#romanian coat

[prahacat]

it’s spring, but all he wants to do is sleep

#star wars fanart #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan from my (very self-indulgent) vampire!au #he is a little blood-sucking bat #the coat is vaguely inspired by traditional romanian sheepskin coats with their beautiful embroidery #the patterns symbolize immortality/eternity (stars + vines) and fertility (all the flowers) #the eye on the sleeve represents protection #and his tunic has a bit of a sun theme going on #every time i look at this i find something else i want to add or change #still playing around with different ideas #my art

[kai23-doodles]

my beloved little clown, winter vers (a concept)

#my art #ihrin tag #my ocs #original characters #fun fact: all their clothing is traditional romanian clothing and #this kind of coat is worn only by men and the “fotă” (the skirt-like thing that isn't really a skirt) is worn only by women #so there's that

[majestativa]

How benevolent it seems, the Tower of Babel in Kafka’s canvas, yet how terrifying the silence between bricks...

Liliana Ursu, The Sky Behind the Forest: Selected Poems, to Emil Cioran

#Romanian #Liliana Ursu #Emil Cioran #Franz Kafka #Das Stadtwappen #The City Coat of Arms

[writingoddess1125]

Morticia and Gomez Effect

Mihawk X FemReader

Since Mihawk is based off of Dracula (Duh) and his whole goth dilf attitude it would make sense he's Romanian 🇷🇴

Also I drank some wine 🍷 before this so enjoy!!

>>> Part 2

• Giving Mihawk's personality I don't think he is the type that finds his opposite attractive. No this man likes those dark mysterious women-

• Def has a More Gothic wife.

• Mihawk is not one to openly talk about his fine but doesn't hide it either. If someone points out the gold ring hanging by his cross he will say it's his wedding band-

• However when his wife is around, he is quite flirty. A smirk on his lips as he will wrap his hand around your waist, lay kisses on your hand or pepper a kiss to the side of your neck. Uncaring if the world sees

• You also can defend yourself perfectly fine so he doesn't have to worry too much about you getting attacked- Truthfully he would pity someone so foolish to do so. Cause if you didn't kill them he would.

• But what was most known was- Mihawk was so whipped for you. Figuratively and Literally-

• The way you were formally introduced to the whole entirety of the Strawhat pirates was a necessary evil.

• "Zoro we need this- It says a red ruby is needed in order for this and we have non thays big enough!" Nami yelled pointing to the treasure map, Zoro sighed. He had accidently admitted he knew someone with a ruby big enough-

• After enough pestering he agreed and they set sail to Kuraigana Island

• It didn't take long to arrive at the gloomy island, A quick journey to the large castle and the spare key hidden under the mat lead the group inside.

• It looked like a cleaned haunted house- Which frightened the group more till the sound of your voice shook them from their thoughts

• "Is someone here?" You call from the large lounging area. Drawing them all in to the well lit room with a crackling fireplace.

• Sanji covered his nose quickly to stop a nosebleed as he stared at you, So elegantly seated with a cup of tea and a amused look on your face at seeing such a young group or pirates breaking into your home.

• Before Sanji could say a word Zoro slammed his hand over the blondes mouth quickly.

• "Madam Dracule" He said formally and bowed respectfully

• His whole crew stiffening at hearing the formal use of your name.

• DRACULE MIHAWKS WIFE!?

• Sipping your tea you raised a brow at Zoro as he bowed deeply to you. You knew he respected you just as much as Mihawk- the wife of his teacher as well as one of his teachers as well since you did assist in training.

• "Zoro, My dear child what brings you and your friends here?" You ask calmly, setting your tea aside as you felt the shift of the room.. they were nervous.

• "We came here to ask you-" The sound of the door slamming open shook them as they heard heavy footsteps walk to them. Revealing the man of the home, Mihawk. Wet from rain and pulling his hat from his head with a stoic frown

• "Dragă (Darling), What is this?" Mihawk questioned as he returned to his island home to see a familiar pirate ship docked and his Pupil on their knees before his wife. Paired with the group of familiar pirated standing in his livingroom.

• "I am not sure yet love, We were just about to discuss it" You say softly, standing up to gelp him take off his sword and coat. Already feeling his eyes following you as you did this-

• Both of you knowing it was an excuse to touch him.

• "We wished to temporarily barrow your ruby necklace Madame." Zoro said still bowing formally

• Mihawk's eyebrow twitching at hearing this-

• "You wish for my wife to give you her necklace?" He said as his eyes narrowed down at them.

• "J-Just for a little bit Sir!" Nami said, feeling anxiety wash through her system.

• "My Love" You cooed, reaching a hand over and touching the side of his face. Immediately it was like dealing with a feline, Leaning into your touch as he gave you a warning glare.

• "Barrowing a necklace is so minor compared to us at that age. Remember Cohi Island?" You purred, Mihawk giving a subtle growl in the back of his throat. "Ah Cohi Island, How can I forget?" He all but purred out.

• The two of you reminiscing as Mihawk began to place kisses up your arms as you pulled him close and whispered sweet sensual words and memories to him.

• "A little necklace won't be much trouble, Especially since it will be returned~" You whispered in his ear

• The poor strawhats subjected to the very outward affection of the Warlord. It was quite a unpleasant experience for them all-

• Mihawk unclasping the necklace with his teeth before tossing it at Zoro who quickly caught it. The Warlord glaring at his Pupil lazily

• "It will be returned' He said stoically, before returning to his task at hand.

• You wave them off, Smiling softly as Mihawk leaned into your neck to lay kisses and love bites.

• Zoro bowing again quickly as he held the necklace and the youthful pirates quickly filed out of the castle as fast as possible. Zoro still clutching the gemstone

• "Holy fuck! She literally got Hawkeye of all people to give you the necklace!" Usopp said in shock as Zoro nodded. Nami's eyeing that diamond necklace

• "Yes but it must be returned-" He stressed. Not being stupid enough to let anyone steal from his mentor or his wife-

• The group nodded and looked out at the raging storm that beat against them.

• "Well it's raining maybe we can ask for a room-" Usopp started but Zoro quickly shook his head, His face pale and eyes like he was living through War Flashbacks.

• "No- The unholy noises that are about to invade that castle no one will sleep" He said in a deadpan voice- and from the look in his eyes everyone believed him.

• That was a couple too in love

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #dracule mihawk #op mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader

[ghostheartfelt]

*:･｡☆ 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.

#simon ghost x reader #ghostheartfelt #ghostheartfelt writing #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 hurt/comfort #ghost modern warfare #simon ghost x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley imagine

[najia-cooks]

[ID: First image shows four small porcelain bowls of a pudding topped with slivered almonds and pomegranates seeds, seen from above. Second image is an extreme close-up showing the blue floral pattern on the china, slivered almonds, golden raisins, and pomegranate seeds on top of part of the pudding. End ID]

անուշապուր / Anush apur (Armenian wheat dessert)

Anush apur is a sweet boiled wheat pudding, enriched with nuts and dried fruits, that is eaten by Armenians to celebrate special occasions. One legend associates the dish with Noah's Ark: standing on Mt. Ararat (Արարատ լեռը) and seeing the rainbow of God's covenant with humanity, Noah wished to celebrate, and called for a stew to be prepared; because the Ark's stores were diminishing, the stew had to be made with small amounts of many different ingredients.

The consumption of boiled grains is of ancient origin throughout the Levant and elsewhere in West Asia, and so variations of this dish are widespread. The Armenian term is from "անուշ" ("anush") "sweet" + "ապուր" ("apur") "soup," but closely related dishes (or, arguably, versions of the same dish) have many different, overlapping names.

In Arabic, an enriched wheat pudding may be known as "سْنَينِيّة" ("snaynīyya"), presumably from "سِنّ" "sinn" "tooth" and related to the tradition of serving it on the occasion of an infant's teething; "قَمْح مَسْلُوق‎" ("qamḥ masluq"), "boiled wheat"; or "سَلِيقَة" ("salīqa") or "سَلِيقَة القَمْح" ("salīqa al-qamḥ"), "stew" or "wheat stew," from "سَلَقَ‎" "salaqa" "to boil." Though these dishes are often related to celebrations and happy occasions, in some places they retain an ancient association with death and funerary rites: qamh masluq is often served at funerals in the Christian town of بَيْت جَالَا ("bayt jālā," Beit Jala, near Bethlehem).

A Lebanese iteration, often made with milk rather than water, is known as "قَمْحِيَّة" ("qamḥīyya," from "qamḥ" "wheat" + "ـِيَّة" "iyya," noun suffix).

A similar dish is known as "بُرْبَارَة" ("burbāra") by Palestinian and Jordanian Christians when eaten to celebrate the feast of Saint Barbara, which falls on the 4th of December (compare Greek "βαρβάρα" "varvára"). It may be garnished with sugar-coated chickpeas and small, brightly colored fennel candies in addition to the expected dried fruits and nuts.

In Turkish it is "aşure," from the Arabic "عَاشُوْرَاء" ("'āshūrā"), itself from "عَاشِر" ("'āshir") "tenth"—because it is often served on the tenth day of the month of ٱلْمُحَرَّم ("muḥarram"), to commemorate Gabriel's teaching Adam and Eve how to farm wheat; Noah's disembarkment from the Ark; Moses' parting of the Red Sea; and the killing of the prophet الْحُسَيْن بْنِ عَلِي (Husayn ibn 'Ali), all of which took place on this day in the Islamic calendar. Here it also includes various types of beans and chickpeas. There is also "diş buğdayı," "tooth wheat" (compare "snayniyya").

These dishes, as well as slight variations in add-ins, have varying consistencies. At one extreme, koliva (Greek: "κόλλυβα"; Serbian: "Кољиво"; Bulgarian: "Кутя"; Romanian: "colivă"; Georgian: "კოლიო") is made from wheat that has been boiled and then strained to remove the boiling water; at the other, Armenian anush apur is usually made thin, and cools to a jelly-like consistency.

Anush apur is eaten to celebrate occasions including New Year's Eve, Easter, and Christmas. In Palestine, Christmas is celebrated by members of the Armenian Apostolic church from the evening of December 24th to the day of December 25th by the old Julian calendar (January 6th–7th, according to the new Gregorian calendar); Armenian Catholics celebrate on December 24th and 25th by the Gregorian calendar. Families will make large batches of anush apur and exchange bowls with their neighbors and friends.

The history of Armenians in Palestine is deeply interwoven with the history of Palestinian Christianity. Armenian Christian pilgrimages to holy sites in Palestine date back to the 4th century A.D., and permanent Armenian monastic communities have existed in Jerusalem since the 6th century. This enduring presence, bolstered by subsequent waves of immigration which have increased and changed the character of the Armenian population in Palestine in the intervening centuries, has produced a rich history of mutual influence between Armenian and Palestinian food cultures.

In the centuries following the establishment of the monasteries, communities of Armenian laypeople arose and grew, centered around Jerusalem's Վանք Հայոց Սրբոց Յակոբեանց ("vank hayots surbots yakobeants"; Monastery of St. James) (Arabic: دَيْر مَار يَعْقُوب "dayr mār ya'qūb"). Some of these laypeople were descended from the earlier pilgrims. By the end of the 11th century, what is now called the Armenian Quarter—an area covering about a sixth of the Old City of Jerusalem, to the southwest—had largely attained its present boundaries.

Throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, the Patriarchate in Jerusalem came to have direct administrative authority over Armenian Christians across Palestine, Lebanon, Egypt, and Cyprus, and was an important figure in Christian leadership and management of holy sites in Jerusalem (alongside the Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches). By the middle of the 19th century, a small population of Armenian Catholics had joined the larger Armenian Apostolic community as permanent residents in Jerusalem, living throughout the Muslim Quarter (but mostly in a concentrated enclave in the southwest); in the beginning of the 20th century, there were between 2,000 and 3,000 Armenians of both churches in Palestine, a plurality of whom (1,200) lived in Jerusalem.

The Turkish genocide of Armenians beginning in 1915 caused significant increases in the populations of Armenian enclaves in Palestine. The Armenian population in Jerusalem grew from 1,500 to 5,000 between the years of 1918 and 1922; over the next 3 years, the total number of Armenians in Palestine (according to Patriarchate data) would grow to 15,000. More than 800 children were taken into Armenian orphanages in Jerusalem; students from the destroyed Չարխափան Սուրբ Աստվածածին վանք (Charkhapan Surb Astvatsatsin Monastery) and theological seminary in Armash, Armenia were brought to the Jerusalem Seminary. The population of Armenian Catholics in the Muslim Quarter also increased during the first half of the 20th century as immigrants from Cilicia and elsewhere arrived.

The immediate importance of feeding and housing the refugees despite a new lack of donations from Armenian pilgrims, who had stopped coming during WW1—as well as the fact that the established Armenian-Palestinians were now outnumbered by recent immigrants who largely did not share their reformist views—disrupted efforts on the part of lay communities and some priests to give Armenian laypeople a say in church governance.

The British Mandate, under which Britain assumed political and military control of Palestine from 1923–1948, would further decrease the Armenian lay community's voice in Jerusalem (removing, for example, their say in elections of new church Patriarchs). The British knew that the indigenous population would be easier to control if they were politically and socially divided into their separate religious groups and subjected to the authority of their various religious hierarchies, rather than having direct political representation in government; they also took advantage of the fact that the ecclesiastical orders of several Palestinian Christian sects (including the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem) comprised people from outside of Palestine, who identified with religious hierarchy and the British authorities more than they identified with the Palestinian lay communities.

British policy, as well as alienating Armenians from politics affecting their communities, isolated them from Arab Palestinians. Though the previously extant Armenian community (called "քաղաքացի" "kaghakatsi," "city-dwellers") were thoroughly integrated with the Arab Palestinians in the 1920s, speaking Arabic and Arabic-accented Armenian and eating Palestinian foods, the newer arrivals (called "زُوَّار" / "զուվվար" "zuwwar," "visitors") were unfamiliar with Palestinian cuisine and customs, and spoke only Armenian and/or Turkish. Thus British policies, which differentiated people based on status as "Arab" (Muslim and Christian) versus "Jewish," left new Armenian immigrants, who did not identify as Arab, disconnected from the issues that concerned most Palestinians. They were predominantly interested in preserving Armenian culture, and more concerned with the politics of the Armenian diaspora than with local ones.

Despite these challenges, the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem came to be a vital center of religious and secular culture for the Armenian diaspora during the British Mandate years. In 1929, Patriarch Yeghishe Turian reëstablished the Սուրբ Յակոբեանց Տպարան ("surbots yakobeants taparan"; St. James printing house); the Patriarchate housed important archives relating to the history of the Armenian people; pilgrimages of Armenians from Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt increased and the economy improved, attracting Armenian immigrants in higher numbers; Armenians held secular roles in governance, policing, and business, and founded social, religious, and educational organizations and institutions; Armenians in the Old and New Cities of Jerusalem were able to send financial aid to Armenian victims of a 1933 earthquake in Beirut, and to Armenians expelled in 1939 when Turkey annexed Alexandretta.

