies and hits the side of the couch a hair’s breadth from your face.
“Goddammit,” he curses while replacing the magazine in his gun.
The men brandishing shields push further.
When one reaches close enough, you run in front of the shield and grab the sides before he crashes into you.
You turn him until his body is vulnerable to Ghost, your teeth ground into each other.
“Ghost!” You yell to catch his attention, head snapping in your direction to fire a single round into the back of his head.
You throw the body off of yourself and yank the riot shield to cover yourself, ducking your head as you recoil your fist and punch one of the men baring LMGs hard twice in the jaw.
You thrust the shield into the next, throwing it into his abdomen as he topples, finishing him off by shooting him down in the chest.
One turns with his M4 raised, but you turn your gun around and bash the stock into the base of his chest, then again into his cheek, swiping your leg across the floor and knocking him down then picking his head up and slamming it down on a thick shard of glass sticking upwards to finish him off.
Ghost drops the last body, finishing off a magazine into his vest and throwing the weapon aside. You toss him another one, which he catches with ease.
“We’ll force upstairs, look f’r our shit, ‘n leave.” He says as he picks up a frag grenade from off a vest.
“There should be Skimobiles somewhere around here, the ones they were using in the FFO,” you nod.
“A’right,” he groans while rolling his shoulders. “On my mark.”
He trudges past bodies until he’s at the threshold of the staircase, stepping up slowly with the grenade in one hand and his gun in his other.
You follow behind leisurely, eye down the scope of your rifle.
He pulls the clip and tosses it up, arm stretching behind to press his hand against your shoulder blade.
“Oh shit—grenade!” A man yells from upstairs before detonation.
“Go!” Ghost immediately backs up off the wall and skips over two steps into the corridor, prefiring as he loops around a wall.
There’s already bodies and limbs splayed across the room from the combatants who were hit by the frag.
Your back rubs against the wall as you lean to shoot down the hallway, whirring bullets firing past you.
After a few back and forths between staying flat against the wall and leaning to fire off your gun, bodies drop and you’re able to progress down the hall.
Ghost is somewhere on the opposite side of the house, you still hear heavy gunfire.
You pause at the sight of another man at the end of the hallway and you recognize him immediately.
The look in his eyes and the scruffiness of his face made your lips stretch in almost the most feral look.
Corbin, that was his name. Callsign ‘Pooch’.
Anger burns in the depths of your lungs and stomach as you grip the wall for support, lunging yourself forward to lift your feet over each body that was littered across the hallway floors.
Sweat ran down the sides of your face and splotched down around the neck of your shirt with the blood.
You watch his face twist into a wolfish grin as he slings his gun over his shoulder and walks towards you.
“Alright, sweetheart.” He purrs.
White noise fills your ears.
All you can see through the glossy shine of your eyes is the man who humiliated you in front of your superior.
All you can see through the blinding red rage is the man who beat Ghost and cracked his ribs, forcing you to watch him retract and twitch at every fleeting fist.
Even the hail of gunfire is silent in your ears as you drag your injured foot. Everything sounds underwater, everything feels dull.
His fist intersects and meets with your cheekbone causing your head to shift to the left and your body to stumble where you stand.
You grip his wrist and divert his second punch by lifting your arm and thrusting your knee roughly into his thigh to tamper his movements.
He groans, with grim chuckles following after. “I’m going to enjoy every last second of this,” he coos.
Your body shivers in disgust as you slide your fingers down to your waist, priming the knife stuffed beneath the hem of your shirt. “Go fuck yourself…” you hiss.
His eyes flicker down to your hand and his boot immediately connects with the middle of your torso, sending you across the floor with a loud thud.
Pooch steps between your legs and lifts your upper body by the neckline of your shirt, his knuckles slamming down to beat on your already swollen face.
Drool and blood pour from your mouth, a strangled gasp leaving you at every punch before he releases you harshly back down onto the floor.
Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, the pressure and swelling in your face and head being all too much for you.
A boot is savagely kicked into the lower pit of your abdomen, making you gag on air.
“Get the fuck up.” Pooch spits.
You clutch your stomach and turn, slowly feeling for the knife, then quickly lifting the edge trimming of your tank top and grasping the handle, pulling it out and sweeping your leg around and behind his ankles to knock him off to the side.
He yells out swears as you level yourself over him, his legs kicking out to make your chest rest on the soles of his boots.
Both of your hands grasp the handle of the knife making it easier on your lack of fingers. His hands grip your forearms as you cry out and try forcing the knife down on him.
He kicks his legs up and backwards, upending you over him and sending the knife flying.
You hiss and give yourself no time to recover, flipping on your stomach and army crawling with your forearms to grab the knife.
He topples atop your body, planting a piercing slap across your face before reaching for the knife and propelling it downwards into you.
Before you’re able to block, the knife breaks through the skin in your stomach, your hand managing to grab his wrist before he’s able to gut you open.
You seethe and let out a sharp whine followed by a croaked cry, your other hand circling his wrist in an attempt to push him away.
Quickly, you roll your body off to the side and let go of him, causing the knife to pierce into the wood flooring as you grip a console table to succor yourself up.
Corbin abandons the knife and flings himself upwards, swinging his gun into his arms.
“I’m done playing games.”
You advance on him, grabbing the rifle and pushing it into his chest before he can aim it at you.
One of your hands grip the upper hand guard while the other grips the bolt and holds the muzzle up.
You yank his body over towards the window behind you, turning your body then grabbing the man by the back of his hair and smashing his head through the glass.
It shatters from contact and leaves cuts and shards in his skin, a loud yell clawing its way from his throat.
His finger grips the trigger and bullets roll out into the floor as you pull his head back.
You pull the rifle sling from off his shoulder, tossing it aside and disarming him from the X12 tucked into the back of his pants.
He growls at every tug of his scalp as you shoot him in the back of the leg and force him onto his knees.
A loud wail echoes the hallway from the man below you.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” you snap.
“You don’t get to scream.”
“You don’t get to cry and whine like a little bitch.”
There’s no remorse in your voice, no sense of mercy for the man being held on his knees and whimpering.
You smack the magazine onto the base of his nose, blood dripping it’s way down his nostrils as a struggling noise spills from his lips.
“You…fucking….” he chokes on his own words.
His entire body violently trembles at the tortured scream he releases as you squeeze the trigger again, shooting Pooch in his shoulder then proceeding to stick your thumb into the ravage wound harshly.
“Bitch! Fucking bitch!” He strains and pants like a dehydrated dog trying to jerk away from you.
You replace your finger with your foot, lowering his back against the floor as you press your toe into the bullet hole.
Another scream tears out of him as you blow another hole into the other side—his chest convulses.
Blood seeps from his mouth, you hold the grip of the handgun with both hands and sob out loud as you empty the entire magazine into his head until his face is unrecognizable to the amount of bullet holes.
You keep pulling the trigger, even as the gun starts to click announcing its out of ammunition.
The entire floor below you is covered in gore; flesh, messings of brains, blood, skin.
So much.
Your body snaps around as a hand abruptly drapes over your shoulder, your arm raising the gun ready to bash it into the skull of the next man to try and touch you.
“Thaye, Thaye—y’got him! Thaye, he’s dead!”
Someone calls your name trying to snap you of out haze.
Ghost—your eyes soften with glistening tears as he calmly disarms you after deflecting the hit with his forearm, tossing the handgun aside so he can push you into his chest by the back of your neck.
“‘S over, sweet girl.” Ghost says with intonation. “Can’t hurt ya anymore.”
Your eyes are wide with terror, hands bundling your lieutenant’s shirt as you exhale a shaky mewl.
It’s him who releases you first, handing you your custom rifle and radio.
His balaclava is back on his face, along with the skull mask.
“Y’r vest ‘n boots are in the room I came from,” Ghost jerks his head.
You nod softly and shamble towards the doorway in the direction he’d pointed out.
You pause.
A little boy walks out of the threshold—he’s holding a gun far bigger than his head.
Your eyes widen slightly. “Did these men take you from your family?”
You turn your head over your shoulder to call for Ghost, the sound of a bullet whirring filling your ears.
Ghost wastes no time pulling out his handgun and shooting the little boy in the head before running towards you.
Your right shoulder is screaming at you as time seems to slow down to a crawl. You hear Ghost yell behind you and the gunshot ringing as the little boy falls back and you do too, hitting the ground hard.
The masked man is on his knees in front of you within seconds, lifting your head into his lap.
“Thaye! Thaye, don’t y’fuckin’ die, not now…” He growls, applying pressure down onto your shoulder with both of his gloved hands.
Your lips slant in a tired manner, eyelids feeling heavy. His bloody hand kneads your cheek, smearing gore along your already dirtied skin.
“Fuck! Fuck!” he curses loudly. “Stay awake, love, please…”
God, he was hurting, it hurt to have your head against the burns on his stomach, but he wouldn’t let you die.
“Babygirl,” he says weakly.
All you can see is an uncleanable amount of red seep and cover your shirt.
Your lungs clutch together inside your chest, labored breaths escaping you with a strained noise.
“I know…I know—keep those gorgeous eyes on me, sweetheart.” He inhales a shaky breath, flipping up your blood-crusted hairs from sticking to your forehead.
You whisper an apology, catching his attention as you grip his waist. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow.
“Don’t. Don’t say sorry,” he says. “You did this, you saved our lives, love.”
“‘M just finishin’ the job, ‘lright?” His split and bloody lips find a place on your temple, planting a raw and long kiss to your throbbing skin.
“…’least I got to see your face before—“
Ghost holds you, squeezing your hand as a slight warning. “Don’t talk like that.”
It was a demand.
“That an—“ you spur into a coughing fit, blood spraying onto the man’s vest. “…Order, Lieutenant?”
“Spare y’r energy,” he huffs.
“Simon—“ you slur.
“Stop.” He snarls.
Your ragged breaths start to stray, causing panic to surge through the man above you.
“No,” he growls, squeezing your smaller hand in his a bit tighter than before. “Don’t, Thaye,” he says through clenched teeth.
Your body falls limp in his lap, the grasp loosening on his shirt making his heart pound through his chest, a painful pounding that felt similar to acid reflux.
“No!” Ghost yells, desperately palming at your tangled hair in panic. “Fuckin’ massacre,” he exhales shallowly.
One arm scoops beneath the back of your knees, the other across your shoulder blades with his hand holding your arm.
