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darkworkcourier · 1 year

Note

You’re doing Ghost!! Can I request an exercise in sharing body heat in cold conditions that turns into *other* forms of exercise? Preferably a non-military female reader if that tickles your fancy. So excited to see you back on tumblr, I loved your RDR2 and FC5 work back in the day 💕💕💕

Hi yes I’d like to apologize that this tiny prompt turned into EIGHT THOUSAND WORDS OF PORN OH GOD

(Also, try and find all the Far Cry 5 references. :3c As a thank you for hanging out with me all this time!)

Reader works for the National Park Service and gets pulled into a mission involving guiding Ghost to go after a (wink) paramilitary organization in (WINK WINK) Montana. Things go awry.

---

“Piss poor excuse for a shortcut, Ranger,” Ghost says to your back.

Your mid-back, actually, since you’re about two feet above him on the hillside which is way steeper than you remember. You could have sworn there was a trail cut through here, or maybe that was a half mile down the ridge, or maybe— Maybe it’s good to not second guess it when you think Ghost’s about a full thirty seconds from ditching you and going off on his own.

“You wanna get shot at?” you ask over your shoulder, voice slightly muffled in your scarf. “Because if you took the main road, that’s what you’d get.”

“I would do just fine,” he replies dryly.

Right, he’s got a tactical vest on. You have a down jacket that would just make for a really interesting display of flying feathers if you got shot. The best defense you have is the handgun he gave you for protection, and a Park Service badge that would elevate the threat of killing a federal employee. Not that Ghost’s targets would care, but it makes you feel better.

The two of you trudge through waist-deep snow, thick even on the incline. You’re practiced enough with winter weather hiking to approach it fairly spryly, but you’re also not lugging an incredible about of gear like he is.

“It’s not that far, anyway,” you tell him, just to make conversation. “It’s this ridge, then the Beaver Dam River, and then the lookout tower.”

“Real walk in the park,” he replies.

“Literally,” you say brightly.

His grunt isn’t very amused.

The biggest problem is the cold. It’s northern Montana in the depths of winter, and every shrieking sickle of wind that cuts through the mountains physically hurts. You’re prepared enough for the temperature drop, but you worry more about what happens after dark, when it goes from tolerable to goddamn polar. If it wasn’t vital for you to be out here, you would have stayed in.

For lack of anything better to do as you finish ascending the ridge, you think on the whole situation. A paramilitary extremist group hiding out in the mountains, some multinational task force you’d never heard of swooping into the park, and you getting swept up into it all and taken on as a guide. It sounds like something straight out of an action movie, but here you are and there Ghost is.

Hell, even his name and whole look makes the reality of all this seem that much out of pocket. He’s dressed in winter tactical gear, white and gray mottled camo, hood pulled down low over the skull-plated balaclava that you’re fairly sure he never takes off. He blends in with his surroundings, but at the same time, he really sticks out.

You get to the top of the ridge, pausing for a moment to take in your surroundings. Sure enough, by your reckoning, you’re about a quarter mile off from the actual trail. It’s easy to remedy, leading Ghost down the relatively level ridge to where the trail appears as a shallow divot in the snow.

Of course, he points it out.

“Got lost, did we?”

You roll your eyes. “Not lost,” you correct. “Just slightly askew on the directions. Everything looks the same in the snow.”

“Thought you knew this place like the back of your hand.”

“I do,” you say, stepping down onto the trail and grimacing when the snow goes up to your hips. Ghost is so damn huge that it probably barely goes over his knees, but you don’t turn around to look. “And I wasn’t too far off!”

“Slightly off is still off,” he retorts.

You really wish they would have sent the nice, happy Scottish guy with you instead.

Once you clear the ridge’s treeline, you see the lookout tower poking above the trees straight ahead of you. Grinning, you point it out to Ghost.

“Affirmative, Ranger. I see it.”

“You can just say ‘yes’.”

You can hear him sigh, and then, “Yes,” said like he’s punching the word out of the air.

The trail crosses over the river, cutting through at its shallowest section for this part of the park. The only problem is that the Beaver Dam River doesn’t freeze, so there’s a very real risk of soaking through your boots and defeating the purpose of having moisture-wicking socks. With any luck, you’ll have some downed trees or rocks to cross over, and the river won’t be too high.

That’s with any luck; the opposite being the luck you currently have, as the river’s clearer than you’ve ever seen it once you reach it. You hiss out a curse under your breath, glancing up and down the banks to see if there’s any easier way to cross.

Nada.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“What’s shit?”

“River’s clear, but it’s... well, it’s fuckin’ cold is what it is,” you say, watching the glacially-fed water happily rush by you.

He shrugs. “Looks shallow enough.”

“It is, except—” You look down at your boots, cringing at the thought of all the fun ways water can get in them.

Beside you, Ghost looks down at them as well. “They’re not waterproof?”

“They are, but probably not for walking through a river.”

“Jesus,” he murmurs, then steps right into the water. You see it course around his ankles, protected by his thick boots that probably cost more than a month of rent back home. Once he’s on the other side, he turns back to you, dark eyes peering out through his mask, making him look like a bizarre death motif hanging out on the banks of a very chilly River Styx.

“Damn it,” you hiss. You’ll have to be quick, not settling long enough for the water to leach into your boots and socks.

It’s probably comical to Ghost to watch you hopping across the river, up until your boot hits something—loose gravel, a slimy rock, or just a pocket of underwater bad luck. Whatever it is, it sends you right on your ass and into the water. The only good thing is that it’s not deep, but that does shit to negate the cold shock that knocks the wind right out of you. Cold pierces right through your clothes, hitting your skin like dozens of tiny knives. You gasp first, then yelp, and finally scramble out of the water and right into Ghost’s arms.

To be fair, in the shock, you didn’t see his sudden movement toward you, so you yelp again—right into his ear—when he scoops you up. His head jerks back, but he holds you steady regardless.

“Jesus fuck!” you gasp, already shivering hard. Parts of you are too numb to register on your brain’s running docket of limbs and appendages, but others hurt like shit.

“You okay?” Ghost asks, sounding a little breathless. His hands are on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Great question; you don’t have a good answer. You nod, but you’re pretty sure the uncontrollable shivering is telling another story.

“Let’s get you to that tower,” he says. His voice takes on the command form you only heard back when you sat in on the task force’s meeting. It’s solid, and strangely comforting to hear him take charge. “Sooner we’re inside, the better.”

“C-couldn’t agree m-m-more,” you manage, crossing your arms and digging your hands into your armpits.

Ghost takes the lead up the trail, which is good because your legs feel pretty damn numb. You don’t think it’s frostbite yet, but you know that’s a very real risk, especially as the clouds overhead start to darken with the oncoming evening. Because of the tower’s high perch, the trail snakes back and forth up the hill—a half hour’s walk in good weather and a steady pace, but longer in your state.

Ghost’s surprisingly patient, purposefully slowing his pace so you can keep up. He looks over his shoulder again and again, like he’s making sure you’re still there and not face-down in a snowbank. On your end, you keep your eyes fixed on his backpack, determined to keep it in your sight.

Halfway up the hill, Ghost decides to change tactics. He stops, shouldering off his backpack, then handing it to you. “Put it on,” he says. “Then get on my back.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say,” he says, brooking no argument in his tone. “It’ll be faster.”

You put on the backpack, not surprised that it weighs a metric ton. At the same time, your vision swims a little, dark shapes appearing in your vision before fizzling out like little firecrackers.

Oh, we’re in trouble, you think.

Ghost makes sure the backpack’s secure before turning around and going down on a knee to give you space to climb up. Non-hypothermic you would find this a great opportunity to make a down-on-one-knee joke, but you’re way too fucking cold to do much more than shiver and hang on to him for dear life. His hands go to the back of your thighs, supporting you while you cling to his neck, pressing your face into the back of his coat.

“You good?”

You nod.

“Need a verbal confirmation, Ranger,” he says, not without a hint of humor.

You manage a stifled, shuddering laugh and say, “Yep.”

“Good enough.”

He carries you up the hill, the incline steep enough to make the backpack feel heavier somehow. You don’t know how he’s managing it as well as he is, except for whatever freakish training they probably do in England. In your swimming, dizzy mind, you imagine Ghost hoisting crates of tea over his head, and that sends you into a giggling fit.

“What’s so funny back there?” he asks. However, you can’t miss the sliver of concern in his voice.

“H-how d’you train in Eng-g-gland?” you ask, the middle syllable briefly caught in the back of your throat.

“How do I what?”

“B-back where-e-ever you come f-from-m-m,” you say, shivering harder even though you can feel his body heat close to your core. “W-what do th-they make you d-d-do?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and all you hear are his boots crunching in the snow and the wind snapping through the trees around you.

“Vigorous biscuit lifts,” he says.

You snort against his coat, and then cling tighter, feeling your limbs prickle in the cold.

You’re silent the rest of the way up the hill, shivering and sniffling as Ghost carries you. Finally, you reach the top, and you glance up to see the lookout tower’s staircase which until now has never looked so fucking tall.

“Sh-shit,” you say.

“Just hang on,” Ghost says. “You’ll be fine.”

“N-n-no, I th-thought I’d l-l-let go,” you joke, but your arms do feel like they’re going to fall off, and you’re starting to lose feeling in your fingertips.

He grunts and adjusts his hold on your thighs, then starts the ascent up the stairs. You really do have to wonder about his physical training regimen, because you’re pretty sure you’d be dead before you reached the top in your state. He’s only panting, breaths coming out in thin clouds in front of his balaclava.