The situation would decline rapidly after the 1947 UN partition resolution gave Zionists tacit permission to expel Palestinians from broad swathes of Palestine. Jerusalem, intended by the plan to be a "corpus separatum" under international administration, was in fact subjected to a months-long war that ended with its being divided into western (Israeli) and eastern (Palestinian) sections. The Armenian population of Palestine began to decline; already, 1947 saw 1,500 Armenians resettled in Soviet Armenia. The Armenian populations in Yafa and Haifa would fall yet more significantly.

Still, the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem maintained its role as the center of Armenian life in Palestine; the compound provided food and shelter to thousands of Armenians during the Battle for Jerusalem and the Nakba (which began in 1948). Some Armenians formed a militia to defend the Armenian Quarter against Haganah shelling during the battle.

In the following years, historical British contributions to the shoring up of insular power in the Patriarchate would cause new problems. The Armenian secular community, no longer empowered to oversee the internal workings of the Patriarchate, could do nothing to prevent embezzling, corruption, and even the sale of church-owned land and buildings to settlers.

In 1967, Israeli military forces annexed East Jerusalem, causing another, albeit smaller, surge in Armenian emigration from the city. Daphne Tsimhoni estimates based on various censuses that the Armenian population of Jerusalem, which had reached 5,000-7,000 at its peak in 1945–6, had fallen back to 1,200 by 1978.

Today, as in the 20th century, Armenians in Jerusalem (who made up nearly 90% of the Armenian population of Palestine as of 1972) are known for the insularity of their community, and for their skill at various crafts. Armenian food culture has been kept alive and well-defined by successive waves of immigrants. As of 2017, the Armenian Patriarchate supplied about 120 people a day with Armenian dishes, including Ղափամա / غاباما "ghapama" (pumpkin stuffed with rice and dried fruits), թոփիկ / توبيك "topig" (chickpea-and-potato dough stuffed with an onion, nut, fruit, and herb filling, often eaten during Lent), and Իչ / ايتش "eetch" (bulgur salad with tomatoes and herbs).

Restaurants lining the streets of the Armenian and Christian quarters serve a mixture of Armenian and Palestinian food. Լահմաջո "lahmadjoun" (meat-topped flatbread), and հարիսա / هريس "harisa" (stew with wheat and lamb) are served alongside ֆալաֆել / فلافل ("falafel") and մուսախան / مسخن ("musakhkhan"). One such restaurant, Taboon Wine Bar, was the site of a settler attack on Armenian diners in January 2023.

Up until 2023, despite fluctuations in population, the Armenian community in Jerusalem had been relatively stable when compared to other Armenian communities and to other quarters of the Old City; the Armenian Quarter had not been subjected to the development projects to which other quarters had been subjected. However, a deal which the Armenian Patriarchate had secretly and unilaterally made with Israel real estate developer Danny Rotham in 2021 to lease land and buildings (including family homes) in the Quarter led Jordan and Palestine to suspend their recognition of the Patriarch in May of 2023.

On 26th October, the Patriarchate announced that it was cancelling the leasing deal. Later the same day, Israeli bulldozers tore up pavement and part of a wall in حديقة البقر ("ḥadīqa al-baqar"; Cows' Garden; Armenian: "Կովերի այգու"), the planned site of a new luxury hotel. On 5th November, Rothman and other representatives of Xana Gardens arrived with 15 settlers—some of them with guns and attack dogs—and told local Armenians to leave. About 200 Armenian Palestinians arrived and forced the settlers to stand down.

On 12th and 13th November, the developer again arrived with bulldozers and attempted to continue demolition. In response, Armenian Palestinians have executed constant sit-ins, faced off against bulldozers, and set up barricades to prevent further destruction. The Israeli occupation police backed settlers on another incursion on 15th November, ordering Armenian residents to vacate the land and arresting three.

On December 28th, a group of Armenian bishops, priests, deacons, and seminary students (including Bishop Koryoun Baghdasaryan, the director of the Patriarchate's real estate department) were attacked by a group of more than 30 people armed with sticks and tear gas. The Patriarchate attributed this attack to Israeli real estate interests trying to intimidate the Patriarchate into abandoning their attempt to reverse the lease through the court system. Meanwhile, anti-Armenian hate crimes (including spitting on priests) had noticeably increased for the year of 2023.

These events in Palestine come immediately after the ethnic cleansing of Լեռնային Ղարաբաղ ("Lernayin Gharabagh"; Nagorno-Karabakh); Israel supplied exploding drones, long-range missiles, and rocket launchers to help Azerbaijan force nearly 120,000 Armenians out of the historically Armenian territory in September of 2023 (Azerbaijan receives about 70% of its weapons from Israel, and supplies about 40% of Israel's oil).

Support Palestinian resistance by donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund; buying an e-sim for distribution in Gaza; or donating to help a family leave Gaza.

Ingredients

180g (1 cup) pearled wheat (قمح مقشور / խոշոր ձաւար), soaked overnight

3 cups water

180-360g (a scant cup - 1 3/4 cup) sugar, or to taste

Honey or agave nectar (optional)

1 cup total diced dried apricots, prunes, golden raisins, dried figs

1 cup total chopped walnuts, almonds, pistachios

1 tsp rosewater (optional)

Ceylon cinnamon (դարչին) or cassia cinnamon (կասիա)

Aniseed (անիսոն) (optional)

Large pinch of salt

Pomegranate seeds, to top (optional)

A Palestinian version of this dish may add pine nuts and ground fennel.

Pearled wheat is whole wheat berry that has gone through a "pearling" process to remove the bran. It can be found sold as "pearled wheat" or "haleem wheat" in a halal grocery store, or a store specializing in South Asian produce.

Amounts of sugar called for in Armenian recipes range from none (honey is stirred into the dish after cooking) to twice the amount of wheat by weight. If you want to add less sugar than is called for here, cook down to a thicker consistency than called for (as the sugar will not be able to thicken the pudding as much).

Instructions

1. Submerge wheat in water and scrub between your hands to clean and remove excess starch. Drain and cover by a couple inches with hot water. Cover and leave overnight.

2. Drain wheat and add to a large pot. Add water to cover and simmer for about 30 minutes until softened, stirring and adding more hot water as necessary.

Wheat before cooking

Wheat after cooking

3. Add dried fruit, sugar, salt, and spices and simmer for another 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until wheat is very tender. Add water as necessary; the pudding should be relatively thin, but still able to coat the back of a spoon.

4. Remove from heat and stir in rosewater and honey. Ladle pudding into individual serving bowls and let cool in the refrigerator. Serve cold decorated with nuts and pomegranate seeds.

#the last link is a different / new fundraiser #Armenian #Palestinian #fusion #wheat berries #pearled wheats #pomegranate #prunes #dried apricot #dates #long post /

[rippersz]

𝙰𝚕𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝙳𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚞 + 𝙻𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝙰𝚜 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 (𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜) (SLIGHTLY NSFW):

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

They are busy busy business ladies. Alcina runs the Dimitrescu Vineyard and often encounters all of the complexities that come with owning a company, while Larissa runs Nevermore and deals with her own pile of tasks each day. They’re fiercely independent like that, but even the strongest, tallest, most intelligent businesswomen have to find solace somewhere. In this case, it’s found in each other… and in you.

୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧

ʚ♡ɞ Larissa’s top two love languages are Gift Giving and Quality Time. Physical Touch is a close third. She hates not spending time with both of you and does whatever she can to free up her schedule. It’s difficult, but she manages because you two are worth it. And date nights, vacations, even little trips to town are the things that keep her happy and smiling. She’s always the first to suggest you all go somewhere, and even if you or Alcina are especially tired, you fall prey to her big glittering blue eyes. As soon as her face falls and she starts to pout, Alcina makes a show of covering your eyes and her own with her hands.

“Oh draga (darling in Romanian) don’t look now. She’ll tempt us. Drag us off to Hell. She’s utterly insatiable.” And you’ll giggle while Larissa’s expression falls sharp and her eyebrow ticks up. “Hell? You don’t think I’m an angel?” And Alcina can only roll her eyes before pushing you off to grab your jersey while she swipes an arm around Larissa’s waist and brings her into a kiss. “You are an angel. Sometimes.” “And other times?” They both grin. “The most wicked devil I know.”

Her gifts are also always from the heart. Very sentimental, like a well-written card, or a niche thing from the Jericho antique shop that she thinks you’d like. For Alcina, it could be a very ornate wine opener, and for you it could be an old broach or a locket big enough to put a picture of your family in.

ʚ♡ɞ Alcina’s top two love languages are Gift Giving and Physical Touch. Acts of Service is a close third. The truth is, she has a lot of money. A lot. Like a lot. And she is eager to show it off and spoil you two. Now Larissa is just as proud a woman, and enjoys her freedom and independence to pick out her own wardrobe, but Alcina can’t help herself. Larissa returned home one time and Alcina instantly rushed in to wrap a beautiful Parisian fur coat around her shoulders. It was the perfect size, the perfect length. Larissa wears it every winter, even if she told Alcina that she didn’t have to. It came with matching gloves, but Larissa slips those onto your hands so you two can match when you go out together. And as for yourself, her special little darling, she’ll seek out the things you’ve mentioned (even in very brief passing) that you liked. Oh that cute little trinket you saw in an Instagram advertisement? Suddenly it’s on the kitchen island waiting for you with a little note from ‘Yours, ~ A. D.’ - She signs her initials like that every time. You and Larissa keep them in a hidden box. It’s nearly full.

And I don’t think it really comes as a surprise when I say Alcina is a big admirer of physical touch with her loved ones. She is fiercely protective and vain, so she adores showing you off as the two women on her arm, but if someone stares for a little two long, her gaze burns her through sunglasses. The bright gold always startles normies. So this usually means she walks in the middle of you two whenever you’re out, with both of you on each arm. But if Larissa’s the one who is treating you all, she walks in the middle and struts around proudly.

ʚ♡ɞ You wanted to do it one time, just to see what it was like, and you looked like a young woman with your lesbian mothers. It was very embarrassing. They teased you HEAVILY. Every shop you went into, it was always “Oh what about this sweetheart? Do you want this for your room? Right next to your diploma?” Or “Oh this frame would be perfect. We could put it with your school pictures love, what do you think?” - You got so frustrated and flustered that you walked right off and it took them 5 minutes to realize you had literally walked away further down the street. Alcina scented you out and came to find you in a perfume store, trying to hide your smell. When they got there, you glared until they agreed they’d never do it again (but sometimes it slips in when they’re feeling wicked).

ʚ♡ɞ Now of course that does lead to power dynamics- which are very much a thing in this relationship. When it comes to Alcina Dimitrescu’s involvement, there will always be power dynamics. She is very not normal about her control issues, but that’s okay. You love her anyway. And Larissa learns to accept that it is both a blessing and a curse. She has to spend a lot of her own days in control, but it’s not necessarily by choice all the time. Before you two, she was very lonely and had to compensate with work, but now that she is with you, she has the opportunity to relinquish some of the control and responsibility that comes with the job. Thank goodness Alcina is all too eager to pick up the slack.

ʚ♡ɞ In terms of personality dominance, those two definitely take the cake. It is, to an extent, a good cop bad cop dynamic, but they do agree on a lot of things. Like they agree you’re adorable. And beautiful and handsome. And that they want you. In many more ways than one. And also they agree that giving you your privacy is just as important as having their own. The last thing they want to do, especially Alcina, is to infantilize you. In the beginning, Larissa had to sit Alcina down for a very difficult discussion to explain her own behavior to herself. She pointed out that Alcina sort of suffocated you a bit, which was true. She was quite controlling—always wanting to be by your side, always preparing you for the worst. CLEARLY she has some trauma, but you get through it. Alcina is eternally grateful that Larissa felt confident enough to speak to her. Past partners have been forced into submissive silence by their own fear because Alcina is such a strong force of a woman. She is very loving, but can be harsh.

ʚ♡ɞ Larissa, on the other hand, is a doting lover. She texts your group chat every free second she gets. Sends you a picture of her meal in the privacy of her office to thank you for making lunch. You always respond with hearts or suggest the three of you call while you go about your lunch hour. She suggested you three try syncing up the time so you could see each other and spend a bit more time together - seeing as you all get home rather late sometimes. Alcina joins the call a bit later but greets you with warm hellos and asks how her “Sweet girls” are doing. Larissa is also the type to buy flowers. She adores them. Some people think it’s silly because they’ll just die if not taken care of, but she doesn’t think so. She comes home with bouquets in hand to make up for a stressful week or a particular stretch of time in which you three can’t see each other often. If Alcina goes away on a business trip, she’ll welcome her back with black roses and so many red kisses that the poor woman almost falls over. If you’re stumbling through the door at midnight after a long day doing whatever it is you do (I’m thinking business analyst or perhaps even owning your own shop), then she waits up and gives you a little single rainbow rose still in the plastic because she knows you like the novelty of it. Oh and kisses too of course.

ʚ♡ɞ That being said, you’re sort of the morally grey cop in the cop dynamic. Rarely do any of you do something to truly piss each other off or upset each other, but it does happen. If you somehow upset Alcina, Larissa sits you down for a chat while Alcina rants in the background. Alci is very passionate and does have a temper, but for all of her bluster and bark, a quick “Alcina, sit” from Larissa has her growling, rubbing her temples, and taking a seat in the living room with you two. From that point on, it’s only a matter of discussion. Alcina has a habit of keeping her feelings to herself until she blows up, but Larissa is very preemptive. She KNOWS such habits amongst you all could possibly ruin your relationship, so she tries her hardest to keep the peace. You and Alcina argue, but Larissa talks you through it until the calm is restored.

ʚ♡ɞ If they piss you off or upset you, you have a very difficult time talking to them about it. You’re a soft-hearted person for them and the last thing you want is to cause a rift, but if you don’t come to them about it first, they WILL find out. Your two lovers are extremely intelligent and very observant. Alcina can tell something is off by the slightest falter in your beating heart and Larissa can tell something is off if you speak a single word in a different tone. To them, you are an open book. And they know that they’re intimidating at times. Larissa is a sweetheart, yes, but her irritation is brutal. And Alcina is… Alcina. So it can be (understandably) quite hard. That’s why you’ve taken to texting them before they get home, asking them to chat in the living room or the bedroom. And if not that, then you speak to them separately. You go to their offices, sit and sort it out as best you can, and then the three of you regroup later. It’s the healthiest option…… but it doesn’t always work. You can get very insecure being with these two literal otherworldly women, so sometimes you just shut down instead. Hide within your thoughts and occupy yourself until you can’t anymore. It happened once where you were so upset and anxious that you stayed at your office and fell asleep. Larissa and Alcina were shit scared. They went searching for you there of course, and Alcina carried you to the car before Larissa drove you three home. It was a stressful experience but after you all talked it out in the morning, you promised to try and be more open - but only if they did the same.

