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Vinegar

Simon Riley x GN! Reader

t.w: unhealthy relationship ig, implied past abuse

"you prefer the wine to lies, and I just wanna waste your time." -You Were The Tease, Ayesha Erotica

Simon turns dog easily.

It's almost harrowing how quickly this man of shadow and metal, of memories that'll stay in his head like worms, can turn tail so quickly to the sort of man anyone would want to spend their lives with.

"How was it?"

You ask half listening, half mourning.

"Did you finish?"

"Of course, how couldn't I when you're so good to me?"

He smiles, it repulses you how quickly those dead man eyes can become as honest and bright as a sun touched lake, his face bare. It terrifies you, you're no next door darling, you're not a man who'll grill steak in a green backyard with him, wait for him at home, kiss his scars away.

"Thinking bout something luvie?"

He asks, shifting closer to you. You shift away, hiding your aversion to his touch by grabbing a cigarette looking for a lighter, he grabs his, sits up and leans in close.

"Right, c'mere"

Your stomach turns, you close your eyes.

You breath in, breath out trying to figure out what to do with a man as pure as honey and just as sticky.

"Keep it, think of me"

He smiles presses the cold metal into your palm, it's expensive you think, what a shame.

You exist in rentals, shitty hotels, suspiciously clean smelling pillows and the tester bottles of cologne so you don't have to buy the whole bottle, shirts from one man, drawers from the other, lighter from Simon.

"Thank you"

You sigh the smoke out, making a point to not stare at his bare form, you fail pointedly too, thorns brushing against your throat.

"You're a good man Riley, you know that?"

"Getting formal on me now?"

He scoffs pressing the tip of his cigarette to yours, blue eyes staring into yours.

"Riley's my bastard father, call me Simon, luvie"

He tells you, sweet and soft as a cat in the afterglow of sex.

"Wanna change it one o' these days"

"Got a lad back home?"

"Nah, of course not, what sorta man you think I am?"

He asks with a disbelieving chuckle, missing the warning, missing your scars, missing your absence, your avoidance.

Something rotten bubbles up inside you, is he aloowe to attach himself like a barnacle to your side because his daddy was mean to him but you can't rip him out for the same?

He reaches out, takes your hand in his. 

You allow yourself this one nugget of him, trailing your fingers over his palm, his fingers, his thick wrist. 

Callouses and dirty fingernails on a callousal man.

He thinks you're worth the trouble you try to talk him out of, like an old lady with a blunt knife in a tiny kitchen, cutting into a pomegranate, staining the carpet red, staining his hands, staining his heart, again and again only to find it rotten, brown seeds in their spongy beds, dried juice dripping off his scarred palms.

Everyone's worth the trouble, the clean up, the mess until they don't make the cut.

"I don't think we should see eachother again"

You tell him, tucking the heavy lighter into your bag, begging to keep it.

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Coda

Ghostface x Dwight Fairfield x The Legion (Joey)

t.w:abuse, suicidal main character, rape, canon typical violence, non perma death, dead dove do not eat

"Bodies tell you stories, miracles and pain,bodies got your number, the lottery to play, bodies don't make deals,with devils, gods, or saints" - A.S Valentino, Bodies

İt was a stupid idea.

Dwight knew it was a stupid idea to try and vault over a pallet when he can hear his pursuer's leather crease right behind him so when he is grabbed by the back of the neck and slammed down onto the splintering, wothering wood he has no one but himself to blame.

He never really does anyways.

"Hello Dewey!"

He doesn't respond, he's sick, sick of Ghostfaces voice, sick of his mask, sick of bleeding, dying, coming back rinse and repeat.

It wrings him out each and every time,he can feel himself going dry.

He waits to be lifted onto his shoulder, to wiggle uselessly untill he feels the sharp, rusted metal of the hook find home in him again.

İnstead he hears a belt buckle, shit.

Ghostface is crude as he fixes the leather belt around his wrists, he tries to feel at it to tell whether it's faux or genuine it's neither of course, nothing here is ever really real.

"You're gonna meet a friend of mine!"

Danny hisses happily in his ear, shoving him on his feet and giving him a shove towards the Mount Ormonds cottage.

"Be a good boy, Dewey. God you don't know how sweet it is that your name is Dwight! God you really don't know! İt's so poetic! A refreshing take on the cult classic, then again you're going stale pretty boy!"

He ignores the rushed ramblings of his executioner as he marches towards the building, hollowed out and broken into just like everything else here, he wonders what it used to look like before the entity sunk it's claws into it, everything is a crude mockery here.

It gets less and less infurating as time goes on, that doesn't scare him anymore.

All the while Danny's hand stays firm on his nape, he feels no warmth through the gloves he can smell his sweat, the blood of his teammates. 

The generators buzz all around him, a silent audience to the repeated loss of his dignity, he's done this song and dance before.

But when the choices are between whatever keeps him human here and his body, all's fair to stay.

He's being lead in by the door near the desolate bar when he sees him, 5'5 in a shitty paper mask and a leather jacket that he's sure reeks of axe.

"Didn't know you were in the business of making friends with kids-"

That earns him a sharp smack to the back of the head, he bites his tounge, he'll lose enough tonight could've at least kept his silence.

"Really? You got fucking Dwight? I thought you said something fun dude! What you fakl trying to cop someone actually worth fucking!?"

The Legion, this one's Joey, he's heard the others speak about him.

"Oh quiet, ol' Dewey here is a good boy"

"Yeah! I know! Everyone knows, goody two shoes ain't my type, man!"

"Should've caught your own then."

Dwight lets himself be led by the fireplace in the chalet and doesn't struggle when Danny bends him over the armrest and sits infront of him.

"There we go, glad I don't have to hold you down anymore."

There are no deals or bargains between prey and hunter but occasionally there are mutually beneficial compromises, this isn't that, Dwight observes.

He always knew the occasional deals he made with Danny for the hatch or the exit gate didn't amount to anything and despite himself he finds solace in the bare hand that carts through his sweaty hair.