A loud strained groan claws it’s way from his gullet at the sudden pain inside his ribs as he lifts himself up and off the floor.
His muscles tighten inside his body, a burning sensation in his abdomen as he clutches you close to his chest, feeling your blood seep into his shirt.
☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆
The gentle rhythmic beeping and steady flow of air through your nostrils was something that felt unreal and forced.
You slowly flutter your eyes open to light slipping in between the beige curtains. Your eyes are half-lidded and threatening to close against your will as your bandage wrapped hands rests atop the metal railing on either side of you.
It smells of strong floor cleaner and hand sanitizer, a scent that is slightly uneasy on you as you slowly slip back into consciousness.
Your muscles feel tight in your body; pain racking your shoulder and neck as you crane it to take a look around the room.
The walls are spinning and the ceiling above you is spiraling making you sick to your stomach.
On the bedside table to your left—closest to the window—there’s flowers. They’re too withered to try and recognize what kinds, shredding to flakes in your fingers when you caress them between your pinky and thumb.
Your hand drags up to pull nasal tubes out of your nostrils. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe air, throat tightening and lips so still from lack of moisture.
There’s a penetrating migraine in the back of your skull as you carefully swing your legs over the side of the bed, the thin baby pink and spotted hospital gown flowing down your sides leaving you slightly exposed in your thigh region.
Bare and bandaged feet slide along the smooth cold tile, sending chills up your body as you grip the IV stand with your trembling hand, the other holding onto the bed railing for support.
You groan and strain as you struggle to lift yourself up, propelling upwards with your palm and grip on the stand until your knees straighten and your standing up somewhat decently.
Where was Ghost? Is Ghost alive?
So many thoughts coursed through your head along with the punishing feeling of dehydration.
You guide yourself using the wheels on the IV stand towards a counter, your hands gripping the handle of the sink and pulling it upward.
A choked moan manages to break from you as you scoop the water in your hands and swill the rich liquid.
Water dribbles down your chin, which you wipe away before lifting your head to look into the medicine cabinet mirror.
Your hand rests on the wall in front of you as you heave.
They cut your hair shorter, not too short but enough so that it was comfortable. Your entire right side of your face being bandaged, stains of blood being a faint copper color.
Bandages wrapped around your neck and reached down your shoulder you’d been shot in.
Your hair had been taken care of neatly while you were in a coma, that was obvious.
Ghost. Where?
You grip the IV stand and hobble towards the door, turning the knob and gripping the threshold with your other hand as you step out.
A nurse pauses in her tracks, rushing to your side in an instant. “How are you up? Your injuries are critical,” she gasps, palm flattening against the small of your back.
“My lieutenant—…my lieutenant…” you say in an undertone.
“You need bed rest, you’ve only just woken up.” Her voice is gentle yet commanding.
“No,” you bark, shuffling out of her hold. “Please take me to him.”
The woman bites her lip before nodding hesitantly, hand against your back again to guide you towards his room.
It was only a few doors down from you—when the nurse opened the door, allowing you into the room.
You see the back of Ghost’s head facing in your direction, his hair tousled from the bandages wrapping around his head.
“Ghost,” you call.
His head turns from facing the window to facing you, you hear him murmur your name in reply.
“Y’minx,” he breathes. “Hell y’doin’ out ya bed?”
You carefully walk yourself towards him, the nurse holding her hands atop her chest nervously. The sound of the plastic wheels of the stand makes his breath hitch in his throat, the sound of reassurance that you were alive.
“You okay, big man?” Your voice is hoarse from lack of use, but he’s able to that you perfectly.
“D’ya ever worry ‘bout y’self, love?” Ghost asks with a tinge of humor.
Heavy casting was on his right leg, bandages and patches on practically every inch of his body—similar to you.
“Sometimes,” you smile softly and push strands of his hair out of his face, your heart slightly shatters in your chest at the sight of him flinching at your touch.
Ghost scoots himself over slightly, wincing at the sudden movement.
You seat yourself beside him on the large gatch bed and his hand pushes you down to lay beside him.
“Wait, Mr. Riley—“ the nurse takes a small step forward.
“I’ll ‘b fine,” he grunts.
Her eyes blink slightly as she takes a few steps back, her lips separating to speak though no words come out. She simply turns on her ankles and closes the door behind her.
Ghost secures an arm around your waist, pushing your back flush against his bandaged chest.
Your eyes trace his tattoos and the muscles of his arms, every scar and blemish.
“Where’s the force?” You ask quietly.
“Left recently,” he mumbles back tiredly, pressing his nose into your hair. “Y’smell like pomegranate—got y’self a damn spa crew while y’were out?”
You laugh dryly, breaking into a light fit of wheezes.
“Not too hard, Seargant.” Ghost’s finger tucks a loose strand of hair from your bangs behind your ear.
Your wet bandages on your hands rub against his knuckle as you hold onto his hand, he seems to pay no mind.
You turn your body slightly so you can get a better look at his face. “Odd seeing you without your eye black.” You quip.
His closed eyes open to look down at you. “Mm, might as well see m’down in me knickers then, eh?” He chuckles huskily.
“Very funny,” you roll your eyes lightheartedly.
You catch his small glances to your lips, his hand leaving your chest to run his thumb down your bottom lip until that same hand is cupping your cheek lovingly.
His eyes narrow, he’s sleepy, but you still catch yourself propping your body up with your elbow and closing the gap between the two of you.
Instantly, his head cranes and tilts to deepen the kiss, his fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to press his thumb into the underside of your jaw and drag his fingers along the nape of your neck.
Ghost breathes into your mouth, the taste of mint leaf and citrus enveloping your taste buds as his tongue laced over yours.
The kiss was passionate, you feel his eyebrows furrow showing his desperation as you both kissed softly at a gentle pace and motion.
Your eyes flutter open as you feel his warm lips leave yours with a quiet pop, both of you panting lightly with his forehead pressed against yours. Ghost’s eyes are unable to open for a few moments after you disconnect.
When they do open, your eyes bore into his brown orbs, the dark purple hue circling under his eyes showing his deprivation of sleep.
When he feels you buck gently back into his groin, he releases a small grunt, lips meeting yours again for a small chase kiss.
“Not like this,” he says quietly. “I’d take you on this bed right here, right now, but y’ve recently waken up ‘n we’re both still in r’covery.”
You hum in agreement, his hand finding it’s place on your chest once again with the knowledge of your lower abdomen injury.
“‘N to b’honest—‘can barely feel m’damned balls, feels like ‘ve got whiskey dick.” He grumbles, and you bite your lip to suppress a giggle.
“Simon!”
“Don’ you laugh at me, woman.” Ghost lowers his head into the crook of your neck, biting the skin gently
“My deepest condolences, Lieutenant,” you purr, catching his lips in another kiss when you jerk his head upward with your uninjured shoulder. He growls against your mouth in reaction.
There’s a long yet short line of silence as you turn towards his back again, your legs tangling with his as you hold your lips against his knuckles.
“Y’have no clue how strong you are.” He swallows the knot in his throat as he speaks. “God, Thaye, they…they told me there was a chance y’d never wake up.”
“Hey,” you hum. “Stop that, I’m here now.”
His eyes stare blankly at the wall ahead of you, maybe even the same wall you were staring at—if your eyes weren’t closed already.
“I just don’ know what I would’ve done if I made it outta there ‘n y’didn’t make it with me.” He says.
“Y’r the reason I made it out with you in the first place. If y’hadn’t pulled that barmy stunt—“ he pauses, and you feel the rise of his chest and the fall as he exhales deeply.
“Y’survived internal bleeding, trauma to the head ‘n eye, two broken ribs, second and third degree burns, asphyxiation, dismemberment, stab wounds and gunshot wounds..” Ghost squeezes his fist tighter against your chest.
“So did you, Si.” You coo softly.
“Christ…” he mutters.
His fingers interlock with yours best they can, regardless of the most of them being numbs on your knuckles, and it wasn't until your hand rested on his chest and rubbed over the raised scars, that he realized he hadn't been touched so gently in nearly eleven years. It wasn't a new feeling, but it was a feeling that he had craved desperately.
Never had fallen in love before, but he knew you had bad experiences with it—figuring out that your ex-fiancé had cheated on you while on deployment. Someone had to love you, and he was skeptical of it being him, but it was clear you loved him too and now he was scared you’d stop.
But hearing your gentle breathing as you slipped back into sleep hunched into his form led him somewhere he’d never been. You cleared his mind and cleared away his thoughts. For the first time, he doesn’t want to look away from what he has the ability to feel.
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If you are tired of doing mafia!Price than ignore this
But what if reader want to treat him good for all the things he does for her. (smut???👀)
oh hun, mafia!price is living rent free in my brain, i don't think i could be tired of him even if i tried. i hope you enjoy this 2k words worth of filth <3
warnings: smut, fem!reader, oral (m!receiving), praise, creampie, i think that's it?
more mafia!price can be found here (:
Cream colored fabric hugged your body as if you had been born with it. It melded to your body, perfectly complimenting every single one of your features. The fabric was light, perfect for the warm days that overpowered the cool end to the spring. Gathered fabric made up the sleeves that hung off your shoulders, exposing more of your chest as it was accompanied by a low, sweetheart neckline. Smiling to yourself, you couldn’t help but sway side to side and watch as the skirt of the dress twisted around your thighs.
As you admired yourself in the mirror, you caught sight of your husband behind you. He sat in a large, upholstered chair where he comfortably leaned back as he took in the sight of you wearing his latest gift. Even in his reflection you could make out that twinkle in his eyes, like he never wanted to look at anything else ever again. With a grin, you turned around to face him for real, and you watched as he tilted his head to the side while his eyes flickered to the way the fabric danced around your hips.
“Do you like it?” he asked, eyes slowly wandering up along your body until they landed on your face again.
“I love it,” you answered. You glanced down as you ran your hands along your front. It was so soft, and beautiful in its simplicity. You knew it must have cost a good amount of money, but John always removed the tags on every gift he gave to you, never wanting you to worry about finances. Besides, with his line of work, he had plenty to spend on his wife.
And you were well aware that there was rarely an expense he would spare on you. Always showering you with gifts and love; always taking care of you better than anyone else ever had. Your thumb absentmindedly played with the ring on your finger as you glided forward to sit on his lap. John welcomed you with open arms, and his hands instantly wrapped around your waist while you threw your legs over his.