“S’it locked?” he asks.

“No.”

“Good,” he says, letting you down onto your numb feet so he can open the door. He goes in first, hand close to his thigh holster, quickly scoping the single room before letting you in. "Clear.”

Your steps waver a little as you walk in, then quickly fall onto the bed without much ceremony. You’re a shivering mess, every part of you that you can still feel trembling with the cold. It’s not much warmer in the tower, but at least the wind’s blocked out. Ghost walks over and helps you shoulder off the pack, then leaves your line of site, his presence indicated by heavy footsteps, the sound of the backpack’s zipper being opened, and then soft clanking and thumping.

Your consciousness wavers on a very dangerous precipice, and you know you really need to get out of your wet clothes. You’re not at the paradoxical undressing stage of hypothermia, which is a good sign. But that also means you have no strong desire to strip, either.

Somewhere in your half-doze, you hear Ghost working on the potbelly stove, opening it on its whiny hinges, loading its gullet with wood left over from the last restock, then striking a match. It doesn’t take long to hear the throaty crackle of burning wood, and that’s a comfort in of itself.

Ghost is back at your side, gently shaking your shoulder. “Hey, Ranger,” he says. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

“Mmn,” is your best response, and not a particularly eloquent one.

“C’mon,” he presses, then manhandles you up into a sitting position. Your muscles give a pretty passionate protest, and you blink wearily up at him as he helps you take off your gloves, then unzips your jacket. His eyes flicker up to yours, assessing you. “You still with me?”

You nod, lifting your stiff arms for him to help you out of your sleeves.

“You know the signs of hypothermia, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut as a fresh rush of pins and needles goes down your right arm.

“Alright, let me know if any of ‘em get worse.” He drops your coat in front of the stove, then gestures to your half-soaked sweater. “Can you get that off by yourself?”

You nod again, then start the suddenly grueling work of getting out of it. It’s heavy wool, designed specifically to be as thick and warm as possible. That also means that it’s a bitch to get out of when your arms feel like cooked pasta. Still, Ghost’s already doing a lot for you, so the least you can do is prove that you’re better at a toddler than taking your clothes off.

Oh. Yeah, there’s that. You’re taking your clothes off in front of Ghost. That’s a whole thing to parse through.

But you manage to get out of the sweater, and that’s a victory. You drop it next to the bed, then start undoing the laces on your boots, fingers fumbling the whole time.

“Need help?” Ghost asks.

You look up at him, and then feel a very welcome heat rush to your face.

He’s ditched his coat on a chair next to the stove, tactical vest laid aside on the lookout’s desk. He’s down to a skin-tight black long-sleeved shirt that does wonders in showing off his musculature, and his hand are— Holy shit, he’s undoing his belt.

“W-what are you d-doing?” you ask. Bonus points for you that you’re not shivering as hard. Lack of bonus points that you’re openly ogling the lieutenant like he’s a prime beef steak (and he is).

He gestures back to you, one boot off, the other half-undone. “Getting undressed,” he says very plainly. “Fastest way to warm you up. You know that.”

You do, is the problem. It’s in every survival manual you’ve read and every class you’ve taken for your job. At the same time, it’s in at least four romance novels you’ve perused. And you’ve spent nearly four full months without coming into contact with any human being for more than an hour at a time; getting naked with a gigantic, musclebound man nearly sends your addled brain into a tailspin.

You quickly undo the other boot, trying to will your hands to stop shaking.

This isn’t the time to get shy, especially as your limbs ache in new and profound ways and you feel like you’re never going to be warm again.

The boot comes off, then you peel your wet socks off and drop them on the floor with a very telling plap sound. Your feet prickle and ache as the chilled air hits them and your shivering renews in spades. The faster you get undressed and under any kind of cover, the better it is for both of you.

Snow pants go next, then your work pants, until you’re down to a t-shirt and long underwear.

And Ghost is—

Fuck.

If there was any blood left in your suffering arms and legs, it must redirect right up to your face, making your head swim in a whole new body of water. Ghost’s stripped down to his boxers and (of course) his balaclava. His back’s to you, but that means it’s on full display as he puts all of his clothing in a semi-neat pile. When he turns back to you, you see his eyes widen a little as he lifts his brows.

“Still wearing too much, Ranger,” he states.

You know that, but there’s a pretty firm disconnect somewhere in your synapses, body firmly resisting any higher command to do literally anything useful.

He seems to register that issue, because he’s at your side in an instant, tugging on the hem of your t-shirt to help you out of it. You squawk in surprise, almost falling back onto the bed.

If you could read masked expressions a bit better, you might think he’s amused.

“I— I can d-do it m-m-myself,” you stutter out. Fighting down any urge to be bashful in a survival situation, you get out of your t-shirt, then maneuver yourself enough to take off your long johns. At the end, you’re down to just a sports bra and panties. Pointedly, you don’t look up to see Ghost’s reaction.

“Take this side of the bed,” he says, gesturing to the edge you’re sitting on. “It’s closer to the stove.”

You do so, feeling him get on the bed and go over to the far side closest to the window. He pulls up the blanket and quilt, then slips underneath them before holding them up for you.

With your back to him, you lay on your side and shimmy under the cold blankets. Behind you, Ghost grunts in what sounds like irritation.

“Turn around,” he says.

You swallow hard, worrying that he’d say that. Reluctantly, you roll over to face him. Or, rather, face his chest, which is alarmingly close. And it’s a good chest, all muscle-y and firm, with a fine dusting of light blond hairs on his pectorals. When you look up, he’s still wearing that balaclava. You squint at him.

“H-how come y-y-you’re still wearing th-that?”

“Doesn’t come off, Ranger,” he states, although the corners of his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling.

“Ever?”

“Affirmative.”

You groan and lean your head forward until it touches one of his collarbones. “Just s-say yes-s,” you complain.

He actually laughs this time, a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, before you feel his arm wrap around you, pulling him close to him. It’s startling, and damn embarrassing, but you definitely can’t argue with the results. Almost immediately, his body heat seeps into your skin, first warming your hands pressed in between your chests. One of his feet brushes over one of yours, causing you to jump, and then settle with your eyes squeezed shut in mortification.

But that mortification gives way to blissful comfort as everything warms up. The stove radiates heat as the wood crackles and shifts, and Ghost is a stove in himself. The little space beneath the blankets is a pocket of glorious heat, and you start to feel the ache in your limbs recede and your head clear of its chilly fog.

You don’t know how long it is before he speaks again, but his voice comes in close to your ear. “You doing alright, Ranger?”

You’re relaxed enough that you nod and smile with your eyes closed. “Yeah,” you say.

“You ever do this in survival training?”

You scrunch up your nose a little. “I read about it. We never actually practiced stripping down and cuddling.”

He snorts. “It’s not cuddling.”

You crack open an eye, looking up into his greasepaint-ringed gaze. Feeling emboldened by the fact you can feel your arms and legs and nothing hurts, you gently shove his chest. “What do you call this, lieutenant?”

“Hypothermia prevention.”

You roll your eyes. “Just say it’s cuddling. It’s easier. Less syllables.”

He doesn’t say a word.

Before long, the crackling of the fire and Ghost’s steady breathing lull you into a doze. You go in and out of sleep, deeper and deeper as the sky darkens outside and causes the fire to make strange shadows around the room. You wake once to find your arm around Ghost’s waist, your chest pressed against his, the crown of your head under his chin. You’re sleepy enough that this doesn’t strike you as odd or something you should remedy. It’s way too easy to fall asleep after that.

You wake again to Ghost moving against you, getting out from under the blankets and crawling across the bed until he steps down on the floor. You groan and roll over to watch him as he crouches in front of the stove, opening the door to add more wood to the fire.

He stands back up and looks down at you, shadows making his face look like an eyeless skull. You admire his body cast in the warm light, more than happy to openly stare at him when he walks back to the bed.

“You feelin’ alright, Ranger?” he asks.

“Mm. I’d be better if you got back in bed,” you say, heart outrunning your mind by leagues.

He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “Things that sound better outside of a survival situation,” he says.

As he crawls over you and back under the covers, you do manage to parse that sentence out through the thick haze of sleep. You turn back to face him, looking up into the dark sockets of his mask.

“What does?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“What sounds better?”

He’s silent for a thoughtful moment before he breathes out through his nose. “Nothin’. Forget it.”

Nope. You’re not forgetting it, especially as you wake up a little more and take in the sight of him laying next to you.

Briefly, you think back to the meeting back at the ranger station, when Captain Price outlined the mission to gather intel on the extremist group. You stood across the table from Ghost, watching him as he stared down at the topography map, then at the dossier in front of him. But then he looked up at you, eyes striking in his mask. After that, you felt his eyes on you all afternoon, and again in the morning when you set to head out.

At the time, you thought he was just observant. He needed to know he could trust you to lead him through the wilderness, assessing you in depth and measuring you up against the other rangers at the station.

But now? Well, now you’re not so sure. You could test it, though. Now that you have all your faculties pretty well in check, you’re tempted to see how he would react to you.

Besides, it’s dark and the two of you are isolated in the Montana wilderness. The only bad thing that could come of this is a very awkward morning.

So, in line with Ghost’s whole vibe—go big or go home.

You pull yourself into a sitting position, tucking your fingers up and under the elastic hem of your sports bra. The second you pull your bra up, you hear Ghost’s breath hitch. He doesn’t make a sound as you take your bra off, sighing in relief and dropping it off the side of the bed.