Danny sets up the camera nearby as Joey grabs his hips, gives him a firm grab.

"Hey-! You can't just-"

"Shut. Up. Fucking, fuck meat! Talking back to me, when'd this dork get a mouth huh?! Didn't know that thing worked besides moaning in lockers!"

He grabs his face and he sees those eyes, cold blue behind the mask he glares back as the young man's fingernails dig into his cheeks,he can smell the damp bandages around his knuckles. 

He knows even Joey can see it, he's young, he's new here,but like all of them he's well aware what's coming for Dwight.

He knows one of these days he'll lift one of them into the wet metal of the hook then he'll never see them again.

Danny looms back over them.

"We talked about this, Joey"

"I know, I know,I don't break your toy untill you say so."

"No, only I get to kill him, if I'm here then he's my kill."

He lets go with a huff and focuses on stripping Dwight of his pants. Danny goes right back to his cruel cheeriness.

"Smile Dewey! You're on camera!"

He chuckles as he settles back down and unzips his pants to give himself a few good strokes through his underwear, behind him he can hear Joey's pants drop, he knows what's coming, he always does.

He makes a point of not wincing or making a sound when Joey pulls his underwear down and shoves two fingers in him, no regard to his comfort, but he never expected any.

"Oh Dewey, don't be a bad boy now."

Danny coos, grabbing Dewey's face in his bare hands.

His skin burns, tears burn his eyelids, his ass burns from the callous scissoring.

"C'mon, open your eyes for me or you'll ruin the shot."

Dwigt turns his face away bile rising at the back of his throat, he knows he won't puke, there's nothing in him anymore.

"I said open your eyes, Dwight! God you piece of shit, I let your sorry ass crawl away a few times and you get cheeky on me?!"

The smack that rings out in his cheek is so firm, so strong the whiplash is almost welcome.

Joey chuckles behind him as he adds another finger.

"Looks like your boy isn't as well trained as you promised me"

"Shut up, Joey, he's just shy."

He looks down at him, the black, deathless holes of the father death mask staring into his soul.

Danny is obsessed with Dwight being present, he can't tell if it's sadism orif he's trying to see how far Dwight's slipped.

"You're a good boy"

He presses, to himself, to Joey and to Dwight. He grabs his penis taps it against Dwight's lips, he makes a point of holding his breath of keeping his eyes on the blasted, tacky mask.

"Aren't you, Dewey?"

All he wants is to be good, all he wants is to be of use a few more times, just a few more.

He opens his mouth silently and swallows before Danny slides himself in, he doesn't gag this time around, too lethargic, too experienced.

He has nothing to count but small victories, to keep safe between his ribs so neither The Entity nor they can touch his treasures, sweet and rare as baby teeth.

"Oh there we go, see? He's well behaved!"

"I suppose, can I go now?"

Danny looks down at him again, they both know it'll hurt, it always does.

"I feel teeth-"

He says and presses the familiar blade against the colum of his throat.

"You feel steel, baby"

He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. 

Desperate for something, anything.

İs he really such a degenerate for preffering this?

Did the birds he used to see, rotten, chewed and left whole on the side of the road, wish they were eaten instead?

Joey pushes inside with a sharp gasp, the pain tears a moan past his lips.

 He cranes his neck, looking up at Danny despite himself he reveals in the way the other man reaches down to gently pluck his ruined glasses off his face.

İt feels like hours untill Joey's bottomed out, his pelvis pressing against Dwight's ass.

İt burns, the stretch never stops being excruciating.

"And?"

"Fuck man, you were right, this bitch is fucking tight!"

Danny laughs in response, and gives his cheek a few pats he keeps thrusting his cock in and out of Dwight's throat.

"Of course he is, it's in the rules man, the nerdy ones are always the best!"

"I don't remember that rule-"

"That's because it took you coming here to touch a tit for the first time."

They banter above him as he rocks over the armrest, back, forth, back, forth.

He really does like this better, he decides.

İt's misery either way, it's loss of something he considered so sacred either way at least this way he doesn't have to feel his body disintegrate as the entity pierces through him, each time he loses himself, he knows.

He's not as scared as he used to be, pain isn't as white and hot as it used to be.

He doesn't search for hope in Jake's eyes anymore, doesn't delight in Nea's practiced saves, he doesn't look for Meg around every corner and Claud in every bush.

He doesn't know how much he has left in him, till the entity drains him out and tossed him into nothingness.

So he'll takes this instead.

Joey grunts as he ruts into him, his hands trying to grabe a handfuls of his ass.

He's meat between them and they're animals above him, all he wants is to be useful, all he wants is to feel full of something even for a little while, all he wants of them is to make sure nothing of him go to waste.

"Where are you ,Dewey?"

Danny's asks brushing a hand over his cheek, he can only give a choked sob around the other man's cock.

İt's all so much, and yet not enough Joey, Danny, his broken nose, the stab wound at his side, his waining interest in his own survival.

He feels there's a black hole in his chest, everything spirals down like a flush, spinning, spinning.

Another harsh smack brings him back to reality.

"Fuck, you're rough with him. Gonna break him before I do, Ghost."

"Nah, we have a few more good uses in him yet."

Dwight conjures up grief in the other man's voice, forces a twinge of pain into his unseen stare. 

He knows he won't be missed, his absence won't even be noticed, death is constant in the realm no one knows if you'll come back so they eventually stop caring if you do,but he takes his victories where he can.

They continue, but it's rushed, of course it is. He reveals in the fact that he's soured their fun.

When Joey comes inside of him, it's unceremonious, wet, squishy, clammy.

He wonders if he could've enjoyed this if he had been a lot more ongoing before being swallowed up by this hellscape, he both laments and relishes in the fact that he didn't, it's too late now.

Just like the two beasts hovering over him he's too far gone.

Danny pulls out without finishing, tucks himself into his pants quickly and brings the camera over, the costume rises and falls with his laboured breathing.