ʚ♡ɞ HOWEVER, if you two somehow manage to piss off or upset Larissa Weems, it is Hell for you both. All three of you have a distinct bond that can’t be broken even with the sharpest of scissors. You’re all linked in some individual way, and it’s lovely, but it also means that you’re very soft on each other. And you and Alcina have a silent understanding that although Larissa can take care of herself, she is also highly deserving of all of the protection and love you give her. Meaning you don’t want to add to her stress. But when you do—she is a slow simmering ball of emotions. She may be loud at Nevermore when faced with Wednesday, but when it comes to her lovers, she just gets a bit disappointed. And that is something you and Alcina can’t handle. So when that happens, and she isn’t the one to put it back together or demand you all sit down and talk, that means you and Alci have to do the heavy lifting. So you do. Alcina pours glasses of wine, you put on some music, and the three of you sit in silence either working on your laptops or indulging in some hobbies until Larissa finally speaks up. She just needs to be in your presence, to recognize your quiet understanding that something is wrong, before she really gets into it. And after that, you of course make it a point to never repeat whatever it is you did to make her upset. And Alcina pulls her into her arms while you hug her from the back because you know Larissa appreciates the attention, the affection, and the warmth. Then you kiss. A lot. A lot a lot. Smooch smooch smooch muah muah muah.

ʚ♡ɞ When you call Larissa, she answers with a “Hello, darling” because she always checks the caller ID before picking up.

ʚ♡ɞ When you call Alcina, she answers with an “Alcina speaking.” because she never checks the caller ID before picking up.

ʚ♡ɞ You and Larissa called her once in the past and she answered with her usual, hard-toned greeting. When you and Larissa mocked her with a high-pitched “aLciNa sPeaKing”, she hung up and blocked your number for five minutes. Sometimes, you’re still tempted to do it.

ʚ♡ɞ You steal their perfumes and shampoos. One time, Alcina used Larissa’s conditioner and ever since, Larissa asks her if she should order two bottles of her hair care instead of one. Alcina just rolls her eyes and reaches out to grab her. Larissa goes scurrying away, letting out a yelp and a laugh. 

When they cuddle you and smell their products, they only grin and pull you closer. They want you to share their things. And also you’re just too lazy to keep your own stocked.

ʚ♡ɞ Your kisses with Larissa, just you two, are sweet and slow. They last a long time and usually lead to wandering hands and a lot of lipstick marks. Larissa happily leaves marks and hickies on you, but the three of you understand that she can’t have the same. If someone at her job saw that, they’d probably complain. But below the clothes, she’s painted to high heaven. Alcina does, after all, have a very voracious appetite. She spends a lot of time kissing and marking because it soothes the dragon in her. And Larissa is just the same when it comes to you specifically. The marks never take to Alcina’s skin, so Rissa usually uses her teeth and tries to leave marks anyway. But on you, she takes full advantage. Teases you with hickies and bites until you’re begging her to move. To treat you. It’s unfortunate then that she’s just so busy and has to return to work and absolutely must leave you high and dry until you’re nearly crawling all over her when she returns home later.

ʚ♡ɞ Alcina’s kisses, on the other hand, are always mean and rough. She pushes your faces together, grabs your hair, clutches your jaw in one large hand. She’s eager to overpower - it’s just in her nature. And she’s not scared to lean down and reach you, pull you up into her arms, and shove you against a wall. She uses her teeth to nip, and her tongue to fill your mouth and take you completely. Safe to say, she never leaves her kisses without you stumbling away–breathless and smiley. And there’s no escaping her until she’s done with you. Never ever. You will only push away from her when she wants you to. And you rarely want to of course, but when you’re busy and late to a meeting, you’re under a time crunch.

ʚ♡ɞ Larissa and Alcina kissing, though… whew. Dear god, whew. Dear LORD, whew. Larissa’s hands go sliding around Alcina’s waist and she has to lean up on the tips of her toes to meet Alcina halfway. And when they get there, they smile first before kissing roughly. Alcina knows not to put her hands in Larissa’s perfect hair, so she settles for gripping the back of her neck and pulling her close. Close close close until Larissa lets out a squeak and Alcina has to lean and pick her up bridal-style so they both don’t go tumbling to the ground. It doesn’t happen often, but when she does, Larissa can only giggle giddy and happy. She doesn’t often feel petite and girlish, but Alcina has a way of making her feel like a woman worth caring for. You do too, of course, but it’s different. Not any less or any better, just different. And they kiss until they both run out of breath and Larissa pushes Alcina away. The taller woman grumbles and steals another kiss before they finally go their separate ways.

ʚ♡ɞ There’s so much more to this little poly relationship. From kinks to flaws to business work and all that. Let me know if you wanna see more <3

୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧

I love them :3 Yes I doooooo - Rip x

୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧୨˚୧

Tags: @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet @weemssapphic @the-bearr @amateurwritescm

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #wlw fanfic #alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x larissa weems #alrissa #alcina dimitrescu x reader x larissa weems #re8 alcina dimitrescu #wednesday larissa weems #wlw fic #wlw fiction

[divine--serenity]

the way things go

(please ignore spelling errors, i wrote this before crashing in bed before an opening shift)

Blood drains from Simon’s face, watching the conflicting emotions ebb and flow from your eyes. Dragging your already fragile brain under the crashing weight of the interrogation. Dread fills his stomach, rolling and frothing into a stew of emotions. “Price, stop it. They’ve had enough.” It rattles out slowly. Saccharine enough that it drips from his mouth like molasses.

Tension rises once again as Captain Price’s hand drops down to his side, letting his fingers fall loose around the recording tape. “I can’t, not until we have a definitive answer about their allegiances.” Johnny’s eyes narrow as he watches his captain’s lips twitch. A seething wave of adrenaline comes rushing through his veins, beginning to lift him from his place on the wall. “Cap’n all the proof we need is right there. Who else do you need to convince of this so called brainwashing aside from yourself?” Johnny hisses while brandishing the very ferocity that secured him a spot on the task force. Kyle’s brows furrowed as he watched your head loll forwards in defeat, drool slipping from between your lips as the bruises on your face began to rise and coagulate. 

This was the fourth time you’d been visited by them this week, with every creak of the door hinges Simon winced and placated himself with the idea that you’ll be back by their side again. White coat on your back, no longer a trace of the number 09012020 in your scrambled brain.

His brown eyes drift to that ripped and shredded flesh that lines the top of your left arm. Barely hiding the Wakandan metal that was scrounged from the fields of warmongering tribes.

“Do you need to learn your place, MacTavish? If you don’t bite that tongue of yours I’ll make sure you learn how.” Price’s tone becomes tight and exasperated, his muscles readying for a rebuttal from his sergeant.

No such thing comes, not even a click of the Scot’s tongue. “Never-mind that, we’re done for today. I think they’ve had enough.” Kyle follows his captain dutifully, but leaves the door unlocked for Simon and Johnny to see you once time allows it.

Time passes by without the ticking of the clock, the muscles in your neck screaming as your eyes zone in and out of disassociation. Everything in your head screaming at you get away. Get away to someplace that’ll never be home. To someone who’ll never be your home again.

Flashes of fruit stands in town squares and shared amused glances when American tourists try to haggle in broken Romanian begin to fill your head. Icy blue eyes swarm your head. That Romanian accent morphs into Scottish.

Taking up space in someplace that’s sacred, a place that Ja-Bucky taught you how to hide from the scrambling. Amalgamations of accents cause your head to spin relentlessly until all that remains is a pair of blue eyes staring at you. 

“Băiat iubit?” A hopeful whine swirls in your mouth when those eyes close in disappointment, frustration building on your tongue. “vorbește-mi iubire.”

Two hands cup your face, neither of them familiar in the slightest. Callouses gone and replaced by a gentle routine of adoration for a craft. Nothing like that of which you are used to, you pull away with flickering ambitions. 

Fragments of a past that you cannot recall telling you to lean into the palms of endearing people. People that you can trust, people that should be able to protect you. But red hair, Black Widows, Winter Soldiers, home are calling you into a restless sleep.

Everything blurred into a mess of cacophonous rattling. Nails on chalkboard and knives on skin, bringing up old wounds. Natasha, your ‘sister’ by trade and choosing. Nat holding you close after each and every inspection, guilt riddling her face every time you came back in a daze. 

Drugged up and barely moving from the inspections those doctors did to your body and to your head. She whispered Russian lullabies into your ringing ears, rocking you to sleep and you rattled off endlessly, trying to recall those blue eyes, watering your soul down until nothing remained but a warm feeling of hope that you’ll see them again.

Johnny watches in macabre fascination as you look at him dazedly, calling him names in a foreign tongue. Names that are sweet to the ear, sweet like honeysuckles as they sit in his chest.

Knowing who you’re calling out for. It’s not him. It’s not his Simon that you’re calling out for. It’s the prototype of your form. Greasy hair, hard eyes, and an even harder time in Hydra. 

They tracked you over so many countries, barely catching you as you boarded the train to Vienna. You changed, so much in those couple years that you had been away from them. The tattoo on your thigh stood prominent, the one Simon insisted was never on the person they found with your similarity.

The body that was staged as you, the body that nearly separated him and his lover. Perfectly staged in an effort to distract them from the moving of facilities. In their grieving of ‘you’, Hydra moved bunkers.

Geological surveying and intrapersonal intelligence led them to the freshly dusted base that was less than 20km from where they stayed in Italy. The snowy Alps recreating the perfect environment for training their Winter Soldiers and Black Widows.

None of the skiers suspected the base of killers for hire less than a klick from the ground below. What was supposed to be a routine takedown of the corrupted elites became a manhunt for the owner of an ocean-blue bandana. 

Feelings conflicted with duty as Simon faded into the background and Ghost came to the play with the politician that held information about your whereabouts. Gaz watched the door and paced the hall as Ghost used personal experience to bring forth the truth about you. Price watched and Soap recorded the whole ‘talking to’ on his voice recorder.

When the senator passed out from overexertion Ghost lifted up his mask, resting the fabric on the hook of his nose. He lit a cigarette, inhaling and relishing in the temporary control over his spiraling mind. Soap looked at his Lieutenant and smirked wildly, already deviating from the plan in his head.

Instructions were to retrieve the asset and deliver safely, “Didn’t say we couldn’t rough him up beforehand, nobody’ll believe the geezer was innocent. It’s Italy, too many folks is gettin’ sloshed to notice one person gone missin’, aye?” Ghost grunted in agreement, releasing a plume of smoke from his mouth. 

(poorly translated) romanian dictionary:

Băiat iubit? - lover boy?

vorbește-mi iubire - talk to me love

tags 🏷️

@jumbojazzcats93 @glossysoap @lordlydragon @violet-phantoms @warenai @ivymarquis @iciclesses @ghastlybirdie

#cod x reader #༄ ellie writes #->call of duty: mw2<- #✰spicy time #rtc!reader #rtc!ghoap x reader #ellie’s lover~ soap mactavish #ellie’s lover~ simon riley #ghoap x reader #ghoap #soap x ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

[petermorwood]

How on earth did these goats get there?

*****

In reality the goats are lying on their sides on rocky ground, looking up at a crane-mounted camera. The photograph was taken some years ago, part of a series reconstructing Central European folk customs and traditions which have fallen from favour or are now prohibited.

This old-fashioned rural blood-sport was originally practiced in parts of Anatolia, Turkey, where the game was called keçi fırlatmak, and also in the Carpathian Alps of Romania, possibly imported during the Ottoman conquest. The name there was aruncarea caprei.

*****

The goats would have been coated in a strong adhesive traditionally distilled from pine resin.(represented pictorially here by darker patches of dye on the flanks) and were then thrown upwards towards a cliff or rock-face with makeshift catapults, often a primitive form of counterweight trebuchet assembled from wooden beams and weighted with rocks.

The game ended when the glue dried and lost adhesion, and the goats fell to their deaths. They were then cooked and eaten, their meat being valued like that of Spanish fighting bulls.

The meat of the last goat to fall (başarılı keçi or cea mai durabilă capră) was prized as a special delicacy and selected cuts from the legs of this particular “winner” goat were often smoked and dried into a kind of jerky.

*****

In his “Grandes Histoires Vraies d'un Voyageur le 1er Avril” (pub. Mensonges & Faussetés, Paris, 1871) French folk-historian, anthropologist and retired cavalry general Gilles-Etienne Gérârd wrote about witnessing a festival near Sighișoara, Transylvania, in 1868.

There he claims to have seen catapults improvised from jeunes arbres, très élastiques et souples - “very springy and flexible young trees” - which were drawn back with ropes and then released.

Bets were placed before the throw, and marks given afterwards, according to what way up the goats adhered and for how long. The reconstruction, with both goats upright, facing outward and still in place, shows what would have been a potential high score.

The practice has been officially banned in both countries since the late 1940s, but supposedly still occurred in more isolated areas up to the end of the 20th century. Wooden beams from which the catapults were constructed could easily be disguised as barn-rafters etc., and of course flexible trees were, and are, just trees.

*****

Gérârd’s book incorrectly calls the goat jerky “pastrami”, to which he gives the meaning "meat of preservation".

While pastrami may be a printing error for the Turkish word bastırma or the Romanian pastramă, both meaning “preserved meat”, at least one reviewer claims that Gérârd misunderstood his guide-translator, who would have been working from rural dialect to formal Romanian to scholarly French.

Since this jerky was considered a good-luck food for shepherds, mountaineers, steeplejacks and others whose work involved a risk of falling, Gérârd's assumption seems a reasonable one.

However, several critical comments on that review have dismissed its conclusion, claiming "no translator could be so clumsy", but in its defence, other comments point out confusion between slang usage in the same language.

One cites American and British English, noting that even before differences in spelling (tire / tyre, kerb / curb etc.) "guns" can mean biceps or firearms, "flat" can mean a deflated wheel or a place to live, "ass" can mean buttocks or donkey and adds, with undisguised relish, some of the more embarrassing examples.

This comment concludes that since the errors "usually make sense in context", Gérârd's misapprehension is entitled to the same respect.

*****

The good-luck aspect of the meat apparently extended to work which involved "falling safely", since its last known use was believed to be in ration packs issued to the 1. Hava İndirme Tugayı (1st Airborne Brigade) of the Turkish Army, immediately before the invasion of Cyprus in July 1974.