Behind you, Ghost’s voice is a dry, hot rasp. “Feel better?”

Nervousness flutters around in your chest as you shimmy back under the covers, bare chest now just a suggestion in the fabric. You force a smile. “I hate wearing a bra to bed, and you’re not wearing anything.”

“Thought you’d be warmed up enough by now.”

Taking in a breath to steady your nerves, you don’t answer but raise one of your hands to brush over his chest. He doesn’t move back, or seize your wrist. Instead, he holds still, letting your fingers explore the textures of his skin—scarring and all. One particularly rough scar catches your attention, and you run your fingers around its circumference.

“What’s this one?”

You don’t look up, but you feel Ghost’s eyes burning on you. “Bullet wound from an insurgent. 2017. Laid up in hospital for three weeks.”

Your hand goes lower, finding a raised scar as long as a pencil above his navel. “And this one?”

His breathing is steady, but you’re more aware of it now, of the rise and fall of his chest, your shadow cast across his skin. “Hunting knife to the gut from a drug trafficker in London.”

“When?”

“2012.”

“How long were you in the hospital?”

“Two and a half weeks. Most of it was from surgery.”

You nod, getting bold enough to scoot closer until your breasts press against his chest. His breath hitches, which feels like some kind of success. Something you should report back to Captain Price.

Then, one of his hands brushes over your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to your hip. Goosebumps rise on your arms and a shiver runs up your spine, thrilling you. His hand goes back up, then follows a line downward over your stomach to a set of small scars on your right side.

“Appendectomy?” he guesses.

You smile. “2019,” you respond. “In the hospital for two whole days.”

“How did you ever survive?”

“Ibuprofen and HBO,” you reply.

You see his mask move with a smile, and then his hand goes up to your chest, following the divot of your sternum. Below his hand, your heart beats deceptively quick, threatening to upend your calmness. Ghost notices, of course, moving his hand to rest over your left breast, your heart threatening to break right out of there like an escaped prisoner.

His voice is like liquid heat in your ears when he says, “Do you want this?”

You could ask him to clarify—play dumb, like you have no idea what you’re insinuating. But the darkness is so all-encompassing, so protective. The world outside doesn’t know about the world in this room, in this bed. You feel safe here, and there’s an opportunity literally laying in front of you.

You smile, and say, “Affirmative.”

He doesn’t jump into action. Instead, his left hand moves down, massive palm covering your breast, pressing gently as he leans his head down close to yours, hard shell of his mask pressing against your forehead.

You look up at him, reaching to tug at the bottom of his balaclava. “Can you take this off?” you ask. “Or at least pull it up over your mouth?”

Another thoughtful silence, and then he does something a little more unexpected. He pulls you close to him, chest to chest, and bodily rolls you over until you’re on the far side of the bed and his back’s to the stove. This way, you can’t see his face, his mask disappearing in his silhouette. You see him reach up and pull the balaclava off, some of his short hair clinging to the fabric before falling away. He sets it down behind him, probably within arm’s reach.

“That better?” he asks, his voice clearer now, hotter, like he’s removed a physical and emotional barrier.

You grin. “Is there anything stronger than ‘affirmative’?” you ask.

“Hard copy,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, then, hard copy, sir.”

And you lean in, pressing your lips to his. In the dark, you miss a little, kissing somewhere closer to his chin; Ghost corrects the approach and kisses you in full. His kiss is like him—strong, solid, an undercurrent of ferocity as he catches your bottom lip with his teeth. Your left hand goes to the side of his face, reeling yourself into him and deepening the kiss. In a word, it’s exhilarating. Maybe it’s in part because of what you’ve gone through today, but you go at him like you crave him, and he returns the favor.

His right hand cups the back of your neck, a gentle but firm pressure. His other hand moves down to your chest, thumb brushing over right nipple, drawing a gasp out of you against his lips. You feel him smile against you, then tweak the nipple again. A small, hot shock of pleasure follows a current down your spine, relaying right into your core and sparking a small fire.

If that’s how he’s going to do it, you’ll do the same.

Pressing your hand to his chest, you bring up one of your knees in between his legs, pressing gently against his crotch and making him bite back a curse. You’re quick to kiss him harder, shutting him up before he can say anything about it. In retaliation, he drops the hand on your neck to palm your other breast, massaging both simultaneously as you moan into his mouth.

Where you were freezing before, it now feels like the room can’t get any hotter. That spark lit by Ghost’s first few touches fans into a fully-fledged flame, threatening to burn right through you. You begin rocking your knee in between his legs—alternating pressure, then no pressure—until his hips begin to move against you, his cock growing hard against your thigh.

You tilt your head back and grin. “Well, isn’t someone an eager beaver?” you tease.

He groans and presses his forehead against yours. “Your pillow talk needs work,” he replies.

Your response to his complaint is to reach down and stroke your fingers over his tented erection, earning a surprised grunt and a hissed, “Shit.”

“What’s shit?” you ask, echoing his words by the river.

His voice is all irritation and arousal in equal parts, “The fact we still have clothes on, that’s what’s shit.”

“Oh. Easy fix.”

Again bypassing ceremony, you curl in on yourself enough to pull your panties off, wiggling out of them before tossing them somewhere in the direction of the stove and hoping they don’t get burnt. Then you hook a leg over his still-clothed hip, grinding against his thigh.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, reaching up to run his fingers through your hair, then forming a half-tight fist so you’re forced to look up at his silhouette. “Now who’s eager?”

“I think it’s a firm tie,” you say, feeling another thrill of victory as Ghost reaches down to shove your leg off and pull down his boxers. Once they’re gone, all the proverbial bets are off. Aside from the shadow he’s wearing like a second mask, he’s completely exposed to you, bare and vulnerable to every touch. It’s like a drug to you, intoxicating and really fucking addicting.

Apparently, Ghost thinks about the same of you. His hand is back on your hip, but trails down to your sex, palming your mons, fingers just brushing over your labia.

You feel him look at you. “Can I?”

No further question from you, especially when your arousal is threatening some serious whiteout conditions in your head. “Yeah. God, yeah.”

One large finger slides against your slit, and you hear yourself, the slick, wet sound audible above anything else in the room. Ghost curses again, drawing his finger back and forth, listening to that sound like he can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, Ranger. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

“You kinda have that effect,” you manage to say, before the pad of his finger brushes over your clit and draws out a moan that you bury in his chest.

But his other hand finds your shoulder, pushing you back, before he nudges up under your chin. “No. It’s just us two out here. I wanna hear you,” he says, his voice so hot, smoldering in your ears.

He rubs your clit again, and there’s nothing to hide behind, no muffler to conceal the gasp and moan that follow. Your pleasure is completely on display, and Ghost seems more than happy to draw it out further, admiring it from every angle. He draws circles around your clit, teasing you, adding more fuel to that particular fire—the irony of feeling this way in a tower meant to watch for fires isn’t lost on you.

His finger goes lower, trailing down to your opening, going back and forth several times. The friction is damn near unbearable, and it takes every iota of self control not to grind on his hand. But your hips roll outside your control, and he catches the movement with another low rumble of a laugh.

“There somethin’ you want?” he asks, index finger running a low, lazy circle around your entrance.

You nod, shuddering when he only just dips the tip of his finger in. “Ghost, please.”

“Please what?”

You hear yourself whine, a sound you never thought to hear coming out of your own damn mouth. This man makes you feel ridiculous. And he also probably gets off on hearing you say stuff like this. “Finger me,” you say, exasperated and aroused. “Please, for fuck’s sake.”

“That’s not very pretty,” he teases, and you’re very close to shoving him off the bed. But then he pushes his finger in, and any retort you were set to say or do dies immediately, consumed in the wildfire he’s ignited and fed. He presses his lips to your cheek as you moan, now very unapologetically rolling your hips against his hand as he fingers you, per request. You feel a second finger insinuating against you, and then hear Ghost whisper, “Okay?” against your ear.

“Yes. Oh my God, yes, please.”

“Much prettier,” he says, and the second finger joins the first.

The thought that he’s done this before only just brushes your thoughts as he hooks his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture, sending hot sparks of pleasure running through your body, using your nervous system like an electrical conduit. You rock against his hand, moaning and gasping as Ghost kisses your neck, scraping his teeth over your tender skin.

“Good girl,” he says, breath hot over your shoulder, before he presses a kiss against your clavicle. How his kisses can feel so chaste while he relentlessly fingerfucks you is beyond your comprehension. The praise just makes it better, making that hot coil inside of you turn tighter, ready to be sprung on a hair trigger.

Ghost picks up on that, too. He suddenly doubles down on the effort, fingers thrusting into you at a much more rapid pace, the wet sound of his hand against your pussy practically deafening. Only his murmurs of praise against your ear register above that.

You’re reduced to a repetitive litany of ‘god’, ‘fuck, ‘please’, and Ghost’s name. All those months without seeing people and having only your hand to keep you company make this oncoming orgasm all the more vibrant and bright, a flare launched high into the air with a huge charge set to explode.

Your hips arch up, and Ghost hooks his fingers again, saying, “Come for me,” in a firm command tone.

And you are not one to ignore a command.

You come hard, crying out and arching off the bed, toes digging into the mattress, hands grasping for literally anything solid, including Ghost. He fucks you through it, coaxing your release out with the finesse of someone defusing an explosive. You come down in fits and starts, catching on little plateaus of pleasure along the way, moaning all the while. Finally, you go practically boneless on the bed, and only then does Ghost relent and pull his fingers away.