"Smile, baby. Cmon show me those pearly whites."

Despite himself he does, he just wants to be useful, he's all teeth and ache, all pre cum and blood.

And when the expected blade is at his throat again he does nothing but savor the fact that he's been devoured whole, bones picked clean.

It's a sharp pain then a stinging emptiness as he bleeds and he's back Infront of the campfire.

The others don't look at him, they know what happened, some sixth sense bestowed upon them by the cruel god of this realm.

He silently hopes they're at least glad he has a little bit more time here, in the cold orange light and the companionable silence.

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Lemonade

Simon Riley x Reader/Ghoap/John Mactavish x Reader

t.w:cheating, this is an unedited wip I'm just posting it to get it off my notes app idk what happens in this, rough for play(?)

"the next time he kisses me, want him to taste red ruby lips"-Lemonade, Nicole Dollangager

There's lemonade with a small shot of vodka mixing around in it on the kitchen table, spotted by sunlight, your thumb and pointer finger holding a cigarette to your lips, you don't breath it in, you don't pour yourself a glass you don't make a show of hiding your wedding ring or dabing at your wet eyes maybe if you stay still for long enough you'll finnaly figure out what to do, how to feel expect torn.

You've been married to John for five years.

He's everything anyone ever wants, he's good, he's handsome, he's got a stable job, he loves you.

You wolf whistle and tap your cigarette into an empty plastic sauce container he's smiling, watching every move you make like you grind up sparks with each motion.

"Just the full on package aren't you John? Making me feel bad here, pining you down and all."

He laughs and leans into you blue eyes sparkling like sea at summer, like a blessing. He kisses your cheek then rubs his nose against yours.

"Well I do smoke, if ye wanna count that, probably gon' make the house smell awfull."

You shrug, it comes easy with him to brush things off, to feel lighter than air.

"Could quit together?"

You offer laughter ,already bubbling in your throat he holds his lips to yours not quite kissing but still touching, eyes closed hands on your waist.

"Could always try."

The door is knocked, you flinch as you jump up scrambling forward, hands shaking, teeth chattering quietly like some druggie feeling the needle prick their arm, medical metal shinning under streetlights.

"Long time no see luv."

He's at the edge of the threshold , dead eyes fixed on you, balaclava covering his face. He's almost as broad as the doorframe, thick arms crossed over his chest, blond eyelashes dappled around the eyes focused solely on you for the next few hours; you've made yourself blind to it all.

"Saw you at the pub with Johnny just last week Ghost."

He smirks; you've thought yourself to tell by the way his eyes crinkle, thin like a snakes'. Either because that's not the sort of seeing he's talking about or because he's still proud you saw the bright purple hickey on John's neck when he came back from the bathroom, your husband's cheeks flushed like a young boy lips reddened and just the slightest bit swollen.

"Hope we didn't leave ye 'lone for long, bonnie."

You miss ignorance.

"Come in."

"Been waitin' for me luv?"

Does Johnny? You bite your tounge.

"Don't flatter yourself Riley."

He chuckles, leans down to kiss your cheek, mask rubbing against your skin, muffled breath hot and moist.

"I'm seein' just why Johnny comes over to me lookin' for some lovin', ya sure as shit ain't givin' him scraps little minx"

"And you're here because?"

You snap back pouring him a glass with shaking hands your wedding ring is still on, no reason to take it off.

He shrugs, wide shoulders, sharp jaw, empty eyes. You wonder if he has a bird waiting at home; you wonder how easy they'd be.

"Call it excitement I guess, the hot kind."

You hate it, you hate how neither man on your life can name one reason as to why they love you, why they keep you around.

You're laying in bed with John his tuxedo unbuttoned; tanned, scarred chest exposed his dogtags glittering like gold with the small rays of moonlight sneaking in through the curtains. He's waxed, smells like too much cologne and dry cleaned clothes, alcohol he's holding one of your hands rubbing at the knuckles, swiping over the thick gold band over and over again.

"You must have a reason Johnny, c'mon."

"I love ye bonnie, everything about ye, cannea even begin to dissect it."

You sigh, chapped lips stinging as you snuggle into him, his eyes watching you like you're the best damn thing's that ever happened to him.

The very next day you two have Ghost over in your new home. 

You nod as you push his glass towards him, he hooks a thick arm around your waist and pulls you back onto his lap. İt's awkward, the chairs too small ,he's too big, you're squirming too much, the room is too hot, he's cold, you're flaring up.

You turn around and yank his mask up plastering your hot mouth over his, eyes shut, he groans, grinds his crotch against yours, his hot hard cock nudging against where you're raw and needy.

"Fuck- feelin bit jealous babe? Over who huh?"

İt started a year ago, or at least you noticed it a year ago. Someone else's perfume on Johnny's collar, late nights, bad excuses, always too tired, always too distant than too smothering. You checked his phone, sometimes you wished you hadn't, sometimes you wish you had kept your safe sunbathed home, your image of the perfect husband alive, even if it was on live support.

"No one, fuck both of you-"

"N ya ask why I keep comin back, pretty fuckin baby."

You growl in his ear, nipping at his earlobe clawing at his tight shirt before he pulls back takes it off, he chest is painted blue and purple,  you wrap a hand around his neck and squeeze smashing your mouth over his, teeth knocking.

He wheezes and laughs, broad cold hands smoothing over your back, slick with sweat and presses you tighter against him.

Johnny had introduced you to Simon almost as soon as the two of you started dating he wanted the two of you to get along so so badly that you should've suspected something the momen he had told you again and again in the  car.

"Please, please no gradirh, please just try n get along with him yeah? Simon's real important tae me, easier for everyone involved."

You should've known by the way his eyes lit up, the way he worded his sentences, the way he seemed to wait on each and every word Simon uttered. You knew Simon was a big shot, somewhat of a cherished celebrity amongst his own scene, he just had that look about him like a stuffed head on the mantle sneering down, flames from the fireplace reflected in dark eyes.