Nothing more recent has been officially recorded, because the presence of cameras near military bases or possible - and of course illegal - contests is strongly (sometimes forcefully) discouraged, and the sport’s very existence is increasingly dismissed as an urban or more correctly rural legend.

The official line taken by both Anatolian and Carpathian authorities is that it was only ever a joke played on tourists, similar to the Australian “Drop-bear”, the Scottish “Wild Haggis” and the North American “Jackalope”.

They dismiss the evidence of Gérârd’s personal observation as “a wild fable to encourage sales of his book”, “a city-dweller’s misinterpretation of country practices”, or even “the deliberate deception of a gullible foreigner by humorous peasants”.

And as for those paratroop ration packs, Turkish involvement in Cyprus is still such a delicate subject that the standard response remains “no comment”.

#goats #mountain goats #climbing #falling #good-luck food #rural myth #pinch of salt #A day in April

[hopelesslyromanticgay]

An Americano, Please? Part 3

Word count: 1.3K A/N: Just an FYI, I don't usually upload twice a day, I just felt particularly inspired today. As always, italics in quotation marks signify the speaking is using romanian dialect.

Y/N's POV:

I gotta admit. It hurt when Jenna didn't send me a text immediately. It's been two days, and still nothing.

Maybe it was a meaningless banter. Oh well. I guess I just really thought something could come out of it.

"What are you sulking about?" Nessa asks me one day after our shift. 

"I'm not sulking, I'm just a little sad because I didn't get a text from someone," I explain, "It's not like she owed me a text or anything, but I don't have to be ecstatic over the fact that she hasn't done so."

"Oh my god, you're into the American one," Nessa exclaims, "I knew it! I mean, she's gorgeous. Like if I were into girls I would definitely be into her." I take a sip of my cortado (half espresso, half milk) as I listen.

"Well in any case, she's probably not interested."

"Stop sulking, Y/N," Nessa scolds me, "Let's do something fun. Gotta get your mind off of this girl."

Since our shift just ended, and we have a whole afternoon ahead of us, Nessa and I take her car to Predeal, the closest thing to a modern city we have around here.

It's about seven miles, so about twenty minute drive. The town's mostly filled with ski resorts, but there's a few fun places to shop.

A great deal of the afternoon is spent sitting outside a store judging the tourists. 

"Oh my god she's probably saying something stupid like, 'I know it's winter but my husband will love this hawaiian T-shirt I bought in Romania,'" Nessa mimics the normal thought process of the typical tourist.

"This guy's even worse though,"  I stifle a laugh, mocking his actions.

After a thorough mockery of all of the Predeal tourists, we head back to our town, content with our afternoon.

I still haven't stopped thinking about Jenna, though. I wish I could have gotten to know her better. It's so nice to finally have someone I can talk to in English.

All I can do is hope that she comes back to the shop. Even then though, she probably won't want much to do with me.

Nessa drops me off at my apartment, waving goodbye. Almost instantly, I shed my winter coat, relieved by the warmth of the building.

The first thing I do is turn on the TV and open Netflix. A new baking show just dropped, and I'm not the type to turn down new entertainment.

The show turns out to be a combination of baking and engineering. It seems cool, but it's hard to tell from the first episode.

My phone lights up with a bright reminder Remember to feed Cupid!

Sighing, I get up from the couch and grab my fish flakes.

Cupid is my purple betta fish. She's about a year old and as of yet hasn't had too many health issues, which is super lucky for both of us. She's at the point where she recognizes my face. So when I go up to the tank, fish feed in hand, she eagerly swims up to the glass.

"Hey Cupid," I laugh, sprinkling some food into the tank.

After feeding her, I head back to the couch, where I continue watching my cooking show. Before I know it, I'm five episodes in and the sun is starting to set. I look out of the window, trying to gauge the temperature and weather condition.

It's a fairly clear twilight right now. There's a good chance I'll get to see stars tonight. Actually, I've decided I will see stars tonight.

I don my winter coat and make my way down the apartment complex stairs. One of the perks of not living in a huge city is that I can see the night sky beautifully.

One of my favorite places in town is on the outer edges of it. At this point, all of the buildings are housing, be it apartments or actual houses. The long stretches of pavement are perfect for strolling down while admiring the night. 

Not a lot of people choose to come out here late at night, which is honestly their loss. I wouldn't necessarily say I'm super into nature and the great outdoors, but when I am outside, I can find an appreciation for my surroundings.

So that's how I found myself strolling the streets of Bușteni Romania, not looking at the cement in front of me.

BAM! I find myself crashing into another person, almost knocking both of us over.

"Fuck, I am so sorry," I find myself defaulting to english, "I- I mean, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

"Y/N?" A familiar voice asks.

"Jenna?" It may be dark, but I can just barely see the details of her face. God I hope she's not mad.

"Yep, it's me," I hear her faintly laugh.

"Are you okay? I almost knocked you over."

"I'm okay, just a little rattled."

"Sorry for that again," I apologize, "I should have been watching where I was going." 

"You could make it up to me by walking me to my apartment?" she offers.

"I'd like nothing more," I laugh, linking my arm with hers and we start to walk.

"So, Y/N, tell me about yourself," she starts the conversation.

"Well, my name's Y/N L/N, I work at a coffee shop. I speak English and Romanian, which is useful for when people like you come to the shop."

"I know that stuff," she interrupts me, "what do you like to do outside of work?"

"You know, the normal things, be around the people I care about, watch shows, I read sometimes, listen to music, that kind of stuff. What about you?"

"Well for starters, I'm Jenna Ortega, I also love to read and listen to music," she tells me, "I also like to write though, I have like, twenty scripts and stories sitting in my FinalDraft™ folder."

"Damn, you must really like writing," I respond, "that's pretty awesome."

"I guess so," she shrugs.

"Have you ever considered publishing your work?" I ask.

"Yeah, I actually published a book called It's All Love," she answers proudly.

"That's like, the coolest thing anyone's said to me all day," I tell her.

"I guess I'm just a cool person," she jokes, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, only an arrogant person would say that."

"No, you have reason to say, it. You're a published author, the lead in a TV show, and fun to talk to. Don't discredit your own awesome-ness." 

She laughs, "thanks for saying that."

"Sure thing." 

"So, does your offer to take me around town sometime still stand?" she changes the subject.

"I'm a woman of my word, Jenna, if you still want a tour, you have my number," I remind her, trying to sound kind and cool at the same time. Which is kind of challenging.

"Oh my god, I forgot to text you, didn't I," she gasps, "I'm so so sorry, Y/N. I've just had so much going on." She starts to talk herself into a panic, "I have work for like, eight hours a day, plus cello lessons, plus german and fencing, it's just so much." If I had known how busy she was I never would have felt so hurt. That must be so overwhelming.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm not mad about it." Which is true. 

"That's such a relief," she exhales, "again, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, Jenna, it's okay. How about the next time you have a day off, we get in touch and I take you around town."

"Well, conveniently enough, my next day off is tomorrow, so how about I see you then?" she offers.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that," I smile, doing my best to hide how excited I am for this.

"Well this is my place," she announces, "thank you for walking me home." 

"Anytime," I reply, sad to know the night is ending. She heads through the door to her apartment, leaving me to walk the short five minutes to my apartment alone.

As soon as I get home, I dash to my bedroom, putting on pyjamas and getting ready for bed. I'm tired from the day. At at the same time, I'm so happy I got to see Jenna. I'm so excited that she wants to see me again, maybe tomorrow! I can't wait to get to know her better.

My phone lights up with a text from a new number

                       +1 ***-***-****

Does 11 AM tomorrow work for you?

-Jenna

I smile, quickly texting back 

                               Sure thing, see ya then :)

I can hardly wait.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #i love jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #reader insert #wednesday addams #tara carpenter #vada cavell #cute #x reader #coffee shop romance #lesbians #gays #queer people #pride month #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega fanfic #fanfic #jenna ortega photos #an americano please

[beautifulblooms]

A Lord Brought to His Knees - Karl Heisenberg x Male Reader SMUT

So I may have more things to pull out of my hell that is google drive, anyways, enjoy this shit show, not actually proofread btw, this hasn’t been touched in at least a good couple years, so once again first person pov might be shitty.

CIS Women and Female Aligned people, please DNI, this story and all of my others are for non-binary, masculine aligned and male readers!

Let’s just start off with how Karl ended up in this situation, he decided to be a bitch for much longer than he should’ve been. You were both called to a meeting held by Mother Miranda and of course, Karl wanted to try and tease you. Wrong day, wrong time, things were already going haywire because of some mishaps in the factory that day. One of the dead bodies that had been experimented on got out of its little holding area and started causing havoc. This led to a very upset you, a few broken tables and doors, and one very dead experiment. So when Karl decided to tease you at the meeting by brushing up against your crotch several times, even palming you through your pants once or twice, you knew that tonight he would get his punishment. And that he wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Exiting the chapel you grabbed Karl’s wrist and began pulling him to your shared sector of the Romanian countryside you lived in.

“Woah, what's with the rush doll? We’ve got plenty of time to get back to the factory before dark, besides none of the lycans would dare touch either of us.” Karl said trying to A. figure out what pissed you off and B. calm you down a bit.

“Oh trust me, I’m well aware of that, but you on the other hand should be worrying about what’s going to happen as soon as we make it back to that factory. Now walk faster.” There was nothing but anger and bitterness dripping from your words as the walking pace you set became faster. Karl realized he might’ve pushed you too far and now he would have to deal with the outcome, he could handle it, right? Spoiler alert, no he couldn’t. Upon reaching the factory and opening the main doors, you dragged Karl inside and slammed the door shut. “You have exactly five minutes to get your ass up to our room, strip naked, and lay yourself out on that bed before I come up there and give you what you deserve.”

There was nothing but anger and lust in your voice as you gave him very clear instructions about what you expected of him. Karl soon hightailed it up the stairs, taking off his hat, coat, and glasses on the way up. Opening the door to your shared room he began stripping the rest of his clothes, his boots and socks followed by his belt and necklace. Quickly pulling off his shirt and pants along with his underwear he jumped onto the bed, laying himself out like you instructed. You, on the other hand, took your sweet time to get the ropes you had been saving, nylon ropes so they wouldn’t hurt his wrists and ankles too badly and walked up to the bedroom where a naked Karl awaited you.

Walking through the still-open door you looked to the right to see Karl on the bed, sprawled out with a hard-on. A smirk came over your lips, happy he so easily followed directions given how bratty he was earlier. Placing the ropes on the bedside, you began to strip yourself, slowly of course to tease Karl. Once you were down to nothing but your boxers you grabbed the first bundle of the nylon rope, unraveling it to tie up his ankles.

“You my dear have been very obnoxious today, and because of that,” you tied his left ankle to the bedpost, “you will be at my will for the next several hours.” Finishing off his right ankle you moved back to the nightstand to grab the next bundle before repeating a similar process with his wrists at the top of the bed.

“C’mon I didn’t tease you that much I mean it didn’t even look like ya got hard from it.” Karl’s words were shaky, trying to reason with a very angry and horny you was not going well for him, nor would it go well over the rest of the evening.

“I don’t want to hear it, you pushed it too far on a really shitty day and now, here’s the consequences.” A twisted smile replaced your previous expression, finally getting to remind Karl that when he teases there are in fact things you can and will do as retaliation. Finishing up his wrists, you stood back and moved to the end of the bed, staring down at the lovely sight. The powerful Lord Heisenberg tied to his bed with a raging boner almost begging to be touched at all. Walking back over to the nightstand you open the drawer on the bottom, pulling out a black gift box, this is where Karl starts to regret what he did. Once open, all the lovely little toys and things you could ever want to use on Karl were inside vibrators, fleshlights, plugs, dildos, cock rings, and even a cock cage, to say you had the strangest order history from the Duke was an understatement.

Looking down at your options, you pulled out one of the vibrators that you could strap around his dick and one of the larger plugs. Placing the box by his feet you crawl onto the bed and straddle his chest to face his dick, strapping the vibrator around his cock and turning it on pretty high he began to jerk his hips up at the mild touch from you, and extreme stimulation he was now experiencing.

“Oh fuck me, why so god damned high?” Karl was groaning and forced some words out in protest of your actions.

“I will just give it a while, and it’s turned up so high because I said so.” There was a bittersweet tone to your voice, happy with how he was taking the punishment. Moving off his chest, you turned around and shuffled between his legs, now grabbing the plug you pulled out. “This will stand in for me for a little bit, so get comfy.” You smiled sickly at him, the face he made was enjoyable to you given what you were currently doing. Pushing the plug to his rim, you started slowly feeding it into his hole, moans left the lord below you. Finally bottoming out the plug, you began to thrust it in and out of him gently, trying to make this enjoyable for him for the short period you were touching him. Thrusting it in one last time, you let go of the glass plug that now sat inside of him, a small noise of distaste left his mouth when you stepped off the bed and moved to the desk chair on the other side of the room, in perfect view of the bed.

“So are you just going to watch me deal with all of this from over there?” Karl was upset that you weren’t touching him, his words still shaky, and struggled as the vibrator continued its job.

“Yeah, I am, I might just read a few chapters of a book while I’m at it.” Another sickly sweet smile was sent in his direction while you grabbed the book off the desk to your left, opening it to where you had read last. However, Karl was rather determined to get you to touch him, moaning, groaning, and whining too loud for you to focus on the words written on the page.

“Please just come touch me, anything, please, I’m sorry, ple-” Karl’s sentence was quickly cut off by his first orgasm of the night, you were honestly surprised it took this long considering you had put the vibrator on nearly 5 minutes ago.

“I thought I made myself very clear that I was going to let you deal with all that for a while before I did anything, this is your punishment remember?” Without even looking up from the book you tried to remind him once more that he was in the dog house for the shit he pulled earlier. Trying to once again focus on the novel in your hands you took a deep breath and started reading. The sounds of Karl’s moans and whines were pleasant background noise at this point, you were now able to tune them out to some degree, but still keep track of how many orgasms he was having.

Finishing off the 20th page of that evening, you looked over at Karl for the first time since you sat down. His face was covered in tears, spit dribbled down his chin and mixed into his beard as his abdomen and thighs were drenched in his own cum. The sight could make anyone turned on, but knowing that this happened because of you made it even better. Accepting that his five orgasms were enough without your help, you grabbed the bookmark and placed it between the pages, closing and setting down the book on the desk before standing up. Walking to the end of the bed you smiled at Karl.

“How do you feel baby?” Your mind was still set on making sure he knew better than trying to tease you in front of everyone again.

“Please just fucking touch me, it hurts please, I’m sorry I won’t do it again just *groan* touch me” Satisfied with the response you got, you crawled onto the bed, sitting between his legs as you turned off the vibrator and took it off, his cock red and angry, still hard as could be even with cumming five times. Leaning up to his face, you kissed him as a reward for putting up with this for so long. He could’ve just used the safeword after the first few orgasms but he stuck through it like a good little puppy.