You hear him chuckle, a dry and throaty rasp of sound that makes you feel hot all over.

“What’s so funny?” you say, although your words are slurred as endorphins run relay races through your body.

He holds his hand up so that the firelight catches it, and you very plainly see how wet his whole hand is. To show it off, he presses his fingers together, then spreads them out, showing thin strings bridging between them.

“Oh, God,” you squeak, covering your face with your hands and fighting back a round of giggles. “I am so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says, clearly pleased. He reaches somewhere behind him, presumably to wipe his hand off on the side of the bed.

And sweetheart. This man is going to kill you, and it has nothing to do with his occupation.

You tilt your head up to kiss him again, sighing against his lips and pressing yourself close. His right hand finds the side of your face, residual dampness from your orgasm still very present. Except he treats it like a trophy, dragging it down to your neck so you can feel it.

It’s also impossible to ignore his arousal prodding against your hip. Not that you intended to ignore it.

Before you can think and reason out an appropriate response, your primal brain takes hold. “Can I ride you?” you ask, and only after it’s said do you feel any kind of horror at outright asking. He purposefully arranged the two of you so you couldn’t see his face, like a Montana wilderness version of Eros and Psyche. Now you’re asking for him to lay on his back, exposed to you in every way.

He’s silent, and you’re about to apologize and suggest spooning or something when he says, “Sure.”

You blink, almost certain you misheard. “Say what?”

“You can, yeah.”

“What about the—”

It’s his turn to kiss you quiet, taking the opportunity to pull you close again and roll on his back. You meet the movement with your own, straddling his hips and feeling his erection press against your sex with insistence. You keep kissing Ghost with your eyes closed, finding his hand next to his head with your own and weaving your fingers together. His grip on your hand is firm—a solid, warm reassurance.

You turn your head, keeping your eyes closed. “I can keep my eyes shut if you want,” you tell him, only to feel his other hand come up and run over your back.

“You can look,” he says.

It feels like a point of no return now. Seeing his face, knowing that a person who this morning was still a stranger with a codename is now going to be very real—you’re almost breathless at the thought.

Slowly, you sit up while astride him, and open your eyes.

He’s— Well, handsome doesn’t seem like a well-rounded enough word. You were more on the mark with the Eros and Psyche metaphor. Firelight and shadow play across sharp features, making him look otherworldly. There’s still greasepaint around his eyes, which makes his gaze all the more intense. But the intensity is mitigated by a plush mouth, a distinctive nose, and a firm jaw. His light hair catches the warm ember-gold hue from the fire. All his features put together make for a face that you want burnt into your memory.

“Jesus, Ghost. You hide this on purpose?” you ask.

He smiles, and it’s only hearing him speak that connects the Ghost you know to the man underneath you. “Yes,” he says. “And it’s Simon.”

You must look owlish, eyes wide, blinking, damn sure you misheard again.

Ghost seems pleased by your reaction, reaching up with his free hand to brush hair out of your face. “That’s my name. My actual name.”

“Simon,” you repeat. A human name to a human face. There’s some poetry in there, but you’re too dazzled to work through it.

“Sounds good when you say it.”

You preen a little, then lean down and kiss him, savoring the sensation for everything it’s worth. And you know he read your name on the dossier, heard it from the other rangers—still, you whisper it into his ear like a secret, and he repeats it back to you in his low voice, accent curling around it perfectly.

Yeah, you’re absolutely going to ride this man until sunrise.

You reach down and take his cock into your hand, stroking it a few times and pressing your thumb up under the exposed head. Ghost—Simon moans and tilts his head back, watching you under half-lidded eyes. Carefully, you go up on your knees and align yourself with him, slowly lowering down and adjusting as needed. He’s big, which you expected from everything else about him. But it’s not a painful fit; if anything, it feels damn good.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand stroking over your hip as he looks to where you’re joined. “You have no idea what you look like right now.”

“Neither do you,” you reply, very much enjoying the angle. He fills you up completely, the strain of him just a pleasurable ache. You moan at the sensation as you experimentally rock on top of him. “Ohhh, I am so glad you got me off first.”

“What can I say? I’m chivalrous,” he replies, although it sounds a little strained as you move your hips again.

“That’s what you call it?”

Another roll, and he looks like he’s seconds from thrusting up into you. But he’s being conscientious, letting you adjust and go at your own pace. His eyes flutter closed, and you almost want to ask him to keep them open so you can enjoy their expressiveness.

“Something, something about being a British gentleman,” he mutters, and you can’t help but laugh. Apparently, that sensation’s pretty good for him; he shudders beneath you and keeps his hand braced on your hip.

Without his mask, you want to put him through the paces of reaction, committing each expression to memory, cataloging them for future use. So you go up on your knees again and come off his cock, then bring yourself back down. You do it a few more times, watching Simon’s expression with enormous interest, the pleasure and arousal doing fabulous things to his face.

He moans your name, and you’re definitely going to use that as fantasy fodder in the future.

Your earlier orgasm gives you plenty of lubrication to work with, and so you start to fuck yourself on him in earnest. In return, you’re rewarded with a low moan and a quiet, “Fuuuuck.”

The friction feels way too goddamn good, setting up another explosive charge inside of you as Simon starts meeting the bounce of your hips with thrusts of his own. Two opposing forces working toward the same goal, and it feels incredible.

You start to rock back on his cock, using his upward thrust as momentum to hit you just right. It’s the perfect angle, apparently for both of you, as Simon’s now breathing heavily, sweat a fine sheen on his skin.

“Yes, Simon, fuck me,” you whisper, beyond turned on at the wet sound of him fucking into you. You can’t tell if it’s hearing his name like that, the command, or both that make him really lean into this, but he’s pushing up hard, groaning and pulling you down so you’re pressed to his chest.

You wonder how long it’s been for him, too—briefly thinking oh god what if he’s got someone back home and I’m a fucking homewrecker before one particular upward thrust makes you cry out, clenching down on him in a way that’s audibly very good for him. You turn your head enough to see your joined hands, and when you squeeze his hand, you don’t feel any rings on his fingers. He does squeeze back, though, and it just feels like another reassurance.

There’s no way to keep track of time, and you really wish this could go on forever. The heat generated between the two of you is scorching, all-encompassing, a forest fire caught on the cusp of the lookout tower and reported to no one but yourselves.

His pace stutters a moment, the first hint that he’s very close. He releases his grip on your hand to grab at your other hip, pushing you up and off of him before you resolutely sit down, taking his cock in full and drawing a sharp gasp out of both of you.

“No,” you pant. “No, I have an IUD. You can— Ah, fuck— You can come inside me, Simon.”

“Oh, bloody fucking Christ,” he breathes, eyes wide and beautiful. “You’re sure?”

In response, you rock back against him, squeezing hard around his cock. “Affirmative,” you say, then lean down and kiss him again. “Very hard copy.”

And that’s enough to tip him right off the edge. He thrusts once, twice, and then he moans against your mouth, one of his hands going up to card through your hair, pressing you so close to him that you can feel his heart beating against your chest. You feel him come inside you, a pulse of heat, a sense of fullness. The room seems to take on new, brighter colors, and when you look at Simon, he looks fucking euphoric. The firelight gives him a look that’s like a touch of divinity, a golden cast over his face and body.

You take your time getting off of him, enjoying the feeling of him inside you too much. That, and there’s no bathroom, no shower—the comedown also means that reality’s a little too close at hand.

Simon catches his breath, hand loosely stroking your hair, and he presses a kiss to your temple before letting his head fall back onto the pillow. “Holy fuck,” he says.

You grin and nod against his shoulder, then slowly pull yourself off his softening cock, causing both of you to groan, albeit far weaker than before. You collapse onto the narrow bed beside him, nuzzling up close to him, hand on his chest, as he pulls the blankets up over you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. Your foreheads touch, and you listen to his breaths even out, his heart rate firm and steady under your hand.

“Probably too late to ask if you have a partner, huh?” you say, smiling as you run your thumb over his skin.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t, and I also feel stupid for not asking.”

You look up at him, the orange line of firelight tracing his features. “I don’t either. You’re good.”

He smiles, and you set that expression in your memory, drawing it in great detail. ��My job kind of gets in the way.”

“Mine, too,” you reply, tracing spirals over his chest with your index finger. “It’s hard to get a date when you live out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Didn’t want to go check out the paramilitary extremists next door?”

You grimace and hide your face against his chest, shaking your head. “Gross. No.”

His chest shakes with laughter, and it’s wonderful.

---

Morning comes too quick, dawning cold and gray, reminding you that there’s a whole weird world outside the confines of the lookout tower. You and Simon get up, both aching very pleasantly, exchanging one too-brief kiss before his radio goes off.

“Ghost, how copy?” Price’s voice comes through in a crackle.

“Fuck,” Simon hisses, getting up and crossing the room to his radio. You at least can enjoy that he does so fully nude. He picks up the radio and keys it, scratching at his stubble as he responds, “At location 29-B and holding, Captain,” he says, his voice a dry scratch of sound. “The ranger had a medical issue.”

“Is she alright? Do you need a med evac?”

“Negative,” he replies. “We’re moving in about an hour.”

“Rog’. Keep me posted.”

“Will do, sir.”

An hour. You groan and fall back on the bed, staring up at the bare wood ceiling, decades worth of cobwebs in the corners. Simon falls back into bed beside you, cupping your face and drawing you into another firm kiss. Then, something dawns on you, and you lean back, looking over his handsome face in the morning light.