You pull back, bottom lips busted, you swipe a thumb over it and sneer. Picking at the wound

"He kiss ya like that?"

You regret it the moment you ask it, you don't wanna know, you don't wanna compare or analyse like you used to, you don't wanna hurt like that again.

He shakes his head, pale skin flushed and clammy,his smile so genuine and natural it makes you sick.

"Nah, he's actually quite gentle."

You grind harder, hipbone knocking against firm muscle, knees against the back of the chair, a sticky layer of ice and acid where your skin makes contact with his.

You didn't like Ghost much. He was off colored, disorienting. His footsteps weredead silent, his colors bleeding into the colors of the background, his smile too sharp you could never bring yourself to like him as anything beyond an aquiantince and the guy your husband adores for some reason, in turn he revealed in stepping on your tail, making you walked around eggshells so John could keep up that blinding smile.

No matter how many times John pushed you two into spending alone time or hanging out as a trio it never worked, the I've ever broke.

Untill you called Simon up yourself.

"He soft with you?"

You sneer.

"None of your business."

"He's my buddy of years, my sergeant n all, and since im the honourary member of this cozy little marriage pretty sure I'm entitled."

You both chuckle, you're spiteful and he's amused. John never kisses you softly, he kisses you like he's apologising.

Apologizing for offering you a heart that was never his to give, for letting you follow him into this house, this bed, this love when he always had one foot out the door, one hand in Simon's pants.

Johnny always babbles about how there is a clear and concrete line between Ghost and Simon, supposedly one is his teammate, hid friend and the other is a war machine, his lieutenant.

You're not familiar with his friend nor his lieutenant yet some accumulation of them darkens your doorway, twitching, bruised eye lids and empty, dry eyes like a dying Barracuda, hands showed into pockets, clothes crinkled. 

You pace around the room, hands gesturing wildily.

"You and Johnny?! You and my fucking husband?! I- I- how? Why? Why would you-"

He stands there leaning against the door and watching you like a zoogoes watches the animals pace around in their cages, idle yet invested, calm.

"I didn't cheat on ya luv, he did, feels like something you should talk out with him."

"How could he?! How could-"

You choke on your sobs laughter and misery bubbling up your throat at the same time as you look at him.

"How could you?"

He averts his eyes, staring out the window. Betrayal from him stings just as bad as betrayal from John if not worse.

"Couldn't help myself luv"

"Seriously? That's your best fucking excuse Riley?"

He winces searching around the living room, his eyes skimming over the half empty vodka bottle and the shattered vase John's favourite suite laying shredded on the ground.

"Not an excuse, luv-"

You scoff, walking over to pour yourself another glass.

"Yeah, yeah sure isn't cause y'all all about taking accountability, right? All about owning up and responsibility n all that shite"

"Ya knew it would happen"

He walks over, you count his heavy footsteps approaching.

"Ya knew what would happen, you knew what I thought of him, of us and you must've had a clue or two about what he thought too. You knew, luv."

"I did, didn't I?"

He puts his hand on your shoulder, his gloves are off, his rough, calloused hand warming through your cardigan.

"Don't blame ya, can be quite the charmer that one. All baby blues n sunshine."

You scoff, the glass fills slowly.

"Did you?"

You ask as you offer him the glass of vodka the stillness of your own voice surprises you and somewhere deep down you knew this was a possibility, a big possibility. You watch his Adams apple bob as he takes a sip of the glass, wipes jis mouth with the edge of yhe mask.

"Was hoping."

You don't ask him what he was hoping for, you lean forward and press your lips to his, you tease the wine of his lips this close he smells of tobacco.

And you can't blame him, can't blame him for wanting to be in his light, his warm, lively light.

You trail a hand up his back and curl your hands around the back of his neck grazing his lips with your teeth, he puts his hands on your hips holds you close as he kisses you his breath hot on your skin.

masterlist here

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no john price don't make me transition that would be terrible 🫣👀 don't take charge of the situation and put me on T or shave my head noooo (as a dude who struggles with doing these things bc of parental influence even as an adult and current events, this is both hot and also kind of stress relieving? cathartic? either way I'm burning this into my brain I love it so much. you could take 10 years to update and I'll still be excited. you're an amazing writer and deserve more attention!)

Thank you so much homeboy you'll never know how much trans homies liking my forcemasc fics means to me, stay strong they couldn't beat the man out of you is they tried coming from a man who used to be in a very familiar situation, I'm rooting for you man

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✸landfill navigation✸

✥A.N: always read tags, all my readers are filthy men unless stated otherwise

✥masterlist:

✥asks are tagged under: letters in the landfill

✥Landfill Contents: Dead by Daylight, Call of Duty (Modern Warfare)

-are you hungry?

✦Mercurial:(unfinished, pending)

(ghoap x runaway, male reader)

✦Compartment Syndrome:(one shot)✦

-are you staying?

(captain price x married reader)

✦T:(unfinished, pending, director's favourite)

-are you ready to change?

(captain price x transmasc reader, forcemasc)

✦Sea Salt:(one shot)✦

-do you pray?

(The Plauge charecter study)

✦Push/Pull:(one shot)✦

-are you listening?

✦Perversion:(one shot)

(Gaz x reader)

(Gaz gets more and more resentful as once again he's side stepped)

-are you cold?

✦Lemonade: (one shot)

(Soap x male reader, dead dove do not eat)

(soap and reader engage in some necro)

are you thirsty?

✦Coda:(one shot, director's favourite)

(ghoap/ghost x reader/soap x reader)

(cheating+cheating, angst, contempt)

are you done?

✦Vinegar(one shot, angst)

(the legion(joey)x Dwight Fairfield x Ghostface)

(Dwight thinks about his impending death as Ghostface and Legion spit roast him)

Are you sick of it?