“Figured you could wear it tonight,” he mused while his thumb grazed along your waist. “Got us a reservation at Firenze’s at seven.” He tugged at the skirt of your dress. “You’ll be turnin’ heads wearin’ this.”
“Firenze’s?” you repeated. “I thought they had a few weeks waiting list, at least?”
John’s mouth quirked up into a slight smirk. “Vito owed me a favor.”
You playfully rolled your eyes. “Everyone owes you a favor.”
“Everyone but you.”
Which was odd. Out of everyone in the world, you certainly should have owed him more than anyone else. He fed you, showered you with gifts, gave you a beautiful home to live in, and never once did he ask for anything in return. Always took such good care of you like he had never known any different.
Without warning, you leaned forward and planted your lips right on his. His facial hair rubbed softly against your upper lip and chin as he returned your kiss without hesitation. The faint taste of tobacco coated his lips and you devoured it as your hands started to roam around his body. You pawed at his chest as you deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into his mouth, and you allowed your hands to roam lower. When your fingers brushed against his stomach and continued to dip downwards, you felt his abdomen tense as his breath caught in his throat.
“I love you,” you whispered as you pulled away, lips still ghosting against his. Finally, your hand dipped below his belt and cupped the still hardening bulge in his pants. You reveled in the way he let out a heavy breath by giving him a small moan. “Always take such good care of me. I wanna show you how much I love you.”
“Fuck, darling,” John hissed as you pressed your hand against him. Between the confines of his pants and the pressure of you against him, he swore he was going to erupt.
Offering him relief, your hands started to tug at his belt and the zipper of his pants until there was enough room for you to pull his cock out. You had just worked him up and already his tip was puffy and red, all too eager to find solace inside of you. Wordlessly, you slipped out of his lap as your knees gently came in contact with the wood of the bedroom floor and you nestled yourself between his legs.
The sight of you on your knees with both hands wrapped around his cock had pulled a groan out of John’s chest. He was at a loss for words watching his sweet wife lean forward and place careful kisses from the base of his shaft, all the way to his tip. Your tongue lovingly licked along him, gathering the salty taste of precum in your mouth, and you moaned at the taste.
He grunted once more when your lips wrapped around the head of his length, and one of his hands instinctively gathered your hair as your mouth enveloped him. His girth had your jaw opening nearly as wide as you could manage as you pushed him deeper in your mouth until he prodded at the back of your throat.
You built up speed as you continued, lips running up and down his length. Each time you took him deeper and deeper in your mouth until you were nearly gagging, and even then you still pushed yourself. Strong muscles in his thighs tightened each time his tip reached the plushy flesh in the back of your throat, and it didn’t take long before he was muttering praises to you like a madman.
“Look at you. Beautiful girl, christ. Takin’ such good care of me, such a sweet thing, aren’t you?” he mumbled, straining to get the words out with how tense his jaw was from the sheer pleasure.
It wasn’t until his hips started bucking up into your mouth that you pulled away from him, forcing another hiss out of him. A thin string of saliva connected your mouth to the tip of his cock for only a moment before it broke and dribbled down your chin. Your lips felt puffy from the friction, and you panted slightly as you attempted to catch your breath. John’s hand let go of your hair as he swiped his thumb along your bottom lip, smearing your spit across your skin.
“I want you to sit back,” you spoke as you pushed yourself to your feet. Not even a moment later your knees were on either side of John’s hips, straddling him as you hovered over his aching and twitching length. You offered him slight relief by gently grinding your clothed cunt down on him as you leaned forward to nip at his ear. “Let me do the work.”
His breath was hot on your neck as he exhaled, hands gliding along your hips and thighs as you hovered above him. His need for you was insatiable, and it was impossible for him to hold back the growl building in his throat.
“Anything for you, darling,” he hummed, voice low.
You didn’t even bother attempting to remove your underwear in that position. Instead, you pushed the fabric to the side, exposing yourself to him as you carefully lowered down onto his length. Not even a quarter of the way inside of you and you could already feel the uncontrollable twitching of his cock. It took everything in you to not just fully fall onto him in one swift motion, to just spear yourself open on him.
Once you finally had him buried inside of you, you moaned as you gently grinded, making his hard length dance inside of you. The skirt of your dress completely covered the view of your bodies being joined together, and it was as if the two of you were just sharing a passionate kiss.
Then your hips began to buck, rocking up and down along him, cunt continually swallowing him and then spitting him back out. It took everything in John to not thrust up into you, or grab your hips and work you himself. The back of his head leaded against the plush cushion of the chair as his blue eyes focused on you like some icy fire. Distracting himself from the urge to fuck into you, he let his hands roam; grabbing at your breasts, pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip.
Eventually he couldn’t take it any longer. He gathered the fabric of the dress and bunched it up, revealing the way your cunt swallowed him whole. The sight left him grunting, and he noticed the way you fluttered around him at the sound. Your panties were soaked, having only been haphazardly pushed to the side, too impatient to take things slowly.
“You’re always so good to me,” you panted from exertion. A thin layer of sweat made your chest glisten, and your lips still felt puffy from sucking him off earlier. John was utterly enchanted by the way your tits bounced with your movement. “Just wanna make you feel good. I- fuck- love you s’much, baby- fuck…”
That familiar heat began to tighten in your lower stomach, and John caught on instantly in the way your hips faltered and your words grew nearly incoherent. With one hand still holding up the skirt of your dress, he snaked the other one behind your neck, making you look at him.
“Wanna make me feel good? That right, darling? Yeah?” he asked, lips brushing against yours. “Cum on this fucking cock. I want to feel it.”
It felt wrong being the first one to finish. You were doing all of this for him, to show your gratitude, your love, and yet there you were, teetering on the edge. Still, he requested it, demanded it, and a few more needy rock of your hips later and you were coming undone around him with a pitchy moan. Every muscle in your body tensed and burned, and it felt impossible to catch your breath from the blistering heat that washed over you, yet you pushed on as your walls fluttered around him.
His hands stayed firmly on the back of your neck and bunched up in your dress as you continued, hellbent on getting him off, but his grip only grew stronger as you pulled him closer to his own release. His breathing grew ragged and throaty as his legs tensed. Nothing could rip his eyes off of the sight of you taking him like a good wife.
“Please,” you spoke up, voice choked with pleasure. “Please, wanna make you feel good. I need it, need to feel you, need your cum, please baby, fuck.”
That did him in. The hand wrapped in your dress yanked you down hard, pulling your hips flush against him with no chance of escape. A rough grunt rumbled in his throat as you felt his cock twitch and pulse inside of you. Tensing around him, you milked him of everything he had to give you, and you groaned at the sensation as he filled your cunt full. Knees shaking on either side of him, your head fell forward and rested against his shoulder as he continued to fill you, and once he was finished, you felt his muscles melt.
“You know,” he said, arms loosely wrapping around you, “if you liked the dress that much, a simple thank you also would have sufficed.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” you exhaled, grinning into the side of his neck. “Besides, don’t act like you weren’t thinking about fucking me in this dress after dinner, anyway.”
John hummed at your comment, and then gently bucked his hips upwards, drawing a sharp gasp out of you. He chuckled at the way your legs clenched around his waist, and he turned his head to plant an open mouthed kiss against your cheek.
“Oh darling, I’m still thinkin’ about it.”
#mafia!price#mafia!141#cod smut#captain john price smut#captain john price x reader#captain price x reader#john price smut#captain price smut
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Making up things about Danny Phantom herb lore for fun #1: Blood Blossoms
The specifics as to why Blood Blossoms have such strong ghost-repelling qualities are still unknown. The Blood Blossom flower has a strong and pleasant smell and is edible by humans, having a light, flowery, and sweet flavor to them. Traditionally, it was often used as a famine food, and it was not uncommon for the flowers to be put on bread as they were- cut straight from the stem- and consumed with a bit of butter. As summer turns to autumn, unharvested blood blossoms turn into a fruit known more colloquially as 'Blood Berries.' Blood berries are also edible by humans, maintaining a similar level of sweetness as their flowers, but with a much richer, often overpowering taste. As such, the berries would often be reduced and put into jars of preservers or used as a marinade for meats. Only a little was needed to draw out the richer dimensions of food. While the scent of blood berries will still drive away ghosts, the scent of blood berries is not as strong as their flower counterpart unless actively being cooked. However, dried blood berries, and preserves using them tend to keep especially well in the cold winter months.
While one may assume that Blood Blosdoms were named for their vibrant, red, blood-like hue, it is thought by many historians that blood blossoms were especially favored by the Blood family who hailed from England, and it was them who named the flower. The Blood family's coat of arms features a design that incorporates flowers that look very similar to blood blossoms, perhaps proving to be evidence of this theory.
There are many theories as to why Blood Blossoms repel ghosts, among which is the idea that the scent of these flowers is exceedingly repulsive to ghosts, that something in their chemical makeup makes ectoplasm react in adverse ways when a ghost consumes one, or that it is a component of ghost-repelling spells- therefore ghosts feel a natural aversion to them. However one legend purposes that the reason for why ghosts are repelled by blood blossoms stems from their origin- There is a legend that says that once upon a time, a man would secretly worship at a shrine to a local forest spirit of life and the harvest. The man and his family had been cursed by evil spirits some years before, and where the Christain God had forsaken him and his family, the gentle forest spirit took pity on him and gave him what help she could. He did not have much to offer her. He would work all day in the field and barely yield enough to feed his family. His wife had been injured some years before and so could not work the fields with him anymore, nor could she even ready his meals for him when he returned home each day. And his daughters had fallen under some kind of mysterious illness that, while it fortunately had yet to take their lives, also refused to subside. Still, what little he could spare he would sacrifice to the forest spirit in hopes that she would bring them better fortune, a better crop, and protection from the evil spirits that had cursed him and his family. But one day he came to the nature spirit's alter, a gaping wound in his chest. The ghosts that had cursed his family before had returned for their souls. He did what he could- cast incantations around his humble home, but this injury had been the cost of trying to keep his family safe. The spirits were stronger than his incantations, and it would not be long until the spirits broke through them. He begged the goddess to protect and help his family. Without him, how would they eat? How would his family survive? The humble farmer died on the forest spirit's alter. She wept for the man who sacrificed everything he could to her to protect his family. And so she thought that the least she could do was to grant his wish. Plants erupted from the ground where his blood had spilled, bearing bright red flowers with black thorns. They traveled along the forest path to his home, where they surrounded the building, forcing the ghosts away. They would never return to hurt the family ever again. And with the spirits gone, the daughters were able to heal from the illness. It was soon discovered as they trimmed the wild black thorns back that the flowers were edible and delicious too. The stems and twigs burned especially hot, helping them to keep their hearth warm throughout all the autumn and winter. And the berries kept all the winter through. And so the man's wishes had all come true. For the rest of their days, his family would be protected from the spirits that had haunted them, and they would never need to go hungry ever again.