“When you say we’re moving in an hour, do you mean moving out, or just moving?”

His brows go up, slightly crooked smile on his face. “I think I didn’t specify, Ranger,” he says. “Do you have a preference?”

You laugh, leaning in close and pressing your forehead against his again. “Affirmative,” you say.

Simon laughs and shakes his head. “You could just say yes.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #modern warfare ii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #prompt fill #VERY big prompt fill oh god i'm so sorry #i've spent most of the day on this!!#and it's not edited yet because it's 10pm now and i'm very tired #did i have cody in mind as the model for the reader? yes. do i kinda ship her and ghost now? YEAH

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chimaerakitten · 6 months

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So the Temeraire series doesn’t do the Pern-derived magic/telepathic bond thing, and it’s nice to have some variety on that count since the telepathy thing is pretty widespread. But there’s this passage in crucible of gold that’s like—

Wait, my thriftbooks order arrived, let me go grab the quote

Or, Temeraire thought, he might as easily have gone alone--more easily, in fact; he had to carry Forthing cupped in his talons, and it was not at all convenient to always be looking to make sure he had not dropped out; Temeraire was not aware of him in quite the same way as of Laurence.

(Emphasis mine)

And this combined with the number of times it’s mentioned that (Russians aside) aviators just don’t seem to be capable of fearing their own dragons (and not just aviators who raised the dragons from the egg—it’s the same with inherited dragons) indicates to me that there’s something really interesting psychologically/biologically going on “under the hood,” there, so to speak.

And maybe this is just me and all those anthropology classes I took in college but that actually makes a lot of sense?

The historical record in the series dates the intentional breeding of dragons to a couple thousand years in the past, in china, but there’s a lot of evidence that there’s been a looser symbiotic relationship between humans and dragons a lot longer than that. Namely the domesticated elephants and the dragons in the Americas being the same species and of the same attitudes towards humans as dragons in Eurasia. So that’s likely at least 20 thousand years of symbiosis/mutual domestication, (if we assume they migrated together, which I do because it’s the simplest explanation) and it could well be much longer than that. That’s a long ass time. Like. The spread of IRL lactase persistence took less time than this.

And much like the benefits of being able to drink milk as an adult, the benefits of mutualism with an intelligent dinosaur-sized flying predator would absolutely have selective pressure on human populations. That’s just a given. I would talk about early hominins being third-tier scavengers here and Pleistocene megafauna and the canonical prevention of malaria via dragon proximity as compared to sickle cell anemia, but nobody wants me to regurgitate my entire biological anthropology 215 class in a tumblr post. Just trust me on this one.

Basically, the entire human species in the Temeraire universe will have been under a lot of positive selective pressure to be good symbiosis buddies to the dragons, so it’s no wonder aviator attachment is so intense.

This is likewise true for the dragons. A lot can be put down to intentional breeding in the last couple thousand years, but the foundation of dragons being prosocial with humans would have to be laid before then. Humans have domesticated predators IRL, but dragons are like 2-3 orders of magnitude larger than wolves and it took a long time to get dogs. The romans wouldn’t have had any luck if the dragons weren’t already partially on board. My theory is that this would have started way back. Australopithecus times, way back, because— [Anth 215 sneaks up behind me whilst the jaws theme plays] ANYWAY there’s a few benefits I can guess at for dragons having assistance hunting from small bands of persistence predators on occasion. I also think this would have intensified post-Pleistocene as the megafauna that would have been the dragons’ main prey went extinct and eventually agriculture would be the only way to replace— [Jaws theme intensifies] JUST TRUST ME BRO.

All this to say that humans being able to very quickly lose all instinctive fear of the dinosaur-sized flying predators they spend their time around and said predators developing not only attachment to humans but particular awareness of their humans specifically so as to prevent any possible accidental harm makes a lot of sense from an evolutionary biology perspective. It’s evidence of the same mutualistic relationship biologically shaping both species across the broader time spans that the series hints at.

#Temeraire #the kitten rambles #idk I just think it’s interesting that there’s more going on than the history the characters know #and it makes sense the characters wouldn’t think about this #because the time period in the series is about 35 years pre-theory of evolution by natural selection #'hey chi what are you doing with your Sunday night?’#I’m writing a speculative evolutionary biology essay about a fantasy novel WHAT ELSE WOULD ONE DO ON A SUNDAY EVENING

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welcometothevale · 9 months

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Closed Starter

@avereyeus

Bo had disappeared 6 weeks ago. It had taken that long for Myra to find the trail and follow it to San Diego. Myra hadn’t expected to find it was a private lab that had taken Bo and not some nest of vampires. It was almost a relief, if it wasn’t so unsettling that humans may be kidnapping dhampirs. The 25 year old half vampire, fully loaded with all her favorite weapons: a wooden stake on her thigh (just in case there were vampires after all), a small sized sickle on her right hip (a joke based on her reputation within the vampire community. Dea Tacita goddess of death), a small hand gun in a holster on her waist, and a few small daggers, just in case.

It was dark, unfortunately she had to do this at night for stealth, and she approached the building quickly and confidently sticking to the shadows. She wore all black; black hoodie with the hood covering her mane of dark curls, black leather pants, and black combat boots. It wasn’t long before she had the lock picked, this obviously wasn’t a very wealthy, well known, or high tech lab. Lucky for her. What made her feel better as she silently walked the halls, wary of any guards or workers, was that there weren’t many people in any of the glass cages. She did pass one larger container that had a pool of dark water in it, the lights in the cage off. She thought she saw something moving in the water but couldn’t be sure. Myra soldiered on. Eventually they found their friend. No words were said, they knew they had to be silent to avoid any attention. The brunette eventually figured out how to get the cage open and unfortunately it was shooting the lock. They had less than five minutes to get out, Myra was guessing.

They hurried back the way the young dhampir had came from, quickly skidding to a halt when Myra’s amber eyes landed on what looked like the shape of a man in the dark pool they’d passed before.

“We can’t leave anyone here, it would be cruel.” Bo pointed out.

“I know, I know. Just...be lookout and don’t get caught again.” Myra quickly shot through this lock as well and entered the cage, not even considering for a moment that this creature could be hostile.

“Uh, hey, hopefully you speak English or this is going to be even more complicated, but lets go. Unless this is like a Hilton for you and you love it. Doesn’t look that nice though.” Myra pointed behind them with their thumb. “I’m Myra by the way. You can thank me kindly with a drink when I get you out of here.”

#avereyeus

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yourlocaltoad · 3 months

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Transperent renders of the senseis for the Skylanders Creator App (Skylanders Creator, 2016) (pt3)

#not art #skylanders #skylanders image rip #skylanders creator #skylanders senseis #skylanders imaginators #tae kwon crow #grave clobber #bad juju #golden queen #chompy mage #wolfgang #dr krankcase #pain yatta #hood sickle #blaster tron #kaos #sensei renders

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incorrect-skylanders-quotes · 6 months

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(The Dark Skylanders are staring at an unconscious Villain)

Hood Sickle: Can we kill him?

Nightfall: No.

Hood Sickle: I can make it look like an accident.

Nightfall: ...How?

Knight Mare: Nightfall!

Nightfall: Alright, no...

#skylanders #incorrect quotes #incorrect skylanders quotes #source: ratchet and clank #Hood Sickle #Knightmare #Nightfall #admin post

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unofskylanderspages · 1 year

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Did you know? BruiserUndead's main attack resembles Hood Sickle's swing from his villain moveset.

#Skylanders #Skylanders 7 #Scrapped Content #Undead Skylanders #BruiserUndead #Trivia #Similarities #Attacks/Upgrades #Hood Sickle #Hood Sickle (Villain)

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fantasy-relax · 1 month

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Sweet alpha Dangerous Omega

Part 2.

"WHAT?!"

The maids hurried to finish their tasks to get as far as possible from the room where the lady of the house was with her daughters.

Two of them at least.

"How do you not know where she is?" Alcina asked, poking her forehead, trying to control her already irritated temper. After dealing with idiots for three days, the only thing she wanted was to listen to dear Bela playing the piano while she drank a glass of wine accompanied by a piece of meat from the prey that her talented Cassandra had hunted specifically for her with her sweet Daniela telling her everything she had done in her absence.

Not this.

"She went out hunting, she was insufferable you know how she gets when her heat season is around the corner, mother." Bela responded with frustration and concern. She was the eldest and had to keep an eye on her sisters. "I thought she would be back before nightfall, I was so busy reviewing the papers about the vineyard that I didn't notice that she hadn't arrived yet."

"I was in the library, I didn't hear her leave or arrive" Daniela knew that her sister could take care of herself but the temperature dropped a lot from morning to afternoon yesterday and Cass tended to lose track of time when she went out hunting.

Both Bela and she tried to call her through the swarm but they got no response, the middle daughter must have been out of range, at least that's what they wanted to think because the other option was too painful to take into account.

(The pain that the cold caused them was horrible, the helplessness and panic of not being able to move, the tiny screams of agony that her swarm felt as they were frozen only to fall into pieces fly by fly, it was inconceivable torture)

"I have already called my uncles and aunt but she is not with them, we planned to go out to look for her , the weather is warmer today" Bela already had her winter clothes on as did Daniela who was also carrying a backpack with Cassandra's clothes, a blanket and a bottle of blood.