(Simon Riley x Reader)

(unattached reader x attached ghost)

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oh my god I've had such an itch for force masc stuff but haven't been able to get the right inspiration to write it. so excited for a second chapter

Second chapter out, specifically for y'all boys, love u

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Thank u for the cod force masc content. I had thought about it before so I was surprised that someone else had apparently been thinking about it too! Need the 141 to inject me w T and make exercise til I pass out from exhaustion fr

Wrote the second chapter with y'all's backing alone, you'll never know how much feedback means to me, thanks mate

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T

Jonathan Price x Transexual Reader

Chapter Two:Settling In

trigger warning:forced workout, forcemasc fetish, drug mention, past marriage, implied familial abuse

"I asked if I've done enough for salvation, they said you'll die if you leave it up to god." -Ethel Cain, Age of Delilah

İt's your first week home.

İt feels weird to call it that when it's so many miles away from the driveway with the gravel that would burrow in the shoes he refused to replace and the tiles you wiped on your knees. Freedom feels a lot like childhood, growing into yourself feels like lugging stinking trash out of a desolate beach.

You grab the old TV by the underside putting your back into lifting it, the muscles on your thighs scream your arms feel like rubber, sweat runs down your face stings your eyes the way to his old pick up feels longer than ever it's almost full and the sun is almost gone, gently kissing the surface of the tumaltous sea with peach hues.

His eyes don't feel like they used to, you drop the TV in the back he pushes on your shoulder rearranges your posture

"Feeling the burn yet sweets?"

"Y-yeah, I feels like my arms are gonna fall off"

He smiles, full cheeks and well groomed beard, his tabbacco stainedteeth.

"That's good lad, don't you love it?"

You nod as you stumble back to the piles and piles of washed up trash the sand is warm under your feet, his eyes are like a lighthouse, stage lights. The binder restricts but the shadow on the sand with the body you have in your dreams liberates in a way you can't out into words.

You grab an old plastic bucket it's colors long since drained off and stuff whatever trash you can find in it, bags, sandals, chewed plastic straws you cram it in with your bare feet they're tender and so are your hands you haven't worked so willingly in years, the handle snaps on the way back so you hug it to your chest, he claps when you place it in the back and he closes it.

"Ready to head home love? Just about ready for some supper huh? Looks like you could use a proper pint too"

"Yeah, could eat a horse."

When you sit down in the car he reaches into his pocket

"But first, a little reward no? Think you've deserved it"

A beat of silence you watch his hand still in his pocket

"Don't you?"

"W-what?"

"Don't you think you've deserved it?"

"Well I've been working really hard and I- I've been good a-and-"

He huffs, he doesn't like stuttering, doesn't like self doubt or stalling.

"Tommy, I asked you a very simple question."

"Yes, yes I deserve a reward yes"

You pant, and he fishes a vial out of his hand the labels on it clean and clear

"Coke?"

He chuckles shakes his head, he's almost always patient, in a good mood, sunny. Unless he isn't of course.

"No, no lad, testestorone. Ain't no shame in supplements"

You stumble, your mins short circuits fear like lightning in your veins desperation like dog teeth against your tounge. You gulp watching as he stabs the syringe in and slowly pulls the liquid into it.

" That's right Toms"

"B-b-but won't that make me a man-?"

He laughs, half humorous half ready to take you over his knee and correct you, he hasn't yet , he will at some point.

"That's sort of the point dearest. What? You don't want it or something?"

He asks as he lifts the basket ball shorts he's put you into, one of his old pairs, you'll get yours soon enough he says. He says that about everything he hands down to you, your husband never kept his promises for some reason you believe it when he says it.

"N-no I just I- are you sure I mean it's so- aren't we going a bit far-"

"Shut it Tommy "

He bites and stabs the syringe into your thigh pumps liquid hope into you as your breath stutters in your chest, he rubs at your inner thigh ay the hair that's accumulating there.

"That's a good boy now, good boy. Feels good don't it hmm? Gonna get a beard soon, we'll have to get you tweaked a bit, don't think you'll grown much taller but we have other things to work on. Don't we?"

He grabs a handful of your crotch and squeeze s, you can't imagine it, you pant like a dog for it the vial shines in the golden light of the setting sun.

He starts home the dreams your mother shamed into your run like water and clot like blood, you want his face with gratitude, with hunger, you want his pin scars, big nose, eyebrows that have never seem the metal of a tweezer, beard yellowed from alcohol you want it all.

"Humor me a night at the pub Toms?"

"Yes, sir"

[brainr0t-landfill]

Chapter two coming for you and the guys in my asks ily

T

Chapter One: You get baptized.

Captain Price x male reader

(T.W: forcemasc fetish, kidnapping, forced headshave, reader is currently girlmoding, implied stalking, implied cheating)

The road to your new home is long and wet John is stiff in his seat as the cold lights of the bumfuck, misreable town you called home for years bleed across the dark car he wonder if you can see them if you're still awake, rain splashes against his front window.

Wrongness gnaws at something burried deep in his chest even though it's been hours since your struggle has died down; your desperate pleas and pathetic threats muffled by an old rag and held in place by duct tape, all the frantic energy in your soft body weighed down by exhaustion, he feels bad for you so confused and lost but he knows he's doing what's right like his old man always told him.

"No one finds their true love, son."

He'd tell him sitting on his old throne shallow, warm glass of whiskey in hand.

"You make it, wives like your mother are for husbands like me. I didn't find her on the side of the road as she is today, made her i did."

The contradiction is that Senior Price was more shaped by his wife than his wife by him John's mother with her dishwasher white knuckles and red stained lips, an ex whore, a cols blooded creature in a warm home trying to make her claws into wings.

The contradiction is that John never wanted a woman like his mother, never wanted a woman at all.

On the edge of town he stops the truck, turns the engine off and steps outside walks through the murky mud puddles to the trunk pops it and beholds you, curled into yourself with eyes like a desperate dog you thin wrists held together by zip ties, knobby knees knocking against eachother.