#danny phantom#danny phantom headcanon#danny phantom herb lore#herb lore#dpxdc#dp#dc x dp#dp x dc crossover#danny phantom x dc#dc x dp crossover#dp x dc#dp x dc au#blood blossoms
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𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥! - 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄
❤︎ simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader ❤︎ wc: 2.4k ❤︎tw: mentions of gore, suggestive ❤︎ tags - snowy valentines, heavy making out, pining, drunk confessions, aggressive!simon, but sweet as well :)
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"You know today's Valentine's Day, right L.T?" Your words slurred together like pudding, and Ghost could smell the faint scent of whiskey, along with the remnants of some strawberry dessert, on your breath as he leaned down to hear you better.
He'd brought you up to the rooftop from the raging party downstairs, figuring it be easier to avoid any questions from Soap or Price about just why the two of you were standing so close. He looked up, stretching and rolling his neck from side to side, and was taken back by just how clear the sky was. It'd been months since he'd been able to make out any sort of constellation, and just about everyone had gotten used to the gunpowder-filled clouds and polluted air, but Ghost hadn't.
"What about it?" He said firmly, looking down at you and watching how you ever so slightly fisted the hem of his t-shirt in your hands, and every so often, your knuckles would graze the skin of his stomach, making his whole-body tense.
You smiled, your doe eyes and dilated pupils staring up at him with the most drunken affection that he'd seen in a while, "Do you have anyone?" You bit down on your chapstick-doused lips, enjoying the slight cherry flavor. Ghost watched you work; he could almost feel your tongue moving around on his just by watching your lick your lips.
He sighed, not annoyed, but a little anxious. He just didn't know how to act around you, he didn't know why you made him feel so different from everyone else. It'd been years since he had a friend, let alone a woman, an attractive one no doubt, clawing at him for more, practically begging for him to just pick her up and take her to a random closet to show her just how much he was willing to give. At this point, Ghost couldn't care less about the fact that you'd forget most of this in the morning. He loved the way you made him feel, even if there was a chance you didn't mean it.
"You're drunk, soldier." He gently pried your wandering hands off his body as you grimaced at the fact that he just called you soldier. You whined in response, hands instinctively shooting up to hug him around his neck, and Ghost allowed it, because he wanted it so badly. He wanted you so badly.
"Come on, just tell me already! You're no fun when you keep secrets." You were practically hanging off of him, your toes barely touching the ground, and even though he could've wrapped himself around you and lifted you up even higher, his hands stayed in fists planted at his sides. You leaned even closer to whisper,
"Do you have a valentine or not?"
A small smile stretched across Ghost's face, and for once, he was actually thankful for that thin piece of fabric covering it. Precious, he thought. You were the one thing that could unlock Simon's buried affection, and whether you knew it or not, you were the ticket to making his entire being feel better. He was bloodthirsty on the field, a man-killing machine known for his deceitful tactics and disgusting tricks for cracking a neck just right, but it disappeared in your presence. Not because he had to hide it, but because he would just much rather focus on you, the most perfect thing, right in front of him.
Ghost's hands hesitantly moved to the small of your back, but then slowly dropped them again before raising one to pinch the bridge of his nose as you let go of his neck, crossing your arms in annoyance at the fact that he just won't grab you.
"I know you're pouting because I'm not paying much attention to you, but I have to be gentle with you for now. You've had drinks, yeah? Maybe a few too many. Even if I wanted to, I can't touch you."
You looked up at him, the grimace resting on your face was a little more relaxed, "But" you started, "Do you want to?"
Ghost looked back at you, and his lungs felt like they'd burst into flames if you spoke one more sentence in that voice, the voice that's dripping with desire and demand, for him and only him. He whispered, "Of course I do. Of course, I want to touch you, I want to touch every part of you." His voice grew louder at the end of his words, making your eyes widen at the volume.
"Just because I'm being gentle right now, doesn't mean I always will. The things I want to have happen, the things I want to do to you, aren't sweet things. They aren't nice, they wouldn't be beautiful or sentimental. I wouldn't be careful. Do you understand?"
You craned your neck up at him, in a certain way that made your cheek bones shine perfectly from the dim light of the moon.
"I understand, Lieutenant," your voice was nothing more than a quiet sigh.
"Get some sleep. Tomorrow's role call is an hour earlier," Ghost said as he started to walk back to the door to the stairs, "Be there."
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
You groaned in pain as an alarm rang through your room, off the walls and into your ears. Every part of you hurt, from your toes to your shoulders. I couldn't have done that much, right? You thought, slowly slipping out of your covers and top quilt before walking to the bathroom.
6 AM, and for what? Breakfast and a flag? Couldn't they wait an hour? I sure could. Your hair wasn't as dirty as you'd thought it be, thankfully, and it was easy to manage into a tight bun before tugging on boots and a warm winter coat and heading to the main hall. As you walked, crunching on a small layer of snow with every step, you tried to think back to last night. What even happened? You were kicking yourself, because you knew this would be the case. It happens every time. You're just more of a lightweight than you'd like to admit, and you remember it every morning after you drink.
You could remember the rooftop, being escorted up there by none other than Ghost, which wasn't out of the ordinary, but there were some parts of your conversation that just didn't make sense. It was all a blur but, there was something about being gentle? And Ghost mentioning that, sure he's being gentle now, but if you let him, he'd be the farthest thing from gentle with you.
But there was no way that happened. Fever dreams, drunk dreams, they're all the same. They're all vivid, and scarily accurate, but fake, nonetheless.
Once you arrived at the hall, a wooden door creaked open upon your entrance, along with the sound of your boots hitting the floor in attempt to shake the ice off. The room was packed to the brim with people, rescue dogs that didn't behave, and squeaking chairs moving round for roll call. Hot coffee was being poured and whistling kettles being turned off for tea were some of your favorite smells in the world. The dim fluorescent lighting woke you up fully, and if it were any brighter, it may have set you over the edge. No matter how hungover you were, snowy mornings were like a restart.
You made your way down the precise middle aisle, eyeing an open chair by Ghost and speedwalking to grab it before anyone else.
Once you sat down, you started shedding your large coat and draped it behind you. Ghost finally noticed and took a double take once he saw just who was sitting next to him.
Somehow, by some crazy unearthly miracle, even after a terrible hangover, you were still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He was almost frustrated at this point; you looked like you'd never drank a day in your life. Your hair was perfectly pinned, clothes beautifully ironed, which allowed for every curve to be hugged like a glove and shown off to every man in the room.
Ghost was borderline salivating. You smelled like you always did, lavender; and your morning voice as you said hello to him was just raspy enough to make him crazy, almost like crackling firewood. Even in the snowy, freezing weather, just by you being there, he felt perfectly warm.
"Morning," he said back, adjusting his pants that had somehow shrunk a few inches since you took your place by him.
The cup of coffee in his hand looked minuscule compared to the one in yours, which let your mind wander to other places, thinking about things that you shouldn't be. Like how small your body would feel enclosed in arms, and how those very same hands that were inches away from yours could destroy you within seconds.
Before you knew it, one of Ghost's arms raised and placed itself on the back of your chair, making you dizzy just at the contact. His skin wasn't even on yours, but you could feel the weight of his heavy forearm on the chair, and the way it gently ruffled the sleeves on your shirt. His breath was closer, practically pouring down the side of your neck, which made you automatically lean in closer to him. You could feel your heartbeat and was sure he could see it popping out of your chest every second.
"Hey," he whispered in your ear, making your eyes flutter at the deep tone speaking from a mouth inches away from you.
"If I left, would you follow me out?"
You looked at him, eyes wandering all over his face until resting in deep eye contact. You could tell all he needed was one word, one nod, and he'd stand up.
"Yes," you whispered. Breathed, more like.
Ghost stood, his height growing like a giant tree, from his seat and stomped out of the large dining room, and into a small hallway towards the back. You discreetly watched every move, every step he took, every nod he gave to the unsuspecting soldiers, and the exact turn he took to start his descent in the hallway.
You sat for a minute before moving. I could just stay, avoid any unnecessary confrontation, and tell him he misheard me, you thought. Your legs fidgeted for a few more seconds, trying to decide, but in reality, your answer from the start was genuine.
You shot up, faster than you intended, and started walking in the same path that Ghost did. Nodding to the soldiers, shooting smiles and quietly opening a door that led you into the same dark hallway that he entered.
There were a few small windows lining the hall, and the snow falling made it seem brighter than it was. You walked a few paces slowly down the walkway, looking in empty rooms and peeping your head in open doors, wondering where he could've gone.
All the sudden, when you were looking towards the opposite direction, a strong pair of gloved hands grabbed you by the hips and pulled your body into a room before slamming the door with his foot and pinning you to the back of it.
Ghost's face was inches away from yours, "Mm, finally," he groaned, his hands desperately running over and under pieces of your clothing. He tugged at hemlines, the belt loops of your pants, anything he could grab to signal he wanted more, and he hadn't even started yet.
"Finally?" You teased, trying not to whimper at the feeling of his hands squeezing the meat of your thigh, "You act like you've been waiting for this or something." Your words got breathier with every second, and so did his. All he did was hum in agreement, words weren't ever truly necessary for him, especially when he'd rather communicate in touch.
He quickly lifted up his mask just enough so his lips were available to you, and you took the opportunity to utilize them as fast as you could. Once you saw them, plump and slightly wet lips, your eyes drowned in the sight of them. Your arms shot up to his neck, and you pulled him down to your level so you could kiss him properly.
It wasn't sweet like a first kiss, or something that you'd want to take a picture of and frame it, it was like a secret. His mouth opening against yours, the air between you mixing like it was never meant to separate, the two of you were hungry, hungry for each other and only each other. The pads of his fingers rubbed your collarbone, making you shiver underneath his calloused touch, and he loved it. His tongue gently massaged yours, sliding his lips back and forth and your teeth gently bit down on his lip slowly before the two of you broke the kiss and slowly opened your eyes again.