Alcina sighed looking at her daughters, she could easily notice the guilt on Bela's face and the anxiety on Daniela's. Calming her own worry, she arranged the scarves and hoods that Donna had made for them.

"Let's bring your sister back, then she will be grounded for the rest of her immortal life."

-------------------------------------------

Daniela ran as fast as possible, the weather could be warmer but it was still cold enough to hurt her, screaming as loud as possible through their connection she continued looking for the slightest sign of her sister.

While exploring the forest she noticed the corpse of a varcolac covered in wounds and an ax in the neck, lying next to a tree was Cassandra's Sickle along with a couple of her flies; looking around she noticed more of them.

*I have a trail!*

*Follow it, I'll tell mom and we'll catch up with you*

Praying to God for the well-being of her sister, the redhead followed the path of dead flies as she went further, little by little her hope increased until she could feel the connection, she was alive, Cassandra was alive!

Seeing a cabin in the distance she continued moving forward calling for her sister.

*Are you okay? Cass answer!*

There was no response but she could feel a warmth in her chest indicating that her sister was not only safe but very happy.

*Mm?!*

Opening the door with more force than she had planned, her eyes witnessed a surprising image, her sadistic older sister sitting on a woman's lap with her arms around the mortal's neck in an intimate embrace.

When her mind finished processing the image she noticed the smell that filled the entire place, Cassandra had started her heat early and for the first time she was sharing it with an alpha and a woman not least.

This was just like the story of one of her books.

A growl brought her out of her thoughts; it seemed that Cass's partner was not happy to be interrupted. Pushing the brunette off of her lap, the mortal crouched down on her haunches, baring her teeth in warning.

Looking at your naked and scarred body completely, Daniela had to accept that her sister had good taste. Looking at your crotch, she also admired the confidence she had to deal with such a "large" prey.

"Stop ogling her, Dani! And you! Control yourself, she is my sister!" She rolled her eyes, she forgot how terrible Cass was at sharing.

-------------------------------------------

The scream brought you out of your trance, shaking your head you adjusted your pants and grabbed your jacket to cover yourself. This was your chance.

"I'm going to get suppressants, I'll be right back!"

Running without even putting on your shoes you dodged the intruder who moved out of your way with her hands raised.

"I don't touch anything "

In a hurry you didn't notice the angry growl that the brunette had let out.

Or the symbol that her sister's cloak carried.

-------------------------------------------

"What are you doing here Daniela?!" The brunette complained in annoyance while covering herself with the blanket.

"Looking for my stupid big sister! You almost worried us to death Cass!" The redhead responded exasperatedly.

"As you can see I'm perfectly fine, now go, I'll be back later"

"No way, the temperature is dropping again and this place barely protects you from the cold." Trying to make her point, the youngest gently knocks on the wall, leaving a gap larger than she expected." See! It's falling apart!

"Daniela!"

"CASSANDRA ANDREEA DIMITRESCU"

The imposing voice of her mother calling her by her full name made her situation clear.

She was in trouble.

Her mother couldn't enter the cabin even while bending over, so she settled for scolding her from outside while Daniela hands her a bottle of blood and her clothes for the cold.

"Do you have any idea what I've been through? You're grounded for life, no hunting, no playing with the maids, no..."

Cassandra could only listen as her freedoms were taken away, while she knew that her mother would not really punish her for life, at least she would keep her word for two months.

"Have I been clear?!"

She nodded resignedly as she dressed.

Bela had entered and frowned as she smelled the particular aroma that filled the cabin.

"Really, Cass? We're worried about you and you were having sex so calmly."

"Having what?!" It seems her mother finally realized what her daughter had been doing.

"My stupid heat came early because a stupid alpha decided that she had right to interfere" Now that she thought about it, her omega was very calm, dissatisfied but a lot calmer than she had been in years.

"Is she a woman and an alpha?"

"Yes! Bela, you should have seen them. Cass was hugging her so sensually while the human grabbed her passionately by the waist."

"Dani shut up!"

"And where is she?"

"She already have took what she wanted all alphas are the same, man or woman only think with their head between their legs"

"Well, Supposedly she ran out to look for suppressants"

"I should stay to cut her into pieces for taking advantage of my little girl, however the temperature is dropping we have to go back to the castle"

"Mother"

"Now Cassandra, don't play more with my patience" her mother said sternly, leading the way.

"Come on Cass, the Lycans are going to be after you soon" the blonde emphasized, letting Daniela go out first and staying behind the brunette.

Swallowing the shame of having to be escorted by her sisters, she headed home, ignoring her omega's complaints about how they were abandoning her alpha without any message.

When her punishment is over, that peasant human will only become her pet, nothing more than that.

She didn't need an alpha or a mate.

Her omega could whine as long as she wanted , she wasn't going to change her mind.

-------------------------------------------

When you arrived with the duke you realized a serious problem.

You forgot the money

"Duke, can you give me some heat suppressants? I'll be back in a moment to pay you, I promise." You were one step away from kneeling.

The duke looked at you with curiosity and then for a moment with surprise, laughing he answered you.

"Here, don't worry about the payment, you can come back later."

"Thank you, I will pay it soon"

You took the medicine and hurried back. When you arrived you noticed the hole in the wall and worried you entered.

Empty.

There was no one.

Your scent and that of the stranger you saved was all you could smell, there were no signs of fear or aggression. Irritation yes but nothing that seemed violent.

She had simply left with her sister, her parents and her family should have come too.

She left.

Why wasn't she going to leave?

You approached your bed, to the pathetic excuse for a nest that the poor omega had made with your almost non-existent belongings.

You walked towards the pot of food you had made with the meat of the deer you had hunted, it had almost no spices and only a couple of vegetables.

You looked around your small, decrepit and pathetic home.

You knelt on top of your bed where the girl had left her clothes, they were of good quality, soft and resistant.

Why would she stay with you?

Why would she choose you as a mate?

Why were you so stupid to hope?

Without adrenaline to boost you the fatigue and overexertion finally hit you. Not caring about the open door, the dampness of the bed or your bleeding feet you lay down holding her blouse close to your face.

You didn't realize the moment you fell asleep.

Or the tears that fell silently from your eyes.

#resident evil village #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #my work #Omegaverse

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msookyspooky · 7 months

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Smacking the Slashers on the 🍑

Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Severen Van Sickle, Baby Firefly, Otis Driftwood, Foxy Coltrane

Bo Sinclair:

- "What in the goddamn hell?!-" He drew out after jolting under the hood of a car. He was bent over, his double cheeked up on a Tuesday ass on full display; how could you not? I hope you got one hell of a good smack too. He deserves it. Use one of the fanbelts on the wall. Make it count cause he's not gonna let you do that often without him getting payback. (Oh, but he smacks yours constantly and that's fine)

- If he hit his head on the hood so help you God you need to run and hide for awhile cause he's gonna rage.

- After the shock wears off that someone just smacked his ass... He gets a smirk on his lips and forgets whatever he's working on. "Oh, ya wanna play, do ya? C'mere." You just gave him incentive to hold you down and let his inner perverted sadist out on your ass. You ain't gonna sit right for the rest of the day. I hope you evade him or it turns to a sex thing...Yeah, it'll be a sex thing.

Vincent Sinclair

- He was so busy sculpting and had his Classical Music on high. You tried to get his attention and when that didn't work you swatted him on the butt. He jumped a foot in the air and you had to duck when he almost accidentally took your head off with whatever tool he was using. You startled the hell out of him!

- He's blushing under his mask but gives you a confused look...He's not mad he's just...Curious why you did that.

- He doesn't get revenge right away. Instead, he'll wait till your busy one day and do it back to you just to see your reaction and if it's a playful one then he's kind of happy about it. Not use to this type of dynamic with anyone

Lester Sinclair

- He was loading or unloading a carcass in the bed of his truck and it had been a boring day so you couldn't help it when you smacked him.

- He let's out the funniest noise, blushing like crazy clutching his rear and asks: "Youch! What was that for?"

- If you let him know it was you being flirty or cheeky; he's just standing there smiling a goofy smile and has an extra pip in his step while he works. He probably won't get revenge (At least not right away) but he will be tickled pink that you liked his ass enough to smack it.

Billy Loomis

- He gets so damn serious and overdramatic with certain things that when he was rummaging for something and irritated he couldn't find it; you decided to make him shut up in the best way you knew how.

- *SMACK* He flinched, his back stiffened and a glare instantly crept onto his face. "...You are so dead."

- You better run. He gets this shit enough from Stu, now you? He secretly enjoys it but he's a lil edgelord that can't let you know that.

- Que him chasing you around the house, jumping over and tripping over furniture to either smack your ass ten times harder or punch you in the arm or hold you down and tickle you till you can't breathe.

Stu Macher

- He is CONSTANTLY smacking your ass. CONSTANTLY. You walk sideways and backwards around him! So when he's sitting on his bed in a weird way on his stomach or something with his ass up? Hell yes you're getting him!

- He either releases a genuine gasp because you took him by surprise or the fakest turned 'aauuugh!' moan to be a smart ass cause he knew what you were gonna do (He liked it. He wanted it. He's a whore like that.)

- He giggled and gave you a sadistic smile. "Oh, that ass is mine!" and the chase is on.

- If he catches you; he is holding you down and goosing and feeling you up just as much as smacking you. He is a giant perv and holding you down while squeezing and spanking your ass is definitely on his cumbucket list im js

- Unlike Billy who knows when enough is enough; Stu does not. Just warning that if he catches you he's turning it into something very fucking horny. He is feeling you up one way or another.