He kneels infornt of you on one knee like a crude mockery.

"I know you're confused."

He tells you rubbing across your ribs,

"But in due time you'll get it luv, I'll be so good for ya, never gonna want for nothing y'hear?"

He gives you his best smile but you don't respond he shushes the sniffles with a heavy hand grabbing you by your scruff and dragging you out, you don't struggle at all and he gently rips the tape off it leaves red lines across your pretty, soft cheeks and pink lips glossy with spit.

"Please, please I won't tell anyone I need to go home please please-"

He stands there as you kneel on the ground big paw rubbing at your sore jaw as you work yourself into tears and sobs begging for things you don't want, he sees your eyes stuck where the sun is setting on the other side of the road desire peeking out like teeth.

"Shhh, shhh it's alright now, it's alright"

He tells you as he rubs his hands across your beautiful locks, such a shame

"I'm not gonna hurt ya luv, no, no not at all. But you need to trust me, alright?"

He looks down at you and clicks his tounge in dissapointment but of course, men are proud animals they play best when they think they'll win, they grasp at any chance to prove their loving masters wrong.

"Looky here, let's make a deal, yeah?"

He takes a deep breath and plays a gamble, rolls the dice knowing he holds every card.

"A year, ya stay with me a year, listen, and be good and if by the end of that year ya still wanna go back home, I'll let ya. Hell I'll even drive ya, drop ya off at the door. But untill than you play by my rules, yeah luv?"

He asks and rubs his calloused hand over your cheek watches the war raging behind those eyes.

"O-okay."

You croak out and your trembling seizes as you steel your shoulders.

"Okay, y-you've got a deal, just please don't hurt me."

He pats your head and takes the clippers out, drags you to the gutter, walk you on your knees deep into the filthy water, stains your pretty, modest white skirt not that you'll have much use of it anymore.

You start screaming again struggling like a feral dog, he thinks of what name to give you, dogs get new names after all to know what they should answer to your old one never fit you anyways.

"What are you doing-? What are you-"

He starts it up and runs it across your scalp, your soft hair falling into the water and your sweat stained blouse as be buzzes it all off, there will be better cuts in the feature; neat crew cuts like his in barber shops before your wedding and once every month, routine trims and beard oil.

"Oh don't pretend you don't know luv, look at you! Even with ya short height everybody can tell, ya make such an unconvincing girl, sweets but that's alright. Everybody strays sometimes, not ya fault ya never had anyone to guide ya right, ya just trust me, alright? Ya just trust me."

He burries your face in his crotch to muffle your noises as he shaves your head feels you go limp with shame.

He pities you, he doesn't know what it's like to be seen after a life spent hiding, to be in the light after two decades of chasing it.He strips you off your skirt and blouse there, pockets your jewelry and wedding band takes out your I.D and taps your picture there.

"Ya recognize her?"

Your lips twitch, mishapen face scrunched up in shame.

"No, ya don't, ya never did..."

He thinks for a second, what to name you, who to make you, how to love you.

"Tommy, Tom Price, ya recognize that?"

You nod and he brushes the hair off your scalp as he leads you back to the car, lays you in the back seat to stew, throws his uniform jacket over you.

"Wait-"

He looks down, at you half hidden under the jacket, pulls it further, tucks you in to hide a body that's of the past.

"Yes luv?"

"What's you name?"

He smiles and huffs out a laugh that's been brewing for weeks, weeks and weeks of watching you, feeling your yearning eyes burn kisses on his skin.

"Jonathan, Jonathan Price, ya can call me sir."

[brainr0t-landfill]

Perversion

One Shot/Pending

trigger warning: necro, dead dove do not eat, read the fucking tags

"I would recommend you take as much as you need to feel good." -Ethel Cain, Amber Waves

"thanks fer lettin me do this bonnie"

John whispers, his nose brushing against yours as he presses a chaste kiss on your top lip, brushing against your mustache you open your mouth to say something words stuck in your throat dry and disconnected. He tightens his hold on your throat, tighter, tighter.

"Fuck, yer pulse at me fingertips- it's just-"

He groans, his beautiful blue eyes shining with that hunger you've seen bare glimpses of before whenever you two talked about the rotten things stuck festering in the corners of your head. He pants above you, blocking the white light that peeks out of the bathroom behind him, the bed is like sand below you, dipping under you and his combined weight, ready to swallow you up like his wild eyes, you wrap your hands around his wrists as he tightens his grip.

"J-johnny, I can't-"

"İ know M’eudail, I know. Yer Adams apples right under me hand, feel tha? Feels like it'll crack don't it?"

He asks, his strong chest heaving, looming over you like the apex predator he is.

"Asked ye a question bonnie"

You nod bucking uselessly under him as your lungs try to draw breath, tingles across your face like worms.

"Y-eah, Johnny?"

"Want me to stop?"

He asks, and you nod as he tightens his grip. And you feel good, a burning, delicious good.

"Please?"

The groan he lets out is one of pure pleasure his eyes stuck on you, the blue seems more and more white the more oxygen you lose.

"You'll make such a pretty corpse boy fer me won't ye?"

You met Johnny in a support group set in the basement of an old suburban church,moist walls and instant coffee, rickety plastic chairs arranged in a circle, cold orange light crawling down the stairs.

"All cold and quite, all mine, och I can't wait"

The priest was well meaning but misinformed, misplaced, ultimatly you went because you know what they say about idle hands and you wanted to have a comeback, a fighting chance to justify the deep putrid thing you recognisd in him.

"Gonna burry ye in the backyard, dig ye up every weekend, fuck yer sweet face"

You smile despite yourself, it feels like the blood is rsising up, up and up boiling your brain, you squeeze his wrists in your hands as your eyes roll back your legs kicking under his smothering weight

Johnny never ties you up, he loves the struggle.

"Fock, jus like tha, go on, gimme a show"

İt's unconventional or rather straight up sick, you're well aware but normal has been out of the question for a long time, your mouth still tastes of the beer he treated you to before this, a gift for letting him go as far as he wants.