Ghost moaned against his closed mouth, shutting his eyes before resting his head in the crook of your neck. His long arms wrapped around you as if you were a present from Christmas, something that he'd always wanted but never believed he'd get. He almost needed a breather from the aftermath of it all. He couldn't stop, and he knew he'd never stop for as long as you were in arms reach.
"Do you remember last night?" He said from his spot in your neck, to which you started to nod. "Too much to not be slightly embarrassed forever."
You could feel his chest vibrate against yours from the huff of air he let out, and after he lifted his head to meet yours again, straightening his posture to tower over you, "Ask it again." He demanded as his hand planted itself behind your head on the door.
The smile on your lips was enough to make his knees buckle, all it did was remind him that every part about you was made beautifully, was made to its most perfect potential.
You sighed before rolling your eyes slightly and dropping your head in your hands for a minute out of embarrassment, "Do you have a valentine, Lieutenant?"
Ghost allowed himself to just bask in the silence, to soak in what you just said like a warm bath. How wonderful, that he was able to hear you say that same question twice?
"Yes, I do," he started, before taking your hand in his and carefully kissing the center of your palms, "And I think I'm set for life."
#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley fluff#ghost fluff#modern warfare#simon riley x you#simon riley imagine#ghost x y/n#simon riley x y/n#ghost imagine#simon riley#circe69scribbles
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Carry me - Simon "Ghost" Riley x m!reader (angst)
Games
Bit by Bit
(This was made after 1am and I projected my OCD onto a fictional character so that's on me guys, my bad. Any bad writing can be blamed on the fact I was watching chernobyl with my cat and eating the saltiest fried chicken sandwich known as i wrote this)
"Simon-"
"Don't." He grunted, leaving his position in your bed. Never his.
The day he admits it's his bed as well, is the day he has the ability to sleep peacefully. And God knows when he'll be granted that right.
He awoke to the sound of screams, his ears ringing. The feeling of water and blood rapidly running under his skin, as if his flesh begged to be free.
You had rolled over to hold his midriff, and Lord help him with how much he's grown attached to you, with how much he wanted to pin you down as if you were nothing more than another enemy in his eyes.
He shot up, just to feel the familiar sting of a hook in his rib as he had sat on the bed.
Stepping out onto the patio with a grunt, a tank top and some joggers on with slippers. The apartment's patio serving as the perfect place to have a smoke, the dog yawning to join. Big fella, she was, nudging snout onto Simons leg.
Sitting down, he grabs a light, lighting the cigarette he had hiding cheekily in his pocket, when he had swore up and down he wasn't smoking anymore less than 8 hours ago.
Burn your wrist.
Shut up Riley, you know better than to act on that.
Do it now.
No.
He leaned back, allowing the nicotine to enter his system, and the tobacco to leave a lasting smell on the rough pads of his fingers. He watched you from the corner of your eye. Silent panic. Wanting to help him. But you can't. All he can do is lie to a therapist and come home to you.
He made this worse. Leave him. You're nothing, but he's worse.
Stop.
He saw you at your worst. Why stay?
Because he saw me at my worst. And he stayed.
He shouldn't have.
Stop.
He knows nothing about you and he goes to sleep saying bull crap about loving you.
"STOP!"
He yells, grabbing his hair in two fists on the side of his head, the cigarette between his fingers, lingering in the night air as the sound of the city stand beneath him.
He looks at you, and you seem to just be staring. Frozen.
It spitballs, as he meets your gaze;
"Stop fucking staring at me like that yeah? You can't fucking help me! You deal with me, or you kick me out. Should've done that by now if you've ever known what's good for you!" He says, throwing his hands up in the air out of exasperation, the dog yelping a bit as she backs away. He heads back inside, putting out the cigarette, and snatching his blanket, heading towards the couch.
You gave him a look as he left. He knew that look. You've set boundaries, he was trying to be healthy for you. Honest. You wouldn't stand for verbal abuse, nor disrespect. But he was weak. Useless in the presence of a man like you.
He knew better than to immediately go to you. He left earlier for the gym that morning, called off work, went to one of those shitty manmade parks with more dog piss than a fire hydrant, and sat himself down. Right in the grass, watching a single dandelion. It was weak. But it still stood in the grass. It moved with the wind, even when it lost it's soft white petals.
And when it was stripped naked, bare, with nothing left to offer, there was another dandelion there. Planted from the wind carrying it. Ready to repeat the cycle.
Why is he doing this? He'll repeat what his father did. He was the end of it. No relatives to fall back on. God knows how much he's begged to bring his brother, Tommy back.
But that's just it. He's the end of the cycle.
Get up. Nobody is coming to save you.
He stands before you now, with nothing to offer, but the willingness to move with you if you'd allow him. If you'd allow a weak man like him to remain with you. He'll continue to lose his petals, but you'll help him plant new flowers. To utter the words,
"I can never truly tell you how sorry I am, love. You are the man I want. You are everything. And it's not enough. But I am trying."
Looking up at you, his bones brittle, his eyes heavy.
He wants to sleep. To feel his flesh settle, his mind quiet.
And as you embrace him, he can feel every molecule in his skin burning.
And if you ever let reality hit that you deserve someone who could think like a bloody normal human for once, would he continue to survive for as long as he could without you to carry him. Until he allowed the world to end what it started.
You are everything.
Laying in bed, your hands hesitantly rubbing his back in soft circular motions as he keeps his head in your tummy, soft breathing as the dog nuzzled into the crook between you two, soft kisses lingering on his tongue, it leaves him before he can chase after it;
"...Would you ever marry me?"
@tabloid-junki3 i dont think i cooked but i did heat it up in the microwave so
#cod fanfic#cod fluff#fluff#simon riley imagine#trans friendly#simon riley x you#lieutenant ghost#simon x reader#y/n#call of duty x y/n#call of duty x reader#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#cod x male reader#male reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x male reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost fanfiction#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#cod x reader#ghost#cod#cod mw2#cod mwii#call of duty modern warfare 2
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Sampo has taken him to dozens of planets at this point, massive ships the size of celestial bodies and burnt out stars that have turned lush with discolored plant life over billions of years. Massive, writhing metropolitans and quaint, warm planets with people who gawked at their appearance. He's seen massive astral leviathans' open maws that span galaxies and ingest stars, phantom ships made of wood and bone slice through shimmering fogs. Planets composed of intertwined living beings, made of twisting and layered plant matter, places where the stars speak low sharp words and dance over his closed eyelids and make him dizzy.
But he hasn't take Gepard to his home planet.
Gepard assumed it was inevitable; he had known a while before Sampo had taken him off Jarilo-IV that Sampo wasn't from Belobog. He'd suspected it but been unsure long before Sampo mended him back to health. It was a partially spoken truth now, while Sampo divulged more information about every aspect of the universe to him.
"When are we going to your home planet?" Gepard had asked, openly, one night they spent on a waterlogged planet with specks of land, watching as the ocean jumped up and strange aquatic creatures swam through thick air.
Sampo had scoffed, Gepard watching him stand and look out over the horizon with his arms crossed. "My home planet? Please, no need to go to that lump of rock! Trust me, it's the worst planet out here. I've walked on gas giants and burning sun's that were better than that place."
"You came from it," Gepard said softly, maybe thinking Sampo would understand why there's something clinging on the inner walls of his heart that make him want to see where Sampo came from so bad. "It can't be that horrible then, right?"
Sampo doesn't speak, but he shakes his head. "Do you wanna go out? Do you think we could swim in the water... sky... thing?" He grins and Gepard let's him change the topic, content to follow Sampo.
He doesn't talk about his planet without Gepard pushing him. He doesn't talk much of anything about where he came from, how he grew up, why he apparently spent years jumping across planets long before he ended up in Belobog. Gepard asks, sometimes, when he feels maybe he can coax a response from Sampo. But he always deflects, gives vague or contradictory answers, or only responds with tame non-answers.
Sampo acts as usual; he talks constantly, about little things or memories or stuff he wants to show Gepard. When he's not talking, he's humming, tapping his fingers against the glass control panels of the ship, kicking his foot absentmindedly against his chair with a constant metallic thunkthunkthunkthunk. He always grins wide when he looks at Gepard, sometimes grabbing Gepard by his face and pressing kisses against every inch of skin so rapidly it's almost overwhelming.
Sampo talks to Gepard when he thinks he's asleep. Gepard, every time, pretends not to listen.
"I don't want to take you back."
Their bed is small, more like a cot made for one person. Gepard had offered it to Sampo the first time they'd investigated their stolen ship but Sampo had just laughed and pulled Gepard to lay with him. Every night Sampo holds Gepard, arms locked around him and keeping his head pressed to Sampo's chest, or his own body weight draped over Gepard like a weighted blanket.
Right now, he hooks his chin over Gepard's shoulder, running fingers through his blonde hair, one hand over his side. Sampo's hand ghosts over his ribs, burning through Gepard's shirt, directly over the rough, newly healed scar.
He's quiet, so painfully quiet, and gentle, with his touch faint and entirely for Sampo's own gain. Gepard nearly drifted off, but now he keeps his eyes closed, his breathing soft, hoping Sampo doesn't feel how his heart jumps when Sampo brushes a finger over the shell of his ear.
"I don't want to take you back," he repeats softly, his words dark and low with the confession, "I'd keep you in this... stupid little ship, in the stars with me forever. If I could. If you wanted. Only if you wanted."
Gepard does want it: to keep waking up to nothing but stars and Sampo's sleeping face or exhausted grin; to listen to Sampo drawl on about all the stars and planets and strange celestial lifeforms they pass with knowledge that feels bigger than Sampo himself; to be dragged from planet to planet, Sampo's hand searing new marks into his own palm and finger prints, his excitement electric and tangible.
Gepard does, deep down, want it. He wants Sampo to himself, too. To give himself entirely to Sampo. But a part of him will always be in Belebog. They both know it.
Sampo is quiet, the next morning. More than quiet--he's subdued, faraway, as if locked inside himself. Even when Sampo isn't speaking he's loud, his presence always drawing and begging for Gepard's attention. Now he seems small, curled in on himself in the piloting seat.
"Sampo?" It feels rude, wrong to break the silence with his own voice, but Gepard does. "Are you okay?" Sampo turns his head, barely, to look at Gepard where he stands against the wall. He shoots him just a smile, but says nothing. It makes more concern coil and simmer deep in his gut.