Severen Van Sickle

- He was almost always playful and he would just give you a pat on the ass out of excitement on the regular not even thinking about it. So when you finally returned the favor his whole body stiffened a bit and a smirk formed on his face.

- "Oh?...Ya like what ya see, babydoll?" He'd tease you. Not getting revenge but not letting you run away either. He'd fold his arms in that leather jacket and smirk down at you with a twinkle to his blue eyes. Getting closer, cornering you into the wall with one hand bracing it as he leaned over you.

- "Wanna try that again?" He asked. Hell you weren't sure if it was a warning or genuine glee. Eitherway he wasn't mad he just loved seeing you get flustered.

- He definitely teased the hell out of you the rest of the night. Even telling his family and loving seeing you blush. He secretly wants you to do it again and purposely bends over near you not only to be a teasing ass but because it got him excited. He actually is curious if you have the balls to do it again because if you do that's just fun! He'll make it a big sexy flirty game from here on out...Definitely doing it more in private too.

Baby Firefly

- I would not...That's a level of sadistic crazy you cannot contain but if you did? It's 50/50 how she'd react. Most likely, she'd play it up after you spanked her while she was getting something.

- "The flying fuck was that for?!" She glared and when you get sheepish like she wanted then a grin would appear. "Hey...Are you flirtin' with me, honey? You wanna smack my ass again? C'mon. I know you like it." She will literally expose her ass for you and you aren't sure what to do because she LOVED to manipulate and play mind games to get you submissive with her so...Was this a trap?

- If you do smack her ass again, she's definitely going to make it a 'My turn!' and smack you twice as hard before whispering something sexy in your ear...May or may not lead to a game of ass slap where she's winning and you're running away from her because she hurts!

Otis B. Driftwood

- Grouchest Motherfucker to ever exist unless he really is in a good mood. When he was working on an 'art piece' and was ignoring you on purpose you took the chance of smacking his ass.

- He dropped his needle and thread and glared at you. "...Are you fuckin' serious right now? I ain't got time for this ya lil shit!"

- However. He's full of shit himself saying it because whether you get solemn, bratty, playful, annoyed. Does not matter. He's giving you a 10 seconds headstart and telling you "Run lil rabbit run." With a smirk. Especially as he gets older. Prison made him appreciate the little things including having an S/O that wanted to get frisky.

- Once he catches you, and he will in time, he puts you over his knee whether you're at. Outside in the barn, in the woods, in the damn living room in front of everyone. Does not matter. He will give your ass a few swats from his hand till your squirming while taunting you "Ain't this fun? Ain't this what you wanted?" all before doing it a few more times. He ain't done till your teary eyed and squirming and your ass is blood red. Then he's dipping his hand down. Rubbing soothing circles while whispering naughty praise in your ear. "That's a good lil girl/boy/bunny for me...How about we take this back to my room and you can show Daddy how much ya want his attention?"

Winslow Foxworth 'Foxy' Coltrane

- He was a bit hungover. Groaning like the oldman he is and bent over to get another beer from the mini fridge in the room when you took a towel because you showered and you aren't nasty like him and Otis and just...Rolled it up and smacked his ass.

- He yelped and jolted a bit before giving you the most unamused glare. "Really?...Really, you lil fuck- Ow!" You definitely smacked him again the second he got close enough. Something about that second smack has a smirk on his face. A husky chuckle escapinging him because you just made this a thing. "Ohohoo, you're fuckin' in trouble now. Come the fuck over here, asscakes. I think you could use a few lickin's yourself."

- He has good reflexes and a high tolerance for pain so he just jerks that towel out of your hand when you go to smack him and loops it around your waist. Pulling you flush against him where you can't get free.

- He uses his large hands to grope your ass and give it a good smack while you're up against him and he's smirking down at you. "Ya like that, baby? You must really want to give me an excuse to feel up this fine ass of yours."

- It is most definitely 100% leading to the most nastiest raunchy dirty but fun sex. The type of sex that you aren't keen on sharing details about. He smacked your ass the entire time while talking dirty to you.

#stu macher #billy loomis #severen #severen van sickle #3 from hell foxy #foxy coltrane #baby firefly #otis driftwood #bo sinclair house of wax #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #scream imagines #house of wax imagines #near dark imagines #3 from hell imagines #firefly imagines

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allthenamesithinkofaretaken · 1 year

Text

There Was an Attempt:

Second Meeting

[ Death/ Muerte (Puss in Boots) x Immortal! Reader]

(Changed his name to Muerte instead of Death because I think it's more fitting. I also don't know if this is what you mean by 'more' like a part 2 to the immortal reader but that's what I did lol.)

The day had been long and tiresome, and most of the customers had already gone for the night after another fight broke out. She rolled her eyes, an exhausted sigh pushing past her lips as she moves onto wipe at the next table. Stars, why did she think it was ever a good idea to own a bar?

Slinging her towel over her shoulder, she walked behind the counter, grabbing the glasses and wiping them down before she puts them away in a drawer.

Patting her hands together, she looked over at the darkness of her bar, trying to see if there were anything else she missed to clean.

"I guess that's it for the night then," she huffed. Thinking about home already made her miss the softness of her bed. She wondered if she should finish the book she was currently reading, but then again, tomorrow was a Saturday and she had to restock some of the food for the chef by morning, and stars know that she couldn't just read one chapter of a book.

About to head home for the night, she walks to the backdoor to lock it up, about to turn and head out when a familiar whistle cracked through the silence of the bar, the fire atop the candle in front of her blowing out as he appeared.

She grinned, turning around to greet him when he presses the familiar blade of his sickle against her neck, her lower back pushing against the counter behind her.

Clicking her tongue, she places the tip of her finger on his blade, rolling her eyes.

"Come on, we've already established that that doesn't work." Pushing the blade down, she looks into his eyes, as bright red as she remembered, glowing underneath the shadows of his hood. "Now come on, do you want to take a seat and have a drink?"

Muerte huffs, rolling his eyes with a shake of his head as he sheathes his sickles, taking a seat on the stool he had previously sat on, pulling his hood down as he runs his hand down from the top of his head to his eyes. "Why else would I be here?"

"And here I thought you came to see little ol' me." She grabs a wooden mug from the drawers, filling it with his drink of choice in a nearby peg, batting her eyelashes teasingly at him with a sickeningly sweet smile. "You wound me, Muerte."

A chuckle pushes past his lips as he lifts the drink to his lips, taking a sip, the bitter taste of the alcohol feeling more than welcome.

"You look exhausted," she quipped, wanting to break the silence.

"So do you," he retorted, and she snickered, nodding her head in agreement.

"Bar fight earlier, had to break it up before they smashed a hole in the wall." She motioned her hand over to the far right where he could see a broken table just there on the side. "I'll have Corin take that out before opening tomorrow. "

"Why? Can't lift it all by yourself?" He grinned, teasing as he takes a sip of his beverage.

(Y/n) scoffs. "Just because I'm immortal doesn't mean that I have the full 'magic human' package— I don't have super strength. "

Muerte let's out a low rumble of a chuckle, and to her surprise, he stands from his seat, gulping down the remaining liquid in his tankard before placing it back on the counter. He walked over to the broken table, and she watches, amused, as he barely breaks a sweat hoisting it up in his shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping," he shrugged. She walks out from behind the counter to follow him outside, watching as he places it dowm beside the rest of the trash, patting his hands together with a satisfied grin.

"I don't owe you for this now, do I?" She teased.

"You could pay me with your life," he retorts, holding a paw out towards her. (Y/n) snickered, smacking his hand back.

"You know I'd give it to you if I could," she hummed then turned to walk back inside, Muerte following closely behind her as she did. "But for now, how about a free drink?"

"Sounds like a good bargain to me," he walks back towards the bar, sitting back down on the stool he had occupied before and watching as she prepares him another tankard, sliding it towards him afterwards.

She watches as he takes a sip from his drink, and from the way his eyes stared blankly on the wall in front of him, she could tell that there was something in his mind. The exhaustion radiated from him in waves that she never thought she would ever see the personification of death ever have, a part of her feeling a sting of guilt for having him carry the table outside.

Finally, she decides to break the silence. "You said you'd find a way to kill me,"

"I did,"

"Well is it by boring me to death?" She teased, and he couldn't help the laugh that pushed past his lips.

"Would you rather have me scare you to death?"

"Anything else but sitting in silence," she shrugged. "I've been doing that most of my living life, I don't think I'd want it to be my cause of death, too."

Death turned to her, intrigued. "Are you so eager to die?"

"Well it beats living a repetitive day to day basis," she huffed, leaning forward in the counter where he was, a glint of mischief shining in her eyes. "Unless you want to live it with me, of course."

"I see you still aren't bored with flirting with me,"

(Y/n) laughed. "I mean it's worth a shot, at least I know you won't die on me."

Muerte almost chokes on his drink, coughing up and hitting himself in the chest as (Y/n) laughs in the background.

"Easy there, Muerte. And here I thought you would be the one to kill me and not the other way around."

He grumbled, shaking his head as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I would if I could find the reason why you're immortal in the first place," Muerte huffed, pulling one lip to the side and seeming to contemplate his words before speaking. " Are you sure you're human? Did your parents do anything when you were a kid that might've triggered this?"