“You wanna be touched huh? Who do you want to touch you, who makes you feel the best?” There was still something in you that knew he wasn’t quite broken to where you wanted him, persistent to get him to whine and beg for your dick a little more.

“You, I want you to touch me please, you’re the only one that makes me feel good, please just fuck me, fuck me (y/n)” There it was, that’s all you needed to hear to make you pull the plug out of his ass. Standing up to pull your boxers off, you reached over to the nightstand once more to grab the bottle of lube you kept in the top drawer. Popping the cap off, squirting some of the cold viscous liquid into your palm before rubbing some on your cock, now fully erect at the sight of the fearsome Lord Heisenberg broken to almost nothing. Getting back onto the bed, you sat between his spread thighs, moving one of your fingers that still had lube on it to his ass and pushing it in slowly. His moans were like music to your ears, curling the finger you had inside him you quickly put in a second and started to scissor them.

“Just put it in already, I’ve been sitting with that plug up my ass for an hour, I’m more than stretched.” His bitter attitude was making you wish you had left him for another hour.

“I will fuck you when I want to fuck you, and you will be patient.” You should’ve known that he would backmouth you as soon as you started to touch him. Continuing with your stretching you shove a third finger in and continue to scissor him. The only noises in the room were the squelching of his lubed hole and his moans. Pleased with how stretched he was you pulled your fingers out and jacked yourself off a few times before pressing the tip to his ass. Finally pushing into him, you slowly continued inch by inch, his hole almost sucking in more of your dick each time you pushed in more. Bottoming out you just let the both of you sit there for a minute, letting Karl get used to feeling full and you get used to his walls squeezing your cock.

Pulling all the way out to the tip of your cock, you slammed back into his hole setting a brutal pace, only chasing your own pleasure at this point. Pounding his prostate his moans jump a pitch as he grabs at the ropes binding his wrists to the bedposts wishing he could do nothing more than rake his nails down your back.

“Let me touch you, I want to hold you, (y/n) please” Karl’s composure was starting to fully crumble, and you smiled at his begging. You were not about to let him possibly overpower you by letting his arms free so you pulled out of him and moved down the bed. He whined as you left his hole, not happy that his pleasure had ended, no matter how painful it was. Untying his ankles very quickly, you moved between his thighs again and pushed into him setting your pace back to what it was.

“Y-ou bastar-“A moan cut off Karl’s words as you rammed into his prostate, changing your angle to make sure you hit every time now.

“Be careful with your words pup, they might just be your ruin.” There were a couple of breaks in your sentence as low groans left your throat. Karl’s walls clenched around your cock as he came once more, seeing him cum only spurred you on more to keep pounding into him. “God you look so hot like this, covered in your own cum while I fuck you dumb.”

Karl could only reply with whines, not able to formulate words with how fast your hips pistoned into his. He was starting to break down to where you wanted him, finally. Not slowing down at all you continued to ram your cock head into his prostate, he needed to cum at least two more times before you were satisfied with his punishment. After a few more thrusts into him, he started to clench around you. The added pressure to your cock made you cum into him, but he wasn’t getting away just yet.

Continuing the brutal assault on Karl’s prostate, your thrusts didn’t slow down, you barely felt any overstimulation at all. His whines and pleas to slow down were music to your ears as Karl looked up at you with teary eyes and puffy cheeks.

“Does puppy like my cock pounding his hole?” The taunting only brought more whines, poor thing couldn’t make any actual words anymore. “C’mon I don’t like being ignored, give me an answer pup.”

“Y- *hic* ye-ess” managing to get but the one word out was hard enough for the lord, with his overstimulated body and throat raw from moaning. Karl’s orgasm came quickly with each pound of your hips onto his, the knot in his stomach grew tighter and tighter before he came. Well, not really. He orgasmed, but it was dry, nothing but his stiff cock sitting there and a blissed-out look on his face.

“Just one more baby, I know you can do it for me.” Your tone started to show more kindness, and I'm happy that Karl put up with so much of this already. Folding his legs at the knee, you threw them over your shoulder, locking Karl into a mating press. Somehow you managed to only get faster in this position as your cock head drove even deeper into your lover's ass. A few minutes later Karl had yet another dry orgasm while you finished chasing your second, filling him to the brim. You let Karl’s legs go from their position but didn’t quite leave him just yet. The moment you took to catch your breath, you also used to lean up to the smaller male's wrists and untie them from their bonds.

The lord was too weak now to do anything but lay limply on the bed, legs still loosely wrapped around you. Pulling out you groaned from the wave of pain and overstimulation that hit you, only able to imagine how Karl would be feeling in the next few hours. You climbed off the bed and headed to the connected bathroom, knowing you couldn’t lift Karl up, and that he definitely couldn’t walk you settled on wetting a rag and heading back to him.

“Hey baby, do you need anything? Some water or Tylenol?” there was nothing but love and pure contentment in your voice as you began to wipe Karl’s chest, thighs, and face down with the rag.

“Mmhm” so weak from the rough treatment he couldn’t even express more than a groan of approval.

“Alright, I’ll get you some water” Leaving a kiss on his head, you snagged your boxers off the floor near the desk and slipped them on, headed down the hall to the kitchen to grab one of Karl’s mugs. Easier to hold a mug than a glass in his condition. Then rummaging through one of the cabinets you found the Tylenol, pouring two into your palm you headed back to the bedroom. Karl hadn’t moved an inch from where he was when you left the room. “Here, sit up a little.” Placing the pills and water on the nightstand you helped to move him up slightly with a couple of pillows behind his back.

Giving him everything he needed you sat down next to him, running a hand over his thigh.

“Remind me not to piss you off again” A small chuckle from you followed his statement.

“Oh baby, I could remind you time and time again but you wouldn’t listen, we both know you’re too stubborn for that.” You leaned up to lightly kiss him on the lips. It was already past dusk, and he decided it best to simply lay in bed and sleep until morning, not like he was going to be up early like normal.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t go too hard on you?” Trying to see what level of care he would need in the morning you asked him a couple of questions.

“If you went too hard I would’ve said the damn safe word, now get over here and cuddle me.” His demand was cute, but you followed it nonetheless, not wishing to be anywhere else in the world at that moment.

“I love you my dear Lord Heisenberg.”

“I love you too Lord (L/N)”

#male reader #male reader fanfic #x male reader #mlm account #nblm account #karl heisenberg x male reader #karl heisenberg #karl Heisenberg x reader #karl Heisenberg resident evil #resident evil x male reader #resident evil #resident evil 8 #re8 #re8 village #re8 heisenberg

[thevillainswhore]

Anywhere Away With You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader; other pairings but I don’t want to spoil anything!

Word Count: Over 11.5k

Summary: Old ghosts from your past threaten to disturb the peace you’ve made with your new life. Will temptation steer you away?

Warnings: Smut (‘daddy’ kink, finger-ing, mentions of oral, p in v, n-ipple play, derogatory names), flashbacks, angst, (Bucky is a warning here), emotional cheating? (I want to say this to cover all grounds)

A/N: unbeta’d, dividers by saradika

I’m sorry in advance for how long this piece is - I got an idea and literally ran with it, my head wouldn’t let me stop 🤣 hope you enjoy!

Romania - June 2019

The cool Romanian night air weaved through Bucky’s shoulder length hair as he walked the cobbled streets. He was glad he grew it out. A good change from his usual style. He felt free, more than he ever had before in his life and he was glad Steve pushed him to take this break before having to become the newly appointed CEO of his father’s company.

Peaceful. That’s how he would describe his time away. Traveling, sightseeing, learning new cultures. Bucky was extremely appreciative to have been able to experience the things he had and it was a journey he would never forget.

But seeing you, a total stranger on your own, dancing to your heart's content to a cheesy pop song across the road in a karaoke bar is an image that would be imprinted in his mind and heart forever. Your flowy silk red dress flawlessly wrapped around your curves and your gorgeous smile coated with crimson made Bucky feel like a teenage boy with a crush for the very first time.

So, it was by no means of his own when his feet walked themselves up to your carefree self, grabbed your hand to spin your body into his and dipped you, the words flowing out of his mouth as he introduced himself, “hello kisa, my name’s James and it would be my pleasure if I could dance with you tonight.”

He wasn’t sure why he gave you his real name, but it felt right in the moment and the feeling of being his authentic self out there had him divulging in all truths. In all honesty he didn’t know what had gotten into him, he wasn’t a seize the day kind of man, and definitely did not spontaneously introduce himself to strangers and ask to dance with them on the regular. But magic surrounded you that he was victim to and your ethereal glow called to him. It was a token he couldn’t pass up as his blue eyes pleaded with you to take a chance on him.

He wouldn’t have blamed you had you smacked him across his face and told him to get lost. Yet, he was pleasantly surprised at the full blown grin that split your face as you replied, “okay then James… show me what you’ve got.”

Not that he knew it then, but that moment had changed the course of his life forever. The six months he spent with you in Romania in your tiny little one bed apartment were some of the happiest moments he could remember. Details skip his mind when he tries to think of how you created an immeasurable connection in such little time.

He only remembers two parts of life: before you and after you.

It was a whirlwind romance. Had anyone known the story of the two of you, they’d have said you were crazy. Bucky didn’t see it like that though, you both may have been impulsive and reckless to trust a complete stranger, but there was an unknown force pulling the two of you together that made you click. As if you’d been waiting for each other all this time.

Even the small things mattered, like waking up with your head snuggled into his large chest. Your cute grumpy face from being woken up too early as he nestled his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling you. Cooking breakfast together and having food fights with the flour and eggs only to fall into the shower, where Bucky would tease at least two orgasms out of you with his thick fingers before fucking you against the screen door as you screamed his name.

It was bliss.

He learned that you were a journalist, who’s traveled across the world to write about your adventures from country to country. He learned that you had a best friend who encouraged you to expand your horizons and that’s the reason you were in Romania. He learned what you’re passionate about. Your hobbies, your fears, your dreams. He also got to learn that you’re a little freak in bed.

Not that he minded.

The serenity that those six months with you allowed him set the pathway for Bucky to truly find fulfillment in your presence and be the best version of himself when he was with you. It’s how he knew he was falling down the rabbit hole to deeper feelings. He dared to say he had already fallen in love with you.

And it was with that realisation that he created the downfall of the two of you. He knew you loved him, you’d told him so a month into your relationship and he wished he could’ve said it back every time. But he couldn’t comprehend the feeling of having something so precious in the palm of his hands. Didn’t want the responsibility of breaking your heart from his own foolishness in the long run. You never minded, always giving to never expect anything back in return.

You were too good for him. Too beautiful inside and out for him to be worthy of you.

That’s why he had to leave.

No note. No goodbye. Nothing. Just his rucksack packed with all his belongings on his shoulders as he took one last look at your sleeping form. Desperate to take in as much of you as he could before he deprived himself of your essence for the rest of his days to come.

New York - Present

“Helloo? Nat, is she okay? She's been like this for a while- oh! There you are sweetie, you zoned out on us again!” Wanda chuckles as your vision comes back into focus from your daydream.

You let out a weak laugh, “sorry Wands, my heads all over the place.”

It’s convincing enough, you think. The stress of upcoming events a good excuse to explain how far away your mind really is. Wanda is a great friend, truly so supportive and loving, but she doesn’t understand the ins and outs of your situation, hasn’t known you long enough to know the complexities that torment your memories.

Nat however does.

“Wanda, why don’t you go see how the caterers are getting on?”

Being the sweetheart she is, she agrees straight away, “yes! I can do that for you, I’ll be right back lovelies!” Natasha waits until she hears the door click shut and spins to set her eyes on you.

She chooses her words carefully. “You know sweets… you’ve been a little off-“

“I’m good, Romanoff”, you interrupt her firmly and then grimace in regret for snapping at her. It wasn’t her fault you were so fragile at the minute. Softening your tone, you try again, “I’m okay, I promise. Don’t worry about me, yeah? I’m good.”

Nat doesn’t look convinced, but you haven’t got the energy to go down that road and she knows it’s not the time to push you further. She can read you like an open book - one of the only people who can. Unaffordable to you right now though, not when you’ve got to paint the happy smile back onto your face to see through the night. It’s routine for you now.

Smoothing down your white sundress in the mirror, you ignore your best friend’s sympathetic gaze and turn around to walk out of the door.

Being away from home for so long has had its downfalls for Bucky. Although he needed these past couple of years to recharge and come back with a screwed on head to run his company as the CEO, he’s missed out on a lot. His best friend’s engagement being the main example.

He sees the love in Steve’s eyes. The pure happiness that radiates from his full being. It was hard to come back home and witness the dramatic change from the once bachelor, who was never interested in settling down, to hearing he had actually proposed to a woman. It stunned him, completely threw him for a loop, especially since Steve hadn’t mentioned anything over the phone while he had been away.

Nevertheless he was ecstatic for him, he knew what it felt like to completely fall head over heels for someone who makes life so much brighter. Someone who totally turns your world upside down in the most amazing way.

Too bad he lost that.

“Bucky, I can’t wait for you to meet her, honestly she’s so beautiful and kind and you’re gonna love her, I promise.” Steve blabbers on about his fiancé and Bucky can’t help but feel a stab of jealousy.

It should have been him engaged by now. It should have been him planning his wedding to the love of his life and annoying everyone else around him with his continuous declarations of love.

All he can do is hope Steve doesn’t notice his fake smile as he claps his hand onto his back and jokes, “well pal, you’re whipped now - can’t wait to see the woman who’s locked an old brute like you down.”

Luckily, Steve doesn’t notice the melancholy that takes over Bucky’s face, too absorbed into his own world of excitement to bother about anything else. He didn’t want anyone to see anyway, so he took in the guests and the decorations surrounding Steve’s beautiful garden of his home as they all waited for the woman who held Steve’s heart.

The click of your heels echoing through the hallways has the anxiety bubbling up further in your throat. Palms sweaty and knees wobbly. It wasn’t unusual to feel like this at big events you attended, but there was something in the air that had your nerves on edge, a sense of doom teasing you that there was something different about tonight.

Chatter and music from the party got louder the closer you got to the garden patio doors and your breaths were coming in faster. Nat caught up to you and spotted your struggle, coming to your aid and holding your arms.

“Hey, honey, breathe for me, there we go, deep breaths.”

You followed the rise and fall of Natasha’s chest to calm yourself down. Nerves were normal for you, yes, but you’d never felt like this abnormal before. Eventually, your breathing regulated and Nat bristles as you start laughing hysterically.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with me? I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

Nat’s emerald eyes that hold so much sorrow for you bare deep into your soul. This was the woman who had been there for your worst moments, the times where you broke down in despair from heartbreak. Your best friend. She knew what was wrong, you knew that she knew what was wrong, but it was a promise made that stopped either of you from bringing up the elephant in the room. Your whole world would come crashing down and you were not ready for that outcome.