"Going cold yet? You're all purple"

You don't have the energy to respond in any way expect for squirming like a fish under him, his big warm hands impossibly tight around your neck.

You think of the silver, slippery fish you used to catch with your father, the cold metal digging in their soft bellies to clear out the guts.

You wanted a knife at the soft junction laying between your ribs but Johnny declined.

You wanted the cold, clinical, cynical muzzle of a gun between your teeth, but Johnny declined.

You wanted ropes, cold water, a plastic bag but no Johnny likes to keep it close, personal warm and snug untill it's not.

"There we go, it's almost over, thas it."

The priest had drawn a spiral on the blackboard once, it can go both ways he had said, inwards and towards self destruction or outwards and towards eternal life.

He presses his forehead to yours as the black spots grow from the corner of your vision slowly overtaking the dimly lit cracked ceiling above you, his sweat soaked face, strong, thick neck, his bushy brows, strong jaw and soon, it's all gone.

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌃 Mercurial

ghoap x male reader

Chapter Five:Hunger Pains

"Hunger hurts but I want him so bad oh it kills."

~Fiona Apple, Paper Bag

Johnny's hungry.

His stomach churning with acid, threatening to eat away at his calm demeanor, the car ride is silent Simon keeps a broad hand on his knee to keep him calm as they drive back home from the hangar.

On the way he imagines home, it's barely morning so you might be in bed, nestled between blankets, freshly shaven and bare safe for you boxers. He wants to rub his stubble against your smooth cheeks press himself against you from chest to thigh and stay there untill he's warm again, he can almost feel you barely awake sour breath brushing against his lips as you pat around fro Simon with your free hand ,your soft sleepy murmuring as they press you between them, his hand on the small of Simon's meaty back, the three of you half asleep yet aware, how right it feels like the twilight zone after a surgery.

Or maybe you'll be up restless and oversimulated from some late night project busying yourself with cooking them an extra early breakfast and he'll get to nudge you away into Simon's waiting arms and take over flipping the pan or watching the soup, you'll all go to bed with full bellies and warm hearts just as you're supposed to. He refuses to think about the possibility of you being distant, cold, unsafe. He doesn't want to confront the things he's had to do to keep his home together, he doesn't want to process the amount of personal and legal boundaries he has completely ignored, how much he's hurt you in retaliation when he swore he'd be better than that.

"Nearly there."

He looks out the car window and sees the quiet, sleepy home, the curtains shut, not a peek of light, you must be in bed then, he's desperate for a bed warm with the scents of his lovers, his steps are slow as he climbs up the stairs, hands firm on the railings ;his bad knee acting up and his stomach knotted tight, eating away at itself. He hopes you've saved him an ice pack like you used to, he hopes you'll rub it better, he hopes you'll allow them the quiet and comfort they need to shake away Soap and Ghost; take off the second skin and and press the raw, fresh one under that against yours.

He stops when he sees Simon standing frozen still on the threshold, his shoulders stiff, he keeps clenching and unclenhiching his fists.

The apartment is dark, quiet, he tastes something rotten on his tongue.

"Something wrong, Si?"

Simon Riley knows hungry houses, he grew up in one. Houses hungry for calm, for warmth, for content residents and calm, quiet night. He knows how they get desolate and rabid when left fasting, waiting for too long, how the bedrooms become mouths full of sharp jagged teeth, how the basement fills with orange acid, how the whole house grows cold and reeks. How everything is crumbling before you can see it.

He had hoped his home, the one he had built up from scraps with you and Johnny would never starve. It had been hungry, he knows that and it had been repaired, fed; after you snapped and struggled fighting against something he knows you need, it had been foreseen, half prepared for.

He stand stock still in the threshold of a house famished, he feels it before he knows it. İt feels liminal somehow, empty the darkened throat of the hallway beckoning him in like a cliff edge. He throws his bag on the floor and takes off his boots flicks on the lights, yells out your name as John barges in, sensing the drastic shift in his mood. The two of them; muscles connected to the same nerve, glued to the same bone.

No answer, he grits his teeth.

"He's not in bed."

Johnny calls from inside the house as Simon looks around, disoriented, terrified and that's when he spots it, your card placed neatly on the kitchen island, next to it; a note.

Something lashes in him like a hissing snake, rattling his ribs and pulling his muscles taut, pulling Ghost with his sure hands and calculating, focused mind back out of the fog.

He wants to vomit.

[brainr0t-landfill]

T

Chapter One: You get baptized.

Captain Price x male reader

(T.W: forcemasc fetish, kidnapping, forced headshave, reader is currently girlmoding, implied stalking, implied cheating)

The road to your new home is long and wet John is stiff in his seat as the cold lights of the bumfuck, misreable town you called home for years bleed across the dark car he wonder if you can see them if you're still awake, rain splashes against his front window.

Wrongness gnaws at something burried deep in his chest even though it's been hours since your struggle has died down; your desperate pleas and pathetic threats muffled by an old rag and held in place by duct tape, all the frantic energy in your soft body weighed down by exhaustion, he feels bad for you so confused and lost but he knows he's doing what's right like his old man always told him.

"No one finds their true love, son."

He'd tell him sitting on his old throne shallow, warm glass of whiskey in hand.

"You make it, wives like your mother are for husbands like me. I didn't find her on the side of the road as she is today, made her i did."

The contradiction is that Senior Price was more shaped by his wife than his wife by him John's mother with her dishwasher white knuckles and red stained lips, an ex whore, a cols blooded creature in a warm home trying to make her claws into wings.

The contradiction is that John never wanted a woman like his mother, never wanted a woman at all.

On the edge of town he stops the truck, turns the engine off and steps outside walks through the murky mud puddles to the trunk pops it and beholds you, curled into yourself with eyes like a desperate dog you thin wrists held together by zip ties, knobby knees knocking against eachother.