(Y/n) thought about it for a while, grabbing his empty tankard and seeming to play with it in her hands, then shrugged. "As I said, it's been so long that everything is muddy, but if they did tell me about it even the slightest clue, I'd either would have known about it by now or didn't catch it at all. "

Muerte sighed. "Right," he huffed. He looked out the windows that showed the empty streets outside, and he wondered if he should go. He'd been taking a break far longer than he'd anticipated.

"Hey, if you can't find a way to kill me, it's fine," her voice cuts her off his thoughts, turning to look at her as she gives him a small smile. "I don't know if it's fine for you seeing that you were so worked up about my immortality when you were here the last time, but I'm honestly fine living a few more hundred years." She paused looking away as she lifts a hand to the back of her neck. "So long as you visit me from time to time... if you want."

Of all the times she's flirted with him, she was never this embarrassed, and he could feel a small smile tugging up his lips as a chuckle pushes past his lips at the sight. Well, it's not like he has anything better to do in his free time.

"Of course," He grinned, removing the look of excitement that crossed her face when he flicks her nose, a laugh escaping him as she curses him under her breath. "I mean someone has to check if you're keeping out of trouble."

"I asked for a friend not a babysitter," she poked her tongue out at him, and he huffs out a laugh, pushing himself off his tool and standing on his feet. He raised the hood to his head, his hands finding their way to the sickles that hung on his hips.

"Hey, you're getting both, that's the jackpot for me."

"I'd call it a jackpot if you add a kiss on the lips on the list," She winked, but instead of recoiling like he usually did, he laughed, tilting his head to the side as he smirked.

"Remind me in a hundred years and I might. "

Before she could think of replying, he turns, walking towards the door with that familiar tune on his lips, leaving (Y/n) on the counter, baffled, eyes wide and lips parted in a small 'o'.

"Oh shit," she huffed. "I need a pen and paper."

#puss in boots death x reader #puss in boots the last wish x reader #puss in boots death #puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots #pib:tlw #puss in boots muerte #puss in boots muerte x reader #muerte x reader #death the wolf #death x reader

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deathisararemercy · 1 year

Text

Red String

Death x ghost/soulmate!Reader

Oh. This definitely wasn’t supposed to be happening. For starters, you were dead. Secondly, you could finally see your red string. Lastly, the person in front of you, the person who was supposedly supposed to be your soulmate according to the string, was Death.

A/N: aka Muerte doesn't expect anyone to really love him and needs a friend/partner. This started as an introductory exploration and lengthened into about 1500 words. Not sure if I will continue with more of this, but this was fun and much needed after a long week.

Part 1 | Part 2 |

Oh. This definitely wasn’t supposed to be happening.

For starters, you were dead. Alive one second, staring at your lifeless body the next. You weren’t even really sure how you died. You were in the middle of the forest by a river. There was no one else in sight. You knew you didn't want to die yet. You had more things to do, more sights to see, more life to live. You had these things. Whatever your death was, it got in the way of all of this. But every time you tried to remember your death or examine your physical body for details, your vision started to blur and your head felt like it was ready to split straight open. It was better not to look at your body or try to think too much about the details.

Secondly, you could finally see your red string. When you were alive, it seemed like almost everyone had one. People were finding their strings and living their “happily ever after”s with their universe-designated soulmate. Granted, some people lived perfectly fine lives without red strings, but you always want to be able to find your soulmate and see yours. So you met as many people as you could during your life and tried many new and different things in order to hopefully run into your soulmate. Unfortunately, you didn’t see your red string while you were alive. Now, you were dead and that stupid thread was right in front of you, glowing a brilliant ruby red.

Lastly, the person in front of you, the person who was supposedly your soulmate according to the string, was Death. Given the way the wolf’s sickles fell to the ground with a soft thud, the way his red eyes widened, and the fact he quietly said “mierda” upon seeing you, he was just as surprised as you were about this sudden development.

His red eyes were glowing brighter than the thread, but Death didn’t seem angry, just…stunned. The string caught him speechless. He removed his hood. Shaking his head, he approached you, picking up and effortlessly sheathing his sickles. “Is this some sort of practical joke?” In shock yourself, you remained statuesque as he inhaled deeply, inches from your face. He frowned as he pulled away. “You smell dead.”

As he circled you, looking up and down, you plucked the red thread that connected your chests together. It played a high note over the sound of the nearby water. “Honestly, this is probably as weird as it is to you as it is to me.” Death continued to circle you. “So are you going to ship me off to the spirit world or what? We’re both sort of stuck here until you cut me loose.” You gestured to the silver cord coming from your chest and connecting to that of your dead body.

Death waved a paw dismissively, leaving you to give him a bewildered look. He sat on the ground several feet away from you, back against a tree. “I’ll get around to it,” he said, picking at the grass. “I’d just like to know if you’re seeing what I’m seeing.”

“Yes,” you drawled, “I see the bright red string. We’re soulmates. Apparently.”

He slapped a hand on his forehead, dragging it down slowly as he said something inaudible to your ears. He looked like he had half a mind to get up, walk off, and leave you stranded in the forest. Something must have changed his mind, however, and he got up, walked towards you, and tried to cut the red string with a sickle.

The string really didn’t like that.

It remained uncut, resonating with a low and angry hum, but the both of you winced as a sharp pain shot through your chests. As quickly as it had come, it was gone. Death grunted before rising back to his full height, raising his sickle to strike again.

You raised a hand. “Don’t.” He stopped, staring at your firm look. Cautiously, you walked as close to him as you could without being yanked back by your dead body, and placed a hand on his arm. You lowered it slowly, looking Death in the eye as you spoke. “We can’t break it.”

He blinked before sighing. Death sat back down, allowing you to sit across him. The river continued to flow languidly. “I should have known that Fate was up to something when she got into sewing,” the wolf grumbled. “I just didn’t think she’d wrap me up into this. So, we’re going to have to figure this out then?”

“Yup.” You stared at him. It would be weird in any other context, but you were dead and he was Death, and you didn’t really have much else to stare at other than trees, rocks, and water. It didn’t seem like he wanted to talk much either.

Though his large frame was relaxed and slumped over gently, he wrapped his arms around himself, hood pulled over his head again. Bending your head slightly down, you could see that his red eyes were trained intently on the ground. His white-grey fur seemed dark in the shade of the trees. He was…pretty. That didn’t feel right. What was the right word to describe him at this moment? Contemplative? Brooding? Handsome?

“I’m sorry you died.”

Your gaze was quickly directed towards the tree behind Death. “What do you mean? It’s not your fault. Besides, you see people die all the time-” You realized what you said as soon as the words left your mouth. If you hadn’t died already, you would’ve died of shame. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Death shrugged, getting up. You followed suit. “No, you’re right. No one ever escapes me.” He drew his sickles and approached your dead body. “I should rephrase what I said: I’m sorry your passage to the afterlife has been delayed by this…unprecedented development. I know you spent much of your life looking for your soulmate.” Using the back of one of his sickles, he tapped the red thread connecting you to him. “But I’m not sure if I would make the perfect partner. Not many people would consider Death a ‘happily ever after.’”

He tapped the silver cord that connected you to your dead body. “So, I’ll cut you loose and take you down to the spirit world. You might be able to make friends there. Who knows?” he laughed. “You could find your own soulmate there.”

You really liked how he laughed. Oh my fairy godmother. You were falling for Death. And right now, signs were pointed towards him not wanting to have a soulmate. If he wanted one, he wasn’t making it obvious. But why did Fate apparently tie you two together by this red string?

“Muerte?”

The sickle fell to his side. “Yes?”

“Do you think our red string will break? If you cut the silver cord, I mean.”

His eyes widened a little. “I didn’t think about that.” He began plucking at the two strings. “Silver cords have pre-dated red threads. Me cutting your cord probably won’t break your thread, and it won’t automatically send you to the spirit world either. You can stick around the mortal plane if you’d like.”

“I think I’d like that. Do you mind the company?”

Muerte clearly didn’t expect you to ask that. He frowned. “You’re seriously not asking to hang around me are you? Not many people are fans of my work, or at least, what they think it entails. It’s the sort of job that makes someone lonely.”

Time to be blunt. “You don’t have to be lonely?” You pulled him closer by tugging on your string. “I’ll ask you again: Do you mind my company?”

The wolf was at war with himself. His ears twitched a little as he turned away from you, pacing back and forth. He spent a great deal of time muttering to himself before facing you again with a resolute expression on his face. “Alright, fantasma pequeño. I’ll cut your cord and you can come along. Whenever you want to go to the spirit world, you just tell me.”

Now, his tail was wagging a little. You smiled a tiny bit as he tried to subtly grab it firmly and stop it.“I’d love to hear more about you and the people you’ve met. You’ve lived an interesting life, you know.”

“Yes, considering I was there for all of it.”

At this he chuckled, before baring his teeth in a wide grin. His sickle was comfortably back in his hand. “Well then, it’s time to go. Ready?

You nodded, and with one clean motion, he cut the silver cord. For a moment, your life flashed before your eyes, before a calmness settled into your body. You felt lighter than before.

“Well,” you said, smacking your lips. “This will take some getting used to.”

“Certainly,” Death laughed. It was an intoxicating laugh. He grinned charmingly. “But you have me here for you.”

“Until the end of time.”

“God, I’d hope you wouldn’t stick around that long.”

You punched him in the arm for teasing you, and he laughed again. Accepting his offer, you linked your spectral arm in his, and together, you went off to see what the world had to offer for Death and his ghost.

#puss in boots #the last wish #puss in boots death #death x reader #puss in boots muerte #muerte x reader #x reader #.writing

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