So with a heavy heart for you and a smile that was keeping you together, she murmured lightly, “c’mon you, we’ve got a show to run.”

Everyone turns around in unison to see the double doors from the decking open up to the guest of the hour walking through. Timid smile on her face as claps and whistles applaud her.

“There she is! Hi baby, come over here.”

Pride shines through Steve’s eyes as he holds his hand out for his fiancée to take hold of to help her step down the stairs. Cheers and wolf whistles from the crowd at the happy couple continue as Steve pulls her into his side and places a loving kiss on her forehead.

Bucky doesn’t pay attention to the commotion, lingering towards the back of all the guests as he looks into the general direction of where his best friend is. He can’t see Steve’s wife-to-be yet, but judging by the look on his face, he’s totally smitten with her, lovedrunk in his own little bubble of joy. Bad friend he may be, but Bucky just can’t stomach pretending to be happy for him whilst he’s stewing in his own misery of his fuckups.

Although, his quiet brooding doesn't last very long when he hears his name being called.

“Buck? Bucky, where are ya punk, you’ve gotta meet my girl! Hang on one second babe, I’ll find him, you’re gonna love him.”

Steve leaves his fiancée’s side in his quest to find his best friend, eager for the two most important people in his life to finally meet.

It takes everything in Bucky to not grimace when Steve spots him.

“There you are Buck, I’ve been looking all over for you! C’mon, I’ve gotta introduce the two of you.”

Reluctantly, Bucky follows his best friend as they approach a woman wearing a white sundress, back turned to them as she’s talking quietly to a redhead. The thrill on Steve’s face as they get closer increases tenfold as if it physically pained him to be away from his fiancée and as they stop just behind her, Steve places his hand on her waist and whispers loud enough into the curve of her neck for Bucky to hear.

“Baby, this is Bucky, my best friend and boss, who I’ve wanted you to meet for a long time.”

It’s almost like a scene from a movie, the way her hair fans out as she spins around, the skirt of her dress billowing in slow motion as her sweet perfume tickles his nose. But, he recognises that scent… recognises that candy like smell that’s buried deep into his mind-

The shatter of glass silences the whole party as all eyes dart to the scene of commotion. Bucky’s mouth gaping open and body stiff as stone when he finally sets his eyes on Steve’s bride to be.

You.

You are Steve’s fiancée.

“Jesus Buck, what’s a matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Steve’s chuckle laced with a hint of concern snaps you out of your reverie as he waves over cleaners to sort out the mess - shock leaving you almost paralysed as you take in the sight of the man, who still haunts your dreams, you haven’t seen since the night before he left all those years ago.

James hardly looks any different to how he did back in Romania. The long brunette hair - though now tied back into a bun - you used to run your nails through. His open blue shirt with a white vest underneath, reminding you of how you used to smooth your hands over his big, strong arms just to get a feel of him. And that gold chain resting against his chest donned with gold rings on his thick fingers that have your mind still going hazy with need.

“James, oh fuck James, yes, right there!”

“Yeah? You like that, kisa? You like how deep my cock feels in you?”

“Yes, baby yes! please, please don’t stop.”

“Then tell me, who’s fuckin’ you this good, hm?”

James gripped your throat and tightened his fingers to slightly cut off your oxygen, rendering you speechless with drool dripping down your chin.

“I fuckin’ said, tell me who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

“Y-you are, James!”

“Oh c’mon kisa, you know that’s not what I mean.” His chain swung back and forth above your face with each thrust he made. “I know you’re a cockdrunk little slut for me, but you’re not stupid. I’ll ask you one more time, and if you don’t tell me who the fuck is makin’ you moan like a whore, then I promise I’ll stop right now and leave you begging.”

That booted your brain back into gear.

“D-daddy!”, you stuttered, all but forcing your lust drunk mind to say it so he didn’t stop, “Daddy’s fucking me so good!”

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl. That wasn’t so hard now was it?”

His condescending words only brought you closer to the edge, the coldness from the rings adorning his fingers added to your pleasure as he stroked your clit in a figure of eight.

The bastard knew you had a thing for his jewelry.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt your climax approaching, legs trembling in the crevices of his arms as his cock repeatedly hit your g-spot.

James brought his lips to your ear and you could feel the salacious grin that split his face as he reveled in your filthy moans and whimpers. He knew you were close.

“I know you’re desperate to let go baby, so show Daddy how good he’s making that pretty pussy feel, Kisa.”

His final words had you screaming.

“Cum for me.”

A shiver racks through your body as you force the memory as far away as you can, eyes unwilling to lose contact with him as you cravingly soak in what you haven’t seen in so long. James’ stare is pathetically zoned in on you too, the rest of the party a blur in the background.

Reprimanding yourself for getting lost in his aura, you snap your head away from his direction, watching the cleaners sweep away the glass and mop up the spilled champagne, listening to Steve’s apologies for the inconvenience.

You look around to the rest of the guests and find all attention on your predicament, paranoia filling your mind that everyone knows the history between the two of you. Sneaking a peek at James and seeing his gaze still focused on you doesn’t help your situation in the slightest.

Luckily, Steve’s voice cuts through the tension he’s unaware exists as he turns back to you.

“As I was saying baby, this is Bucky. We’ve known each other since we were kids and he had to save my ass from all those back alley fights - now we work together. He may be my boss, but he’s still a punk.”

Guilt hits you like a truck as Steve talks about his best friend with so much fondness. The sickness that you’ve felt since the beginning of the day rising up your throat as you fight to stop the tears welling up. You couldn’t have known the two of them knew each other, Steve talking about a ‘Bucky’ you’d never met, having no alignment with your ‘James’. But the nagging feeling that this is all your fault drills into your brain.

Looking toward your fiancé and plastering what you hope is an honest smile on your face, you clear your throat and pray your voice doesn’t break, “oh yes, I remember you saying honey!”

Knowing you have to sell a lie, you turn to James and hope that your pleasantries don’t come across as fake as your smile, “Stevie here’s told me all about you. It’s really nice to finally meet you, Bucky.”

The tightening of his fist doesn’t go unnoticed by you at the mention of his apparent real name. It could also be your pretend act of not knowing each other, but he lost the privilege to know you the day he left you and you didn’t care for his discomfort right now.

“Stevie, I’m just gonna go sort out some last minute details with Natty and I’ll catch up with you later.” The excuse to high tail it out of this nightmare seems to go down well with your soon-to-be Husband as he hooks his arm around your waist and gives you a loving kiss as a farewell.

“Don’t be too long, babe. I’ll miss you.”

You’re not sure if the low growl you hear is a figment of your imagination or not, but you ignore it as you squeeze Steve’s hand and take off to find where Nat had run off to, keeping your head down to avoid any temptation of catching a last look at old strangers.

Spotting Nat laughing with Wanda and a handsome dark-skinned man, you dart into her direction and hook your arm with her to drag her away, “sorry guys, I just need to talk with Nat about- something. I’ll bring her right back!”

You don’t even give her a chance to end the conversation as you haul ass towards the side of the house, not missing a step as you feel yourself breaking.

“Hey! Babe-, Sweets, what’s going on?-“

“In a minute, Natasha.”

“Where are you takin-“

“In a minute.”

Natasha stays quiet as you round the corner to a hidden alcove, private enough for your mental breakdown to unleash.

You let go of her arm as you pace up and down the small path, muttering to yourself as you hold your head in your hands. Your best friend tries to be patient as you attempt to gather the strength to tell her what the hell just happened, but she’s too worried for you to stay silent.

“Honey, what the hell is going on?”

Standing stock still, you look up to the sky and release a shaky breath.

“It’s him, Nat.”

Not clueing in to what you mean, she asks, “what?”.

“He’s here.”

“Who?-“

“Him.”

Putting together what you mean by your words, her head whips into your direction and her eyes bulge out of her head.

“No-, honey no. Are you su-?”

“I’m not fucking stupid, Nat. Of course I’m sure! I just saw him.”

“I’m gonna let you off speaking to me like that this once.”

Defeated, you crouch down onto the ground and hold your hand over your mouth, muffled sobs spilling out for Nat to hear. She rushes to your side and brings you into her embrace, tilting your head to lean against her shoulder as she comforts you.

“Shit. Everything’s gonna be okay Sweets, I promise. We’ll figure something out.”

You’re not quite sure you believe her this time.

It had been a week since your episode at the engagement party. After Nat has assured you to not worry over anything yet (big fucking understatement), you got your act together and calmed yourself down - arriving back at the party with no tears in sight with Steve soon at your side, unknowing to your distress. The rest of the night went smoothly, chit chat with the guests and announcements of how happy everyone was for the two of you easing your anxiety to whether people had caught on or not.

And if you could feel eyes on you throughout the whole night? You told yourself you were imagining it.

Steve hadn’t sensed anything was wrong with you this week that had passed. A true blessing in disguise really. You had no idea how you could even begin to tell him that you knew ‘Bucky’. So your decision to keep it a secret was the best way to go about this, you concluded. You’re marrying Steve. Steve. And James was part of your past that you were not revisiting. That was that.

The ding of the elevator lets you know you’ve reached Steve’s floor at his work. Wanting to drop off some lunch for him since he told you he was working late tonight, you prepared his favourite meal and thought he’d appreciate you bringing it over. He always loved you surprising him at work, especially since he’d taken over command and had a lot on his plate while his boss had been away traveling.

You guess the clues had been in front of you all along.

Walking up to Steves’s office door, navigating your way through the eeriness of the darkness of the building, you knock. Concerned at the lack of answer, you try again, rapping your knuckles against the wood in your own signature style to let him know it’s you who’s knocking - yet to no avail, silence again.

You’re about to take your phone out of your bag to text your fiancé and ask where he is, when you feel a looming presence behind you, hairs on the back of your neck standing up in alarm.

“Steve’s not here.”

Seems like you can’t escape your past after all.

Whipping your head round to the deep gravelly voice you haven’t heard in so long, you see James. You’d recognise his voice anywhere. Eyes wide open and heart beating out of your chest as all you can do is stare into them steel blue eyes you used to get lost in all the time.

Home.

Shaking your head to stop the locked away thoughts from taking root at the forefront of your mind, you attempt to speak, to say something.

“Oh.”

‘Oh’? What the fuck is that?

Bucky speaks up again, “He stepped out for a last minute meeting with one of our partners.”

Taking a deep breath to cool your nerves, you attempt to speak again. This was your fiancés best friend, nothing more. You can do this.

“Um, okay, yeah that’s fine.”

Yeah, so much better.

You nod dumbly, head continuously bobbing up and down as you look anywhere but at him.

Turns out you can absolutely not ‘do this’ - the depths of his intense gaze zeroed in on you, shaking your confidence and leaving you making a quick exit to avoid the awkwardness.

“I’ll just- leave it on his desk, I guess. Could you tell him I stopped by? Thank you. Bye.”

Before you can even take your first step to leave, he interrupts you.

“So, you’re marrying him?”

Your surprise at his gall to bring up the elephant in the room has you reeling back, stopping you in your tracks. But the anger that stems from within at his audacity to even mention it soon takes over and allows your facade to entirely switch in a moment of braveness.

“We’re not doing this.”

“You’re breaking my heart, kisa.” Bucky’s whisper, just loud enough for you to hear through the abandoned top floor of his building, cracks away at another piece of your heart.

You swallow the lump in your throat but your voice still comes out trembling, “Don’t fucking call me that.”

The tight white dress shirt bulging over his large chest and black trousers fitted snug against his crotch didn’t do you any favours either - hands tucked into his pockets practically screaming at you to look at the veins of his forearms.

Fuck.

You take deep breaths and decide you need to get out of this dangerous situation, pushing yourself to walk by him, you’re startled as he holds out his arm to hold you still by your waist.

The shuddering sigh you let out is louder than you expect it to be. Glistening moonlight cascading over the two of you in the darkness of the office. You haven’t felt his touch in over three years and all you want to do is fall into his arms and never let him go. It had been too long since you felt the gentleness of his touch, the feel of his thumb rubbing circles onto your bare skin underneath your shirt, transporting your mind back to lazy mornings tangled in the sheets.

“Bucky! Stop it, you're tickling me!”

The scrape of his teeth against your neck had you squirming in his grasp, the sweat from your morning escapades gathering between your bare skin.

“God, I fuckin’ love how sensitive you are for me baby girl.”

“I can’t go another round Bucky, you're insatiable.”

“You sure about that, kotehok? Because I know for a fact that your little pussy is pulsing for my big cock.”

You're a prisoner to watch as he grinds against you, kissing down towards your tits that you know he’s a sucker for. “Fuck.”

“I also know that if I were to suck those pretty nipples into my mouth, you’d be putty in my hands. A cute little mess pleading for me to fill you up.”

He always knew what he was doing, pushing you to your limits. But he knew you could handle it.

“That’s not fair baby, you know how bad that gets me.”

He ran his tongue over your stiff peaks as you keened, sucking each nipple before his plump lips trailed down your belly to stop above your mound, dying to eat your pussy like a man starved.

“And you know how crazy I am for you, so sit back and relax while I get a taste of you baby. You can take it, you’re my good girl.”

Shit.

You rip yourself away from his grasp and back away as he reaches out for you again.

“Kisa-“

“I said, don’t.”

The demand in your tone has Bucky pulling his arm back to his side and hanging his head.

Not bearing to look at him, you walk away, missing your old flame deflate at the consequence of his own mistakes.

The next couple of days go by fast for you, distracting yourself with last minute wedding plans to keep your mind focused. Not wandering. You hadn’t seen Steve much, only briefly in the mornings before he had to leave for work and hardly getting to see him later in the day due to him tying up loose ends before the wedding.

It was another relief in all honesty. Your emotions have been going haywire ever since you found out Bucky was back and you weren't sure how you could hold yourself around Steve.

Again, the wrongfulness of your actions has your gut churning. You hadn’t cheated. But it wasn’t exactly fair to keep your fiancé in the dark like this. Steve hadn’t done anything wrong - he’d been nothing but loyal to you and treated you like you deserved throughout your relationship. He had never abandoned you, never left you wondering what must be so wrong with you to not be good enough staying for. So, why was your mind so conflicted?

You’re torn out of your inner conflict when you feel a dent in the bed.

“Steve?”

“Yeah baby, it’s just me.”

His sweet tone and pure happiness to see you has that nauseating feeling coming back.

“I was able to get off work early today. Finished handing over everything to Bucky so he can get started with the company.”