Gepard has no clue where they are now, in the vast impossibility of space. The universe is foreign to him, but Sampo treats it like an old friend, like he knows it intimately. Gepard has let Sampo take the reigns, guide them to wherever he wants to go. It had stressed him out, at first, the lack of knowing, the unfamiliarity of new worlds. But now more than ever, he's content just being with Sampo. He'd go with him anywhere.
Where they are now, though, feels different. The outside space is dark, swirling celestial bodies of black and grey and bloody reds and browns the colour of bruises. The terrain is made up of fragments of comets, rocks, shattered formations and debris. The debris varies from collections of dust to meteors larger than their ship, jagged and broken apart like Qlipoth had shattered them open with his hammer. Gepard sees the metallic glint of wrecked ships, metal shards embedded in rock and flayed among it all.
He hates this place. Gepard doesn't know if it's him, or if it's some sort of cosmic effect, but there's a heaviness pressing on him. Maybe it's something real, tangible, or maybe it's the way Sampo navigates the wreckages and meteors with a stiff ease in his shoulders.
Gepard walks up to him, quiet behind him. He wants to touch Sampo, feel the heat of him against his palms, but for some reason he feels like he can't. Instead he places his hands on the back of Sampo's seat, his fingers barely brushing against Sampo's back.
"Sampo, are you okay? If... if something is the matter, you can tell me--"
"What d'ya think?"
Gepard blinks, finding himself shocked by the weight of Sampo's gaze suddenly on him. His eyes always have a dull quality to them, the shine underneath his pupils gone save for when Gepard whispers against his skin or presses his lips across his face. Now, though, his eyes are dark, all consuming. They absorb the light and snuff it out, making the small ship feel cold. "I... what?"
"This place," Sampo hums, turning back to focus on navigating. His smile is a practised, stiff line. "It's lovely, isn't it? Or do you find it creepy? Messy? I mean, it's a lot of destruction. There's a good reason no one but ol' Sampo comes around here anymore."
Gepard frowns, feeling like Sampo's having a conversation he's not a part of. "What do you mean? What is this place?"
"There used to be a planet," he pauses, making a noise in the back of his throat, "actually, a few planets. Small ones. They'd been under the IPC's control for a looonnng time. Until they abandoned 'em after clearing all the minerals out and leaving the planets hollow."
His mouth is dry, his fingers digging into the back of Sampo's seat harshly. Sampo's voice is light, conversational, like he's explaining one of the allegedly 'boring and lame' planets they'd passed before. "The planets were basically just rocks, before the IPC made them into mining projects and shipped a bunch of people to work away there. They left the workers when the mines dried up.
"Rivet Town looks almost exactly like the mining planets did, back then." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly. "The people who'd scrounged up enough money took off, taking everything they could with them. Mine supervisors left behind their working families and their kids and went back with the IPC while the planets starved slowly."
The ship slows, between asteroids and at the edge of a vast, whirling expanse of debris. It swirls around out and around a burning, black body of... of something, within the center of a shattered planet light years away from them. Gepard stares, and the sight of it burns into his eyes.
"D'you know how Masked Fools recruit people?" Sampo says it with a giggle, not waiting for a response. "Sometimes they just whisk kids away from happy families before they can remember anything. Sometimes people go to the taverns themselves and try and choke down the drinks, but that's not often. Most often, though, the Fools find hopeless, little planets and whisk away orphans seconds before... boom! Planet gone! You never forget the popping noise a collapsing, imploding planet makes."
He cackles, laughter loud and echoing off the metal walls. Gepard's hands are shaking, staring out into the ruined abyss, the remnants of planets and lives and a past Gepard can never, ever see or understand. His eyes burn and his heart aches.
Gepard lunges forward, pressing himself harshly against the chair as he wraps his arms around Sampo. He circles his chest and presses his face into the curve of his neck, holding him so tightly as if Gepard is trying to squeeze Sampo into his very being. Sampo's laughter becomes broken, wet and frantic when Gepard holds him tightly. He shakes under Gepard's tight grip, the shine of tears of Sampo's face as he continues to stare into ruined space. Sampo bites his lip, hard, to stifle himself.
"Come home," Gepard exhales, pressing his words into Sampo's skin, "come home with me. After-- after all this. I don't care how long we're out here or where else we go but please. Please come home with me. I'll copy the key to my apartment. I have enough room in my closet for you. We can--I can buy you wigs and dresses and whatever the fuck you want. Anything."
"Why?" It's a whisper, barely a question. Sampo lifts his hand and grasps the forearm pressed over his chest. "Why?"
"Because Natasha probably still needs your help, and Seele will gut me if you don't return, and Hook without a doubt misses you, and Serval pretends she hates you but still asks me how you are when you text me, and I'm in love with you." He sucks in a breath; saying it always makes him feel airy, lightheaded. "I'm in love with you, and I want you there. Why else?"
There's silence for some moments too long, Sampo still shaky in Gepard's grip. He starts to worry that he's suffocating, that it's too much, but when he tries to pull away Sampo grabs his arms and holds them there, stopping him from moving.
"... but my criminal record's gone," Sampo whines, the faintest bit of humour in his voice. He tilts his head back, eyes still red rimmed when he looks up at Gepard with a searching smile. Gepard, having spent so long with him at this point, knows what he's really saying.
"I'm sure you'll record will be as long as it was before in no time." Gepard grumbles, wrinkling his nose and letting his conflicted feelings into his tone. But he lets it drop away with a sigh, shaking his head and feeling fond. "... as long as you try not to give my Guards too much grief, Koski."
Sampo doesn't say anything, but when he smiles and laughs, when he pokes into Gepard's cheek and says that the Silvermane Captain better not go soft on him, his eyes are shining.
#sampard#honkai star rail#sampo koski#gepard landau#in the bones#this mini fic has been half done in my drafts n i been unsure on finishing it cuz its quite. obvious. how this relates to other. stuff#but i want to write more minifics of these idiots going around the universe n shit#anyways i hc that sampo became so fond of jarilo and belobog cuz he had a childhood a lot like the kids in the underworld#before he became a fool
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Shooting Star — Bodyguard!Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Popstar!Reader
Being a bodyguard for a 20-something year old pop star was the last thing Simon had in mind. Simon, the same man who had an uniform adorned by chest candy, the same man who was known as a Ghost, the same man who was a highly accomplished SAS soldier, forced to sit on your pink bed while you did your makeup on the floor.
The image was almost comical, the man in a black suit for the first time in forever, a bulletproof vest concealed underneath his white dressing shirt. It felt uncomfortable despite everything being the right size, tailored specifically for him upon your very extra request.
''Are you done? Bloody hell.'' You've been getting ready extremely slow just to spite him for making you wake up at 5am sharp, claiming it was protocol. Protocol my ass.
''I liked you better when you were quiet.'' You try to control the way the corners of your lips lift up when you hear the overdramatic sigh muffled by his black balaclava.
''Too bad.'' He gets up from bed, warm hands sneaking under your armpits.
''Up.'' He doesn't even give you the chance to stand up, simply pulling you up and smoothing out your skirt, hands treating the fabric delicately until the wrinkles you caused by sitting on the floor are gone.
''Don't manhandle me.'' There's something especially fun about annoying him, seeing him resist the urge to roll his eyes or take a sharp breath to calm down his witty tongue.
''I didn't manhandle you, brat. I lifted you up.'' He corrects, gently pushing you towards the door.
''Put this on and always make sure I can see you, yeah?'' He hands you a black surgical mask, meant to conceal your identity as much as possible to avoid being recognized by fans on your day off.
''Yup-yup.'' You put the mask on, adjusting the straps before leaving the house, Ghost following close behind, eyes quickly scanning the area before getting in the car, driving you to the fair you begged him to let you go to. It took 3 full days of begging before he relented, purely out of annoyance.
''Don't talk to anyone, don't look at anyone— don't even breathe at anyone. I'm not dealing with your bloody fans.'' He warns.
''Yes, dad.'' You roll your eyes, head leaning against the car window, the vibrations making a slushy out of your brain— probably.
''And don't take any pictures. If anyone recognizes you... punch them dead in the windpipe.'' You stifle a laugh as you hear him, knowing that no matter how blunt he is, he was joking... maybe.
''Go to jail forever if someone asks for a picture, got it.'' You jokingly plant your hand on his thigh and he slaps it away, side-eyeing you before he keeps driving, hoping you ignore the red lights he's speeding through.
#cod mw2#cod mwii#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#simon riley#ghost cod#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#call of duty#simon ghost riley x reader#simon x reader#ghost simon riley#bodyguard!simon#bodyguard!ghost#popstar!reader
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DC x DP Prompt *20*
Sometimes life is a bitch. And it seems like death was no different. Jason died and came back to life. At least he always thought that that is what happened. It is was everyone told him, what made sense at the time.
But the more he looked into things, the less certain he was.
He knew something was up, when Bruce called him to the cave. Normally he would have ignored it, but it seemed different then usual. They were still on shaky legs in their relationship, after everything and he had only been at the cave for a handful of times. Maybe he should have known that it couldn’t be good news, as soon as he saw Bat’s sitting at the Bat-Computer with a bunch of files open about him.
As soon as his father Ex-mentor saw him, he just stood up and motioned for Jason to take the seat. He started to read the documents, not really understanding what the Bat wanted from him.
“I put your DNA in our system, the standard procedure. The system found something you should see”, Bruce seemed to bleed a little into Batman, his voice a little to soft, like it was back then.
Maybe the Lazarus Water had messed him up a little bit more than he had thought? It took some time for him to make sense of everything he saw, but it made it really hard to not let the Pit Madness just swallow him, so that he had not to think about it.
“Your still part of this family, if you have us Jay…”, his dads voice was quite, his hand on his shoulder a grounding weight.
Jason was a clone… he wasn’t the boy who died and came back. He was just a cheap copy of the original. Was the real Jason still dead? Or did they resurrect him and he didn’t act like they wanted to? What did they do to him?
It took month to work through all of these thought, even though he couldn’t find any real answers. But he made himself a place in his family. It was easier now, knowing that the memories of the past weren’t really his. It also made it harder. But he started to become his own person again. The dead Robin and the `resurrected` Jason had already been vastly different, so he could just stay mostly the same.
The crisis came back, when there was another world ending event. Some plant villain - that put Poison Ivy to shame – was holding big parts of the world hostage. And none of their powers or weapons seemed to do anything. So in a last ditch attempt the JLD was trying to summon another, stronger being from the place this thing came from. King Phantom – the ghost king - would probably help them, at least that said the rumours that Constantin had heard.