Yeah, you didn’t think it could get much worse, the mention of him having bile rise in your throat. Deciding to torment yourself even further, you poke the bear.

“Oh good, good. How is everything? Been nice having him back?”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea. I missed him so much while he was away. We were two peas in a pod, y’know? Always causing trouble together.”

Your eyes start to sting and you thank every god out there that it’s dark enough in the room for Steve not being able to see.

“He also mentioned you dropped by work the other night, sorry I missed you honey. One of our partners needed to speak about something to do with the increasing costs, but you don’t wanna hear about that, I’m just glad to be home with you now.”

It takes everything in you not to start crying. The fact that Bucky had mentioned you has your mind spiraling - something Steve notices when you don’t say anything.

“Honey? Everything okay?”

Hastily moving into his side and snuggling up to him, you think fast to try and eradicate the negative trail this could go down, hugging him tight and willing yourself to chill out.

“Yeah of course, sorry Stevie. Just been stressed lately and I’ve missed you, that’s all.”

With the way he wraps an arm around you and pulls you tighter into his body, he seems content enough with your reasoning. His hand smoothing down your side and hiking your leg over his waist, a move you had gotten so familiar with and now feels so foreign.

“Shit, I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much too, sweetheart. How about I make it up to you, hm?”

This you can do. You can take your mind away from your worries and indulge in everything Steve for one night.

So as he rolls over you to lay you fully onto your back and starts to kiss down your neck, you cup the back of his head to bring him closer and avoid closing your eyes to prevent anyone else sneaking in your thoughts, basking in his soft touch and eagerness to please.

You can do this for him.

The dinner party Steve had arranged a couple of weeks before the big day consisted of inviting close friends to celebrate and enjoy an evening together with good food and drinks to let loose.

Dread was all you could feel.

You hadn’t spoken to Bucky since he cornered you at the office and any events that you both were attending, you made sure to stay clear from him. The risk of bumping into him again too great to let down your guard.

However, that idea was out the window as soon as you found out you were seated next to him at the dinner table.

Pulling Steve aside to casually question the seating arrangements had set your nerves alight for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Steve, sweetie... H-how come you’re not sat next to Bucky? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

He sighs as everyone else takes their place at the table and puts his hands over your cheeks, thumb rubbing your pouty lips. “I thought it’d be a fun idea to seat people next to someone they don’t really talk to, y’know let everyone get to know each other more. It makes all the games I’ve planned more fun.”

Steve looks over your worried expression and continues to try and put you at ease. “I know Buck’s a bit grumpy and he doesn’t talk much, but will you try and talk to him tonight? It would mean the world to me if you two got along, honey. Besides, he’s probably just missing his time across the world, someone like you will bring him right out of his shell.”

You can say that again.

Not wanting to make this harder for Steve, you smile and nod to which he pecks your lips and thanks you profusely for the effort you're making.

You already know Bucky is sitting down, looking over to see his chestnut locks tucked behind his ears with a hair tie on his wrist next to his gold bracelet. So with a final pep talk to yourself to get you through this dinner, you drag yourself to your seat and carefully sit down as quietly as possible to not draw attention to yourself.

Impossible when you can literally feel his eyes burning a hole through the side of your head.

Natasha’s subtle tapping on the empty plate across the table has you looking up at her, a raised eyebrow code for the two of you to ask if you’re going to be okay. The small nod you send back her way placates her for the time being.

You wouldn’t believe yourself either.

The gulp of wine you chug down does little to settle you, already grabbing the bottle to pour yourself another glass when you feel the timber of a low chuckle close to your ear.

“You always did like wine a little too much.”

You choke on air at the unexpected inside joke, the dark-skinned man you’d come to learn as Sam in the seat on your other side, patting your back to help you through your coughing fit. Throwing him a look of thankfulness as your cheeks flush hot in embarrassment, you sit forward in your seat again and grit your teeth to stop yourself from smacking Bucky across the face.

“Nervous, baby?”

Keeping your eyes straight forward is a task, but you refuse to play Bucky’s games. His sudden bravado throws you off your duty of keeping cool.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Your angry whisper only results in his growing amusement - that stupid smirk on his face you've seen many times in his moments of mischief.

Taking a look around the table, you see everyone in conversation with each other, unaware of yours and Bucky’s back and forth.

“Gotta get your attention somehow, baby girl, you ignored me the last time.”

You don’t give into his whims, his charm and sweet names threatening to derail your psyche when you’re not even halfway through the night. Instead you turn and start up a conversation with Sam, an old friend of Steve - and Bucky unfortunately -, to take your mind away from the arrogance your other way.

Little did you know this was just the start of it.

The next hour or so goes by more smoothly than the beginning of the night and you’re proud of yourself for managing to actually have some fun. That may very well be because you actively chose not to look in Bucky’s direction or give him a slither of your attention, but you’re still happy with yourself nonetheless.

Your newfound peace is disturbed when Wanda - the enthusiastic, innocent soul you have to remember you love - suggests an icebreaker game that has you, yet again, choking on air.

“Suck and blow! So, the rules are you have to pass this card to each other using only your mouth. If anyone drops it, they have to take a shot! Oh, this is gonna be so much fun!”

Jesus fucking Christ, you couldn’t catch a break.

The nervous look you send Steve literally begs him to raise concern, to say anything that will get you out of this nightmare. But being the perfect angel he is, he just sends a wink your way and shouts over the table “don’t worry sweetheart, I know you only have eyes for me.”

A sniper to the head would be more comfortable than this.

It’s burning torture as you watch the start of the game, the card beginning with Wanda as it’s sucked from her grasp by another friend of Steve’s. It goes down the line one by one and all you can do is sit and watch as it gets closer to Bucky.

You wish you could slow time down as Bucky sucks the card into his mouth, the turn of his head towards you signaling your turn in the game. If you react too slowly, everyone around you is going to get suspicious, react too quickly and you come across as too eager.

And those cerulean eyes that pin you down with a look you know all too well, don’t help your cause one bit.

Bracing yourself with a hand on the table and a hand on the back of your chair, your knuckles turn white as the death grip keeps you stable when you slowly lean forward. Your ears start to ring and the fact that Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off you once makes your palms sweaty.

Pursing your lips, you close your eyes as you suction the card from his mouth and successfully take it in your grasp, applauding yourself internally at how smooth the transition went without you freaking out - too much.

Only for it all to come crashing down when a firm, calloused hand squeezes the meat of your thigh and has you releasing a gasp of air, eyes shooting open as the shock of the unexpected touch has the card leaving your mouth, fluttering downwards to land on the floor beside your feet.

The lack of distance between yours and Bucky’s open mouths has your head spinning, taking you back to those public rendezvous against a wall of a club bathroom and panting into each other's mouths as you scream praises to each other.

“Open that slutty mouth, now.”

James’ hand flew up to your jaw to pry your mouth open when you took too long to obey his orders. Leg hiked over his wait as he was two fingers deep in your cunt.

The wetness that landed on your tongue had you moaning louder when you realised that James had spat into your mouth, pussy fluttering around his thick fingers as his eyes darken.

“You want everyone to know how good Daddy’s fingers are making you feel, baby girl? Sure sounds like it.” His dirty grin only made more of your juices leak over him.

“Yes Daddy! Don’t wan’ you to stop, feels soo good.”

The slur in your voice had his cock harden against your leg, and you were sure you were going to pass out as he assured you. “Oh don’t worry, pretty baby. We’re about to see if you can take another one of Daddy’s fingers.”

And by the look on Bucky’s face, he knows all too well exactly what you’re thinking.

The boos and hollers of everyone else snap you back to reality, adjusting your stance and clearing your throat to blend in with the rest of them. Shouts of “loser” and chants of “shot” taking precedence over the wetness of your panties and the throbbing of your pussy that makes your thighs rub together.

You ignore Bucky’s stare, ignore everything else that threatens to consume you as you take the shot to forget about everything just for a short while. You can’t deal with it right now.

As the cheering dies down, you stand up and make your way to the bathroom, declaring that you’ll be right back after relieving yourself, which gains some laughter.

You’re too out of sight to see Bucky half assing an excuse to follow right after you. You also don’t see the look that crosses Steve’s face as he watches the two of you leave.

Bucky hears the telltale clicking off your heels, your announcement of heading to the bathroom a lie as he walks past it and up the stairs to find you leaning against the balcony railing on the roof, looking out at the stars. 

You know he’s there by the sound of the lock clicking shut, the defeat at avoiding this exact situation evident in your sigh. 

He gently walks to your side, almost afraid to scare you off like a baby deer and simply waits for you to start speaking.

“So, I guess this is where we talk.”

The laugh he lets out at your statement has you reluctantly smiling, unable not to love the crinkles that appear by his eyes. 

“I think it's overdue, don't you think?”

“I guess.” You pause as you try to think of what to say. “When did you get back home?”

“Not long ago, about 3 months. You?”

“Came home a couple of weeks after I knew you weren’t coming back.”

Heavy silence falls between the two of you. 

“Can I ask how you met Steve?”

You knew the question was coming, “Natasha introduced us.” You shrug and answer vaguely.

“Ah, the best friend. I remember you mentioning her.”

As you continue to stare out into the night, Bucky decides to carry on. “Do you remember when we used to climb up the stairs to rooftops like this back in Romania? We’d lay all those blankets down and I’d tell you all about the different constellations in the sky. You already knew all of them - always my smart baby girl - but you still let me go on about them because you loved hearing me talk about it.”

You can’t bare to think about the memories that come rushing in at his recollection. The ones that hold a special place in your heart - conversations of getting to know each other, the details of your life you were so willing to give up to him as he slow danced with you in the refrigerator light of your tiny kitchen. Too much for you to comprehend right now as you begin to go walk back inside. 

“Hey no-“ he reaches out to grab your arm to try and get you to listen to him. 

“Please don’t touch me”.  Tears race down your cheeks as you gather the strength to speak your mind. “You left. Do you know how long I waited for you to get in touch with me? How long I stayed in that apartment, thinking you’d be back?” You laugh, “silly me for thinking I was special enough for you to stay.”

“It wasn’t like that-“

“What was it then, Bucky? Because I didn’t get one phone call from you. Not even a text message to tell me you were okay. You ghosted me - abandoned me and then I see you again after all these years.” 

Bitterness takes over Bucky as he blurts out, “yeah, I see you’re really hurt - marrying someone else.”

You’re speechless at his audacity, sputtering to fire back at him, “what does it even matter to you anyway? You didn’t even love me, Bucky!” 

“Stop calling me that!” He deflects.

You ignore him. “What is this? What are you doing? Trying to claim me back as some fucking prize or something?”

“N-no, no! Of course not!”

“Then what, Bucky?!”

He finally snaps and tells the truth. “I want you back!”

All you can do is blink at him as he struggles to find what he wants to say. 

“Do you know how miserable I’ve been without you? How long the days were without you beside me, kisa? I know I ran baby, i know I fucked up. But I was scared, I didn’t want you to look back in a couple of years and wonder what you’ve been doing, wasting time with someone like me. I know better now though, I know how I feel.”

He pauses and gulps. 

“I do. I love you.”

The three words you had been dying to hear, but ever so patiently waited for back then cut your heart into pieces. What you would have given to be on the receiving end of his love when it mattered. But you’ve got a fiancé to think about, a wedding not long away to seal your fate to a man who thinks the world of you and shows it.

“Yeah?” You gulp and turn to walk away, mumbling over your shoulder, “well it’s too late for that now, Bucky.”

You’d love to say that you had been channeling your energy into Steve and proving how much he meant to you ever since your rooftop meeting with Bucky. You wanted to solidify how good you had it already, how you didn’t need to reminisce on memories with someone who lost you when you were perfectly happy with Steve.

But he hadn’t been around a lot lately and you started to grow worried when you had hardly spoken to him when you had a wedding coming up. So to see him leaned over his desk, hair disheveled and tie loose had you a little stunned - never had you once seen Steve in this state.

You cautiously walk towards him and fiddle with your fingers not knowing how to approach him. You keep a small distance and prepare to soothe him. 

“Is everything okay Stevie?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” 

His blunt statement with his gruff voice has you growing nervous, he hasn’t ever spoken to you like this. “W-what? I don’t know what you mean-“

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Steve doesn’t stop there. It makes your stomach drop, in fact, to see him turn around and notice his bloodshot eyes that look like he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep recently, preparing for things to change.

“How do you really know Bucky?”

Your blood runs cold. The thought of Steve knowing the past between you and his best friend has you starting to shake. 

“S-steve, what are you t-talking about? He’s your best friend-“

“Tell me the truth.” His sternness in the raise of his voice has you stop talking immediately. “Y’know I thought it was a little weird at our engagement party when he couldn’t take his eyes off you, like he already knew you, but I let it go, it was easily something I could pass off. Then I heard he bumped into you at work, no biggie either, I wasn’t concerned. At least not until I see for myself how skittish you were over some stupid game. The longing looks he sent your way when you weren’t looking. So I went into my camera feed at work and boy, was I surprised to hear what he had to say, never mind the way he touched you.”

The tears can’t help but escape and you know there’s no getting out of this now.   

“So I’ll repeat myself, honey. Tell me the truth.”

And you do. You tell him every last detail of how you first met James. The karaoke bar in Romania. The six months you spent together in your apartment. How you fell in love with him. You also spill all your regrets. How you didn’t know how to tell Steve. How you never expected to see James again, never mind see him again as your fiancés best friend. You pour your heart out to the man who’s done nothing but love you unconditionally and you plead how sorry you are for everything. 

You see him process all the information once you finish. How he internalises the history between his soon-to-be wife and best friend he’s known since childhood. You know it’s not looking good for you. 

“Have you cheated?”

You're a bit taken back by his question but nevertheless answer straight away. “No! God, no Stevie, I swear.”

“Do you still want to marry me?”

“Yes. More than anything.” Again, you respond.

“Do you still love him?”

The pause in your response is enough of an answer for Steve and you fully expect him to call the wedding off, declare that he doesn’t want anything to do with you again. You wouldn’t blame him, you know all of this isn’t fair to him.

 

So the shock that runs through you when he takes both of your hands and kisses them multiple times is palpable, murmuring into them, “do you still love me?”

You do love Steve. You’re so grateful for everything he's done for you, for all the care and happiness he’s brought you. You don’t hesitate to answer him this time. 

“Of course I do.”

The smile that graces his face is award winning, the exact one that hooked you in when Natasha told you he was worth it - to give him a chance to make you whole again. 

“Okay. I can work with that.”

Everything hurts. Your dismissal of Bucky’s feelings, your ignorance to his attempts to just talk to you. He supposes it’s karma biting his ass for being so stupid. 

If he could go back in time and stay with you, in your one bedroom cosy little home away from his responsibilities as CEO and his fate of seeing you belong to someone else, he would - in a heartbeat. 

Bucky thinks back to your conversation on the roof, when he blurted out he loves you. He regrets telling you like that, but the desperation for you to be back in his arms, back where you were supposed to be was at an all time high. He was running out of options. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, because he really did, he just knew it shouldn’t have been said that way.

He should have grabbed you by your face and kissed you senseless back when you were together as he poured declarations of love into your soul. Looked into your eyes and whispered how lucky he was to have you as you lay underneath the Romanian stars. He was a fool. 

Steve was the deserving man, he thinks, watching him dance with his friends and blabber, even drunk, how in love with you he was. Bucky can’t help but clench his fists at the thought of Steve getting to hold you, kiss you, pleasure you. He’s never held resentment towards his best friend, but right now he was a jealous man. 

It drills home how bad of a friend he is to Steve though, Bucky may have had you first but he knows that doesn’t mean a thing when Steve was the one who picked up the pieces, unknowingly, of the ruins in your trust. Either way, it doesn’t deter the possessiveness and need Bucky feels over you. 

He shouldn’t be thinking like this at his best friend's bachelor party.

And speak of the devil, the drunken mess plops onto the seat next to Bucky with a dreamy look on his face. 

“Buck! James, why the hell aren’t you out there tearing up the floor with us?” There’s no slur in Steve’s words, but he does get very weird when he’s been drinking.

And Bucky doesn’t like the use of his first name coming out of someone else’s mouth other than yours. 

“Sorry Steve, just ain’t feeling it tonight, but don’t worry. I’ll be here watching you make a dick outta yourself.”

The bowl of laughter that bellows out of Steve has Bucky laughing for the first time in a while, the rivalry present in his mind disappearing to share a genuine moment with his best friend since childhood. It felt good.

“Yeah, I guess I am. I’m having a good time though, getting married to the woman of my dreams soon enough. What’s there not to be happy about, eh?”

That shuts down the ease found between the two of them. A grunt of acknowledgment from Bucky all he can offer in the souring of his mood.

Steve carries on, nonchalantly, as he swirls his drink. “It’s funny, y’know. Our taste in women. Who’d have thought that the woman id marry would be the one you were fucking whilst you were off on your travels.”

Alarm bells start ringing in Bucky’s head as he slowly turns his head in Steve’s direction, the lump in his throat hard to swallow - Steve knows. 

“Listen Steve, nothing happened-“

“Oh I know. Nothing’s happened while we’ve been together… doesn’t mean you don’t want to. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Don’t blame you to be honest.”

His collected composure throws Bucky off completely, the unease rattling him from the casual way he speaks of you. Bucky isn’t prepared for the dark tone that encases Steve as he goes on, however. 

“But just so you know, she’s marrying me. She chose me. You left her.” 

That pisses Bucky off. He knows all too well what he’s done, berated himself night and day for his mistake. He also knows you. You’re content with your situation - there’s no denying that. 

But, you could be happier. Bucky could be the reason you wake up every single day, loving life and looking forward to your future.

Not marrying someone out of regret.

He doesn’t say that though, let’s Steve have his moment and decides that if this is the end of their friendship, he’ll do it respectfully. 

So as Steve looks over to Bucky, daggers in his eyes for the man that got the girl first, he decides to leave him to himself and go home. Things hadn’t really been the same with Steve since Bucky had gotten back - a piece of his heart with you wherever you were. And then he saw you in your little white dress that reminded him of home and he knew his relationship with Steve couldn’t go back to what it was. 

“See ya round, pal.” 

He’ll miss Steve, truthfully. The little guy he protected from bullies twice the size of him. He knew they couldn’t come back from this though, in love with the same woman and unwilling to let her go. So he tips his head to his best friend, downs his drink and walks out the bar.

He wasn’t going to give up on you without a fight. 

Suffocating. 

The hairspray that clogged the air. Makeup scattered over the side tables. Your wedding dress that you could faintly hear your bridesmaids gush over. 

It was all white noise to you.

You loved this dress - adored it whenever you got to try it on at regular fittings. There may have been a twinge in your gut every time, but you always forced that feeling down. Aside from that, you appreciated how well the dress fit you and how stunning it makes you look.

All you wanted to do now was rip it off.

There was no more countdown to your wedding day. It’s happening today. Now. Whether you’re ready or not. 

Mind fogged over, you don’t hear Wanda’s fingers clicking in front of your face. “Sweetie, you there? You keep zoning out again.” 

It’s only a touch to the shoulder that brings you back out of your head, a perfectly manicured red nail seen from the corner of your eye to let you know it’s Natasha. 

“She’s just fine, our girl’s just busy thinking about how Steve’s going to rip this dress off later on.” The mixture of squeals of laughter and prudish whines from your bridal party have you grateful for Nat’s ability to deflect with ease.

“Why don’t we give the bride some space for a little bit, yeah? All you bitches are giving me a headache, never mind her.”

As you see the last flutter of a dress walk out the door from the reflection of the mirror, you turn to your best friend, the one person you don’t have to pretend with.

“How do I look, Natty?” The crack in your voice gives away your vulnerability, there’s no hiding with her anyway. 

“You know you look beautiful, babe.” A noncommittal hum from you is all she receives as you turn back around to continue looking over yourself.

She brings her face next to yours, giving you her most reassuring eyes and a hug that has fixed you multiple times. But you’re most grateful for the murmur in your ear for only you to hear. “I’m here for you, whatever you want to do, you know that right?” 

You do know that. Your maid of honour who would burn down the world to make your heart whole again. So you owe her the knowledge that you’re gonna be alright, that you’re okay with what’s gonna happen. 

“Maybe I should get married to you Romanoff, I think we’d make a killer couple.” The landing of your joke goes down well with her, the doom of your fate on the back burner for now.

And as she walks out the door to give you a couple of minutes to yourself, she throws a wink your way, speaking over her shoulder, “give me a time and place and I’ll be there, sweetheart.”

Why the hell did this church have to be so big? 

Trying to be stealthy and quiet in a church full of guests roaming around wasn't the easiest task Bucky had ever dealt with. A bridesmaid or a groomsman lurking around a corner had him almost shit himself a couple of times, but he had a plan set in motion and he wasn’t going to be easily deterred.  

The clock was ticking, and Bucky had to get to you, there was no time to waste.

Steve’s fault really because Bucky has full confidence you wouldn’t have picked somewhere like this to get married. A scenic forest setting or even a shotgun wedding much more your style - it gives him an extra push to find you. 

“You really doing this?” 

The voice of his old friend Sam stops Bucky in his tracks as he turns around and releases the door knob he was about to turn. It also doesn’t slip his mind that Sam is stationed outside of a specific door. No doubt another order of Steve. 

At least the search for you is over.

“Never been more sure about anything in my life, Sam.” And he hasn’t. Call him selfish, but he has to speak to you one last time to tell you how he feels. For you to see that he can’t let you go so easily. 

“And you love her?” Sam may be Steve’s friend as well as Bucky’s, however, the two of them have always gotten each other. Sam knew Bucky wouldn’t go to all this trouble for some random girl. 

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to answer his question. “More than you could ever know.” 

The crack in Sam’s steel armour, crossed arms and a wide stance becomes noticeable first by the subtle shake of his head. What he’s about to do isn’t great, but he also sees the longing in your eyes, the spark that brings you to life in the presence of Bucky. Steve doesn’t do that for you. 

“Shit.” Sam rubs a hand down his face and steps to the side. “Okay. You’ve got five minutes tops, that’s the best I can do.” And Bucky couldn’t be anymore grateful for his friend, a tip of his head to Sam to show his appreciation. 

“Five minutes is all I need.”

You’re sitting by the window when you hear the old wooden door creak open. Expecting Nat to check in with you for a final time before the big event, you don’t bother turning around.

“Don’t worry Nat, I’m good. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“You sure about that?”

Your reaction is similar to the first time you heard his deep tone after so long back at the office - head whipping round in shock to see James in a black suit with his hair pulled back. 

Why does he have to look so damn good? 

Standing up, you lift the skirt of your dress and stomp over to him. “Bucky? What the hell are you doing here?!”

He can’t even process your anger at seeing him before your wedding, stunned to silence at the beauty you radiate - you’re so beautiful it hurts.

“Holy shit, you look gorgeous.”

Affected by his response, shyness takes over you as you stutter - speechless in his presence yet again. 

“I had to see you, kisa.” The pet name reserved for you tugs at the ache already there in your heart. 

“James- Bucky, you can’t be here, I’m about to marry Steve.” 

“Don’t.”

You have an idea as to what he means, but you have to ask just to be sure, “don’t what?”

“Don’t marry him.” The way Bucky says it as if it’s so simple astounds you.

“You’ve gotta be kidd-“

He interrupts you before you can finish. “Please, just- hear me out for a second, please?” 

So you stay silent, a tiny piece of you wanting to hear what he has to say.

Bucky straightens the lapels of his jacket and prepares himself for the most important speech of his life. “In five years time, are you gonna look back and have no regrets? Can you tell me truthfully that if you marry Steve, you’re not gonna be wondering what else could’ve happened?”

Tremors start to rack through your body at his questions you don’t want to think about, too scared to really think about answers. Even so, Bucky carries on. 

“I know you love him, baby. But are you in love with him?”

You have to stop his rambling before he says something you can’t hear right now. “Buck-“

“Because I’m in love with you.” He interrupts you. “I’m so fuckin’ gone for you baby girl that I’m here begging you not to marry him.”

Tears threaten to ruin your makeup that took hours to perfect. 

“Runaway with me.”

It’s the last straw that breaks your resolve as you begin to sniffle.  

“We can go back to Romania and start over, or travel together, I don’t care as long as you’re with me.”

You finally speak, “you h-have a business to r-run, Bucky.”

“You think any of that matters to me when I can have you?”

He places his hands on your arms and rubs his palms up and down, giving you the comfort your body is screaming at you for but your mind battles against.  

“I know I left you before and I’m so fuckin’ sorry for breaking your heart. But I swear I’ll be better for you this time.”

Sliding his hands up to cup your cheeks, he leans forward and places a kiss on your cheek, so close to your mouth that you can feel his breath against your skin. Bucky puts his forehead against yours and whispers his last line that he prays will win you over. 

“I love you, kisa… take one more chance on me.”

“Ready, honey?”

As you stand at the double doors waiting to walk down the aisle, your mind races. Too overwhelmed to speak and only able to give Nat a firm nod in acceptance. 

“Let’s get this show on the road then.”

It’s hardly noticeable to you that the double doors open to reveal the altar, the aisle looking so much shorter than you hoped it to be.  

You couldn’t answer Bucky, head scrambled by his dump of love on you and his pleading for you to run away with him that you had to walk away from him. How could you just leave with the person who left you? 

But how could you live without him if you marry Steve?  

You don’t even realise you’re halfway down the aisle as you deathgrip Nat’s arm to the point of bruising - lack of expression on her face apart from a warm smile to not let anyone notice your spiraling. 

And then before you know it, you’re at the altar next to your fiancé and soon enough husband in just a couple of minutes.

The false bravado you showcase impresses yourself when you see no one is batting an eye at your downfall. You think you hear the priest begin the ceremony and go on with the usual spiel of vows and promises. Yet, It just feels like you’re underwater and you’re slowly sinking with no way to the surface. 

Somehow though, you manage to hear the subtle click of a side door towards the back, even through the jumbled mess of your mind. 

It’s like your mind actively seeks out the man who’s had a piece of your heart since you met him. James. The one who literally had you at ‘hello’. 

You remember how you felt as he caught you into a dip, the karaoke bar neon lights casting a luminescent glow over his features and those steel grey eyes breaking through your defenses.

Home.

So the cold panic that rushes over you as he sends one last tender smile your way, his crows feet sending your heart into overdrive, is instant. You don’t miss the single tear he lets escape and the bow of his head as he turns around and walks out of the church doors. 

No. 

Looking back towards Steve, you know he saw Bucky and the war going on inside your head by his forlorn expression. 

Steve. 

He deserves so much better than you. His kindness and patience with you proceeds anything you were worthy of. Them ocean blue eyes begging you not to go even after all he’s put up with. 

But they never were your blue. 

You drop his hands and back away, the rejection of his pleas hitting home as he knows what’s coming next. Sliding the sparkling engagement ring from your finger and placing it into his palm, you peck his cheek and whisper your apologies. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve.”

You hate having to do this to him. You hate that you can’t give up a crucial part of your past to be in the present with him. But he deserved someone that could love him with their entire being, not you who could only give the smallest offering. 

It was time to start being honest with yourself - starting with following your heart and going after who you really want. 

The grin on your face at your epiphany is unstoppable, as you kick off your shoes, rip off your veil and grab the skirts of your dress. 

Then, you run. 

You ignore the gasps of outrage from all the guests, you don’t see the smirk on Nat’s face and Wanda smacking Nat’s arm out of shock as you finally give in to your true desires. You just keep on running.  

The church doors burst open and you race down the steps to see Bucky ducking his head to get in his mustang and starting the smooth engine to drive off. 

Shit. 

“JAMES!” 

He doesn’t hear your cries over the rumble of his car, and you push yourself to run faster. You have to catch up to him. 

“JAMES WAIT!”

Just as Bucky puts his foot down to accelerate, he hears the passenger door to his mustang whip open and his head snaps over - only to see his beautiful angel sitting in the passenger seat staring nervously into his eyes. 

“No fuckin’ way.”

 

His breathlessness makes you giggle as you nod your head in excitement, the way his face lights up at the sight of you and that gorgeous smile on his face has your stomach fluttering. 

This is what love should feel like. 

“Fuck, you actually did it, baby.”

“Nervous were we?”

Bucky lets out a huff of breath at your jab and shakes his head with fondness, unable to believe he’s really got his girl back. 

Not wasting a minute more, he pulls you in by the back of your head and kisses you with wild abandon, his tongue teasing its way in to dance with yours. You’ve missed him more than you were willing to admit - pouring all of your yearning over the years into the kiss. He pulls back when you both run out of oxygen and stares into your eyes as if this is all a dream. Bucky has you laughing once more as he pinches the skin of his arm just to double check. 

“So, where are we going, kisa?” Bucky waits for your response as he shifts the mustang into gear, car moving forward as he gets ready to prove how much you truly mean to him.

You lean your head back on the head rest and close your eyes, mind clear for the first time in a long while as the tires turf up the gravel and speed off.

The upturn of your lips has the spark you thought was gone inside you reigniting. And you know now this is where you’re supposed to be. 

“Anywhere as long as it’s with you, James.”

A/N: if you got this far, thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed writing this one and there’s also potential for a second part should I feel there’s enough interest - I never learn 🤣

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader smut #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan smut #bucky x you #bucky smut #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x female reader