But the being they summoned was a kid, something that already didn’t sit right with Jason. The boy was maybe fifteen, white hair, green eyes and so scrawny that he would fall over because of a soft breeze. Never the less, he didn’t take long to defeat their foe that they had fought for the better end of a month. The young king looked exhausted as he landed before the hero's. Before anyone could really say anything a white light flashed around the boy, before he fell to the ground.
His hair was now black and he looked far to alive for a ghost.
But the thing that rattled him and his family most, was the stark similarity between the second Robin and the boy king.
#skylers prompts#dcxdp#dcxdp prompt#dpxdc#don't tag the danny phantom fandom#jason todd#bruce wayne#Jason is a clone of himself#His soul reincarnated as Danny in a different dimension#Undergrowth was bored and wanted to show Poison Ivy how to do it right#because of that the batfam is having a crisis
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DECISIONS (1)
Pairings: Jey uso x black fem x Jimmy uso
Warnings: Smut, Infidelity
Summary: In the midst of relationship turmoil, Lola turns to the wrong person.
gifs ©️mocooper98
Lola & Jon shared a laugh amongst conversation as they sat on the couch drinking, they'd had a couple glasses since she got here an hour ago. The effects of the bourbon settled nicely in their system, giving them a warm and fuzzy feel as they talked. Jon was a lot more goofier than usual, which had Rayne giggling off every other word. She finished what was left of her drink, setting the glass down beside her feet as her phone buzzed- an incoming call from BABY💍She declined the call, setting her phone to dnd.
Jon downed his glass too, placing his on the floor before clearing his throat, "so you and uce still not good?" he watched her through heavy lids.
"Nah, we on a break so I can figure shit out, I'm just over the back and forth with him" she rolled her eyes, recounting arguments her and Josh had in the past months.
Jon chuckled, "guess I'm not helpin with that huh?"
She smiled in response, "no you good, you taking my mind off of it," palming his knee before removing it.
This became the norm for Lola, as she'd been going through turmoil with Josh for several months now. The countless arguments and constant bickering had her seeking solace in his twin brother Jon, who provided a shoulder to lean on. They'd all known each other for years so she didn't feel uncomfortable going to him, especially since he opened the door figuratively, and literally to vent her frustrations. Jon always seemed to put a smile on her pretty face, taking pleasure in doing so more than his brother.
Jon secretly had a thing for Lola, and that desire didn't dwindle just because his uce had snatched her up. The boys were different concerning relationships, Josh being more of a playboy, and Jon being more of the committment type. Lola desired marriage and kids when Josh wasn't in a rush with either, handing excuse after excuse. Yet it was Jon who shared similar wants, just unbeknowst to her. He never voiced them because it was evident she was in love with Josh.
But when their relationship hit a rough patch, Jon was quick to offer up his support, as quick as she was accepting it. That's how she found herself frequenting his home to seemingly unwind from the stress.
"Aye I'm at yo' service, whatever you need" his hooded eyes possessed a lust as they bore into hers, darkening the longer they connected. Lola became flushed with a heat that had her skin blazing under his stare. It was written all over her face that she was flustered, trying to play it off with an eye roll "boy don't play wit' me."
Jon licked his lips, "i'm serious, shit i'm low-key mad lil bruh aint treating you right, you deserve better" he admitted, continuing to ramble, "I mean you fine as hell, thick, funny, wife material, shit I woulda been had you at the alter" he professed. He observed her stunned expression as he chuckled to himself, slightly embarassed, "damn I said all dat?" he rubbed his neck, "my bad-"
"Did you really mean it?" she cut him off softly.
With his head lowered, he leered at her, "hell yeah."
That set off something in her, drawing a lust from within and making her act on it as she crawled over and onto his lap, straddling him. She flipped her braids behind her shoulder as his hands quickly found her hips. The heat that radiated between them was something dangerous, they'd never been this close, in this state of mind.
"So you think you deserve me?" she spoke barely above a whisper as his hands crept up her sides, shooting a thrill down her spine.
"I know I do, you won't ever need for nothing if you were mine" he declared, with lips inching closer until they ghosted hers. "Big bruh gon treat you better," he planted one kiss, "do you better," then another, "and dig in dat pussy better," until they were full blown making out. Lola threw her arms around his neck, deepening the intoxicating kiss. Their lips moved deliciously in harmony, the small space provided when their lips did part, made room for his tongue to invade her mouth. They could taste the liquid courage that had them sucking each others faces off.
Jon broke the heated exchange to sloppily kiss along her neck, applying pressure to the most sensitive areas of skin, as she bit her lip and hummed.
He spoke deeply into her ear, "he don't know what to do witchu, but I'mma get you right and send a messege to him."
"So get me right then" she purred boldly.
With her in his hold, he moved to the end of the sofa and rose to his feet, securing her around his waist as he cupped her ass. He headed down a hall, and into his bedroom where his foot nudged the door shut. Jon walked over to the bed and laid Lola down as she began stripping of her plum bralette and matching skirt. Jon followed suit, pulling his jacket up and over his head, revealing his toned and tatted body. He yanked his sweats and briefs down, letting his hard dick spring out. Lola gazed at the sight of his lengthy, thick, member at attention. Damn, he definitely gave Josh some competition.
He stepped out his remaining clothes, wasting no time climbing on top of her, snapping her legs back around him. With arms on either side of her head, his face hovered above hers, "i'mma show that you made a mistake pickin' the wrong twin."
He grabbed his dickhead to line it up with her wet slit, proding at her entrance as she whined before sliding in. They both shared lament as he delved between her walls inch by inch, Jon groaned as he submerged in her wetness, "pussy soaked already, damn Lo."
"Sshit" she hissed at the way his girth stretched her wide as he buried himself inside, settling balls deep, practically in her stomach. "Fuck Jon" she cursed in amazement.
He started rolling his hips slowly inward, delivering tender strokes to get her adjusted to his size. She wore a softened expression, with sullen lids and lips formed into a pout as she whimpered from every thrust. As her eyes threatened to shut he gripped her chin, "look at me while i'm beatin my pussy up" his lips tighening as he growled with a crazed look, "i'm yo' daddy na."
Her heart skipped a beat as she quickly nodded in obedience, staying locked in on him as he began to pound her harder. Her sweet, mangled, cries filled the room as he dragged his length out to drop it back in. Jon placed their foreheads together as he ghosted her lips, "he shoulda never had you...fuck, imma take you from him baby." Lola wanted to verbally respond so badly, but her words were coiled in her throat, only forming broken wails instead.
Jon was drumming his pole through her cunt at such a frantic pace that her heart thumped, and eyes fluttered everytime he tapped her g-spot. He had her spine curved upward, and her toes curled in.
"Ooooh fuck daddy!!" she called to him weakly as he displayed that cheshire grin, loving the way it rolled off her tongue so passionately.
"Yeah say my name baby...just like that."
He lifted up and unhooked her legs, folding them back before pounding her cunt relentlessly. Her gut-wrenching screams echoed off the walls continuously as she gripped the sheets. He fucked her with purpose and intent while mentally thanking his brother for putting her in this position. Josh pushed Lola away and right into Jons arms, and dick that had her thick thighs trembling from the sensation as she clenched up.
"DADDY! M'BOUTTA CUM!" she shrieked as her stomach knotted up.
"Cum on this dick it's all yours" he snarled, rutting his hips aggressively. She did just that, her juices spurting out with a squeal as he refused to lessen up his speed or stop, too engulfed in her rapture.
He pulsated inside her clamored walls, about to buss with strokes that became more sloppy and rushed, chasing his nut.
"Shit! M'close!" his eyes closed and his mouth went ajar to exhale roughly. His skin shuddered as he emptied inside, filling her up with his warm, creamy seed. He came to a stop, finally pulling out of her and going in for a sensual kiss.
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Month 7 - Leaffall
Scorch laid in wait.
The night crept on, sunset bleeding into twilight and then descending into darkness. Her stomach growled but she stayed stock still, except for her tail, which twitched impatiently. She had stayed still for longer than this and she had gone without food for even longer.
This was important.
She’d been careless. Sloppy. She should have known better. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
As the stars came out and the last dregs of warmth were sapped out of the ground, she saw him. He padded along the same scent trail she had followed to get here, humming idly to himself. Scorch slipped out from under the fallen long she had been waiting by and leapt up on it, raising her tail and glaring imperiously down at him.
“You’re far from home, aren’t you, Ghost?”
He stopped in his tracks, tail bristling as he rose up on his toes instinctively. When his eyes found hers, his jaw fell open.
“Scorch?” he asked dumbly.
She narrowed her eyes and crouched low over the tree trunk to hiss, “Surprised? Imagine how I feel.”
Ghost squared his shoulders and squinted back at her. “I wouldn’t have expected you to stay so close to the city.”
“No, you wouldn’t have, would you?” she sneered. “But you never were very bright so don’t be too hard on yourself.” She nearly grinned as he scowled. It felt good to use her tongue as a weapon again.
“What do you want?” he glowered, tail starting to lash.
“I want you to go home and never come back,” she spat. “This Clan is mine,” and as she said it she arched her back and raised her bottlebrush tail, “and if you had any sense you would stay as far away from your beloved Smokyrose as you can.” She scoffed as the mediator’s name fell from her lips, laying the disdain on thick. Ghost’s teeth flashed under the moonless sky as she did.
“So that’s where you’ve been! You joined this RisingClan and what? Are you planning to bring your savage warriors back to the city? Or… or what?”
Scorch felt her own blood boil at that remark. “You idiot!” she snapped. “I want nothing to do with Razor and his city anymore, that’s my point! If you keep coming around here you’re going to draw their attention and he will stain these fields with their blood.” Ghost’s face darkened and she continued. “Surely, you’re smart enough to have seen that? Or do you just not care? I suppose that would make it easier for you to forget about your most recent conquest.” She scoffed again, tail lashing, and sat up straight to look down her nose at him again. She still couldn’t believe it, Smokyrose and Him - well, she could. Smokyrose was entirely too trusting and sweet. She would have had no defenses against Ghost and his tricks. Perhaps she had just expected more of him although she wasn’t sure why.
Ghost, to his credit, surprised her when he growled, “Don’t pretend you know how I feel about her. I’m really considering being there for her and the kits this time.”
Scorch scoffed again and he bristled. “Then you really are stupid. If you really love her, you’ll leave and never come back. Even if Razor spares her, she’ll never forgive you if you bring him down on her Clanmates and you know it.” Ghost looked over his shoulder, back towards the camp where Smokyrose was surely settling in for the night. Scorch narrowed her eyes and jumped down to shove her muzzle in his face and get his attention again.
“Think this through,” she whispered fiercely. “She’ll be fine without you. They always are. But if you keep coming back here, or if you disappear suddenly, cats will come looking. And if they find this place they will take it and they will slaughter anyone who stands in their way. Trust me.” They stood there, nose to nose for a tense moment, before he looked away darkly.
“Fine,” he said. “You won’t see me again.”
“Good,” she purred, planting an intimate lick on his cheek. He stiffened underneath it and it almost felt like she had fallen into a moment from a different time. She savored it and the power she held there - their bodies close, their breath mingling in the cool of night - and whispered in his ear, “because if I do see you again, I’ll kill you myself.” And with that she slid past him and started back toward the camp. She didn’t look back to gauge his reaction. She only hoped with every desperate white knuckled hope inside her that he listened.
#clan gen#clangen#warrior cats#warrior cats oc#warriors#warriors oc#clangenrising#clangen oc#clan gen oc#Scorchplume#Ghost#oohooohoo#excited to see how folks react to this one
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Welcome to the Element Specific Character Tournament!
This is a tournament is to see which character that specializes in a specific element is the best!
There will be 10 different elements represented in this tournament, and they are:
Pyromancy (fire)
Aquamancy (water)
Aeromancy (wind, air)
Geomancy (earth)
Phytomancy (plants, vegetation)
Electromancy (lightning, electricity)
Cryomancy (ice)
Ferromancy (metals)
Umbramancy (darkness, shadows)
Luxomancy (light, holy)
There will be 10 different brackets to decide which characters of each element is the best of their respective elements. Then there will be a final showdown of all ten characters to see who is the best overall!
RULES
Be nice and respectful please. I don’t want any insults thrown at anyone.
Characters have to use the element that you submit it as (ex you submit Zuko as a fire character, not a water character).
If the character uses multiple elements, submit them under an element they’re best known for/most proficient at (ex Soren fire emblem can use multiple elemental tomes, but he is a wind mage and only he can use SS rank wind tomes).
You are allowed to submit as many characters as you want but it has to be one form at a time please.
No submitting the same character multiple times please.
Please specify where the character is from and please no acronyms!
Propaganda is allowed and encouraged but no anti-propaganda (aka character hate).
My time zone is EST and I won’t be active all the time to answer questions (sorry I got real life stuff to do).
There will be certain guidelines on certain characters and media (I’ll get into more detail later) this is because specific media can be weird on how they classify what power is what element. Especially with certain elements being more vague and loosey-goosey.
I don’t particularly mind who you submit as long as they stick to the guidelines, but I might have polls if I’m unsure about a certain character.
Anyways I’ll edit this post as it goes on if more questions are raised.
Elements, Characters, and Media clarifications
Do they have to be magical
Toph is going to be put as a geomancer. I know she invented metal bending but she’s better known as an earth bender and I don’t want her on both earth and metal brackets.
Since Aang is the avatar, he can use all four bending styles, but he started off as an air bender and the show is literally called “the last air bender” I’m going to put him under aeromancer.
Korra on the other hand, won’t be in this tournament at all. Even though she is apart of the water tribe, she doesn’t really have a bending style that’s she more attached to (I mean she was able to do three of the four bending styles much earlier than Aang).
Todoroki won’t be in this tournament. His fire and ice powers are basically on the same level of importance.
I’m going to in-act the same rule I did for Korra and Todoroki for characters like Kirby and Arceus. Just because they can do/become that element, doesn’t mean they are going to be in the tournament. Their whole shtick is they can be any type (arceus) or copy abilities (kirby).
The exception to this rule is Ben 10 with his alien forms. This is because the aliens will be considered as a representative of their species, since 1. people are more familiar with Ben’s names for the aliens 2. Not all alien species have an official canon name.
NO DEMON SLAYER CHARACTERS WHO USES THE BREATHING STYLES! The breathing styles aren’t actually summoning elemental powers, it’s a visual metaphor. Submit only those who can summon actual elements!
Both rock and ground type Pokémon will be considered geomancers
Umbramancy regarding dark and ghost type Pokémon
Luxomancy regarding psychic and fairy type Pokémon
Aeromancy regarding flying type Pokémon
Ferromancy and robots
Magnetism: Ferromancy vs Elctromancy
Why I am also calling Luxomancy “holy”
If the character is a god that doesn’t mean they are inherently a Luxomancer. They have to have something holy about their attacks.
Please don’t submit necromancers as umbramancers. Being able to raise the dead≠umbramancy, if the character can raise the dead ON TOP of general shadow/darkness manipulation they are allowed.
Have fun and let the submitting begin!
#rules#submissions#element specific character tournament#element character tourney#elemental#elements#polls#showdown#tournaments#character tournament#character showdown#water#fire#earth#air#lightning#ice#plant#metal#light#dark
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•°. *࿐ Shiny rocks
ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Him & I - G-Eazy, Halsey
So I’ve recently found out that some male penguins like to find the smoothest rock they can find, because in their mind that’s the best rock there is, and give it to their female penguin so that they can build their nest and lay their eggs on it. I found that really cute and wanted to write something short about it so here you go. A longer fic is in progress!!
Rain x fem!ghoulette!reader
Synopsis: Rain spends days to find the perfect rock to impress one of the ghoulettes. But what he doesn't know is, that the certain ghoulette has a little something prepared in return.
Word count: 1.078
Ghost masterlist
The shy water ghoul has been pining after this earth ghoulette for weeks now. He has fallen head over heels for you. Like a puppy in love, he follows you around, doing whatever you ask of him, even if it's minor. He doesn't dare at all, he does it out of love for you. It's just the calming aura you surround yourself and others with and your love for nature, that made him fall for you. His fellow bandmates have noticed, and encourages him to tell you how he feels about you. He would have done so already, but he's determined to ask you properly. A proper water ghoul type of way.
For every elemental type, there's a different tradition to ask your mate out. For the earth type it's pretty straightforward, they will find the prettiest flowers they can find that remind them of their mate and make a bouquet for them out of those flowers.
Air ghouls will do various things, that can both involve the two or the one asking. Usually they will write a song and sing for the other, serenade the other in a way. Or if they have known each other for a longer time then sometimes they would choreograph a little dance and invite them to dance with them.
For the fire types, it might be a bit surprising. They would get a slice of a tree stump (don't ask them how, it's a fire ghoul thing) and engrave something in it that reminds them of themselves. The various rings on the slice of stump represent the number of years they want to spend time together. And maybe later on the line they will plant a tree together, the older the tree, the longer the couple lasts.
The quintessence and multi ghouls pick one of the four, usually with thing they resonate most with.
And last but not least, water ghouls. They are a bit more subtle than their fire counterpart. They like to find the smoothest rock from a riverbed or the ocean shore. If a water ghoul invests the time into finding the perfect rock for their mate, it means that they are truly in love and think that they want to spend eternity with the other, if they'll accept.
So then you have Rain, determined to find the smoothest, shiniest rock for his (hopefully) mate to be. And for the next couple of days he leaves and looks around rivers and oceans for the perfect rock. Luckily it's very fast and easy for water ghouls to move through water, they're practically flying through it. And it's a good thing that rivers and oceans are connected. For the first few days he’ll come back empty handed and dejected, close to giving up. Eventually, he does come back with a few rocks that he thinks might work as a gift, but in the end he would throw them out, determined that he can find better ones for you. After all, you only deserve the best of the best.
So he continues searching, and while he's taking a break he sees a glimmer rock beneath several other rough rocks. It's the perfect size, the perfect amount of shininess, it's the smoothest rock he has ever seen, and to make it even better, it has the slightest shade of blue in it. The color of the water ghouls. He eagerly takes it out of the water and gives it one more look over to check if it's actually perfect for you. Once he's satisfied and is sure that it's the rock for you, he heads home ready to ask you to be his mate.
***
You've been asking around, wondering where a certain water ghoul has vanished off to. All of them shrugged and told you that he’ll be back soon. They clearly know something that you don't. You patiently wait for him, wanting to spend some time with him. You've fallen quite a bit for Rain. So naturally as an earth ghoulette, you've prepared a little bouquet for him. You've taken the bouquet out of the vase in your room and hold it in your hands as you wait anxiously for Rain to come back in the commons room, hoping that he likes you back, even if it's in the slightest. You watch the door as other ghouls and ghoulettes walk by and give you smiles. Already knowing what Rain has in store for you.
Eventually, the door creaks open and in walks Rain, dripping a little water inside. He's cradling the rock in his hands, protecting it with the best of his abilities, not wanting anything to happen to the precious rock. As he meets your eyes, his smile drops, and his tail sags. “Are you waiting for someone?” He timidly asks you, not so sure of his rock anymore. You give him a slight smile, “yes, he's been disappearing a lot recently, and I've missed him, it made me realize my feelings for him.” His eyes water a bit as he casts his gaze towards the floor. His tail hanging limply now, absolutely dejected. Realizing what he's probably holding in his hands, you smile. Considering his reaction you figure he likes you in the same way you do. You stand up, and walk towards him, “that certain someone is a tall water ghoul. He's pretty shy, but he's really smart. He can be really protective of his loved ones, and loves to play music, specifically his bass.”
As if light bulbs are surrounding his head. He whips his head up, his tail rising and waving around in excitement. You laugh, “that certain water ghoul is you, Rain. This bouquet here is for you. I hope you like it, I tried my best.” You hand it out to him and he gingerly takes it from you. He lets out a little laugh, “I can't believe you beat me to it. Well, I might as well give this to you now.” He says as he opens up his palm to reveal this beautiful rock. “This rock is for you, I hope you treasure it as much as I treasure you.” You smile brightly up at him and nod. “I will for eternity, Rain. I love it.” He beams at you and pulls you in for a kiss. As you both pull away, he smiles again, “I'm really glad you're actually mine now, (Y/n). I love you, my droplet. You make me whole.”
#ghost#ghost band#ghost band x reader#nameless ghouls#nameless ghouls x reader#nameless ghoul#nameless ghoul x reader#the band ghost#the band ghost x reader#rain#rain ghoul#rain x reader#rain ghoul x reader#rain ghost
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