He kneels infornt of you on one knee like a crude mockery.

"I know you're confused."

He tells you rubbing across your ribs,

"But in due time you'll get it luv, I'll be so good for ya, never gonna want for nothing y'hear?"

He gives you his best smile but you don't respond he shushes the sniffles with a heavy hand grabbing you by your scruff and dragging you out, you don't struggle at all and he gently rips the tape off it leaves red lines across your pretty, soft cheeks and pink lips glossy with spit.

"Please, please I won't tell anyone I need to go home please please-"

He stands there as you kneel on the ground big paw rubbing at your sore jaw as you work yourself into tears and sobs begging for things you don't want, he sees your eyes stuck where the sun is setting on the other side of the road desire peeking out like teeth.

"Shhh, shhh it's alright now, it's alright"

He tells you as he rubs his hands across your beautiful locks, such a shame

"I'm not gonna hurt ya luv, no, no not at all. But you need to trust me, alright?"

He looks down at you and clicks his tounge in dissapointment but of course, men are proud animals they play best when they think they'll win, they grasp at any chance to prove their loving masters wrong.

"Looky here, let's make a deal, yeah?"

He takes a deep breath and plays a gamble, rolls the dice knowing he holds every card.

"A year, ya stay with me a year, listen, and be good and if by the end of that year ya still wanna go back home, I'll let ya. Hell I'll even drive ya, drop ya off at the door. But untill than you play by my rules, yeah luv?"

He asks and rubs his calloused hand over your cheek watches the war raging behind those eyes.

"O-okay."

You croak out and your trembling seizes as you steel your shoulders.

"Okay, y-you've got a deal, just please don't hurt me."

He pats your head and takes the clippers out, drags you to the gutter, walk you on your knees deep into the filthy water, stains your pretty, modest white skirt not that you'll have much use of it anymore.

You start screaming again struggling like a feral dog, he thinks of what name to give you, dogs get new names after all to know what they should answer to your old one never fit you anyways.

"What are you doing-? What are you-"

He starts it up and runs it across your scalp, your soft hair falling into the water and your sweat stained blouse as be buzzes it all off, there will be better cuts in the feature; neat crew cuts like his in barber shops before your wedding and once every month, routine trims and beard oil.

"Oh don't pretend you don't know luv, look at you! Even with ya short height everybody can tell, ya make such an unconvincing girl, sweets but that's alright. Everybody strays sometimes, not ya fault ya never had anyone to guide ya right, ya just trust me, alright? Ya just trust me."

He burries your face in his crotch to muffle your noises as he shaves your head feels you go limp with shame.

He pities you, he doesn't know what it's like to be seen after a life spent hiding, to be in the light after two decades of chasing it.He strips you off your skirt and blouse there, pockets your jewelry and wedding band takes out your I.D and taps your picture there.

"Ya recognize her?"

Your lips twitch, mishapen face scrunched up in shame.

"No, ya don't, ya never did..."

He thinks for a second, what to name you, who to make you, how to love you.

"Tommy, Tom Price, ya recognize that?"

You nod and he brushes the hair off your scalp as he leads you back to the car, lays you in the back seat to stew, throws his uniform jacket over you.

"Wait-"

He looks down, at you half hidden under the jacket, pulls it further, tucks you in to hide a body that's of the past.

"Yes luv?"

"What's you name?"

He smiles and huffs out a laugh that's been brewing for weeks, weeks and weeks of watching you, feeling your yearning eyes burn kisses on his skin.

"Jonathan, Jonathan Price, ya can call me sir."

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌃Mercurial

ghoap x male reader

Chapter Five: Restless

"It can't be unlearned I've known the warmth of your doorways"

-Hozier, It Will Comeback

Running brings about a sick kind of fun.

It's like the allure of sticking forks into power sockets, like the charm of placing thumb and index finger on each side of a wound, gently pulling to see how deep it goes, how much it will hurt.

it's late at night when Johnny shakes you by the shoulders, ripping the blanket off of you. You're awake laying in the bed by yourself face stinging in the places you picked at your brows and skin you're cold and worse, you're guilty. 

"He's 'ere!"

His sounds relieved like the world has tilted on it's axis and sat just right.

Johnny looks at you again and again, runs his rough hands over your body, presses on your ribs and feels your pulse before you can even speak.

"Wha's goin on?"

You ask trying to feign being sleep drunk. Simon's comes into the room and drops the keys you had left on the coffee table on your bare chest.

"Windows wide open! Front door unlocked! What the fuck were ya thinking?!"

He rips his mask off and tosses it somewhere in the room, his face is sunken ,a butterfly stitch on his cheekbone, eyes like the dead pinning you to the still-cold bed.

"Ya could've been robbed! Kidnapped! Have you lost your damn mind?!"

He growls and it finnaly clicks that they're both swinging, drifting between who they had to be just a few short hours ago and who they can be here, now. It feeds a certain part of you that takes pride in being yelled at, being scrutinized because it means you're noticed, it means you enrage. But you understand that the tension in the room doesn't come from a place of hate or judgement but rather concern, care. It makes you feel awful for neglecting something that had been so important to them since before you were even a thing; your safety. On the other hand it's nice to get a taste of Soap and Ghost every once in a while.

You live on the run, money drains quickly and health declines quicker but it keeps you almost guilt-free and always on edge. Razor sharp, summer coat shedded and winter coat thicker than ever.

Just now do you realize how comfortable you were when you lived with Simon and Johnny because you seek out fear like your life depends on it, you get up and check the door everytime there's a noise, you go through your belongings every time you come back from work to see if they've been messed with. You know full well you're not worth chasing for this long, it's been a weeks, your burner phone doesn't have a calender but you have a vauge understanding that it's been that long, they should be home by now, you hope they're well.

You make a point of not thinking about their reactions when they came home and you were nowhere to be found, phone dead and all your belongings in place, you don't want to imagine the recycled heartbreak in Johnny's face, you don't want to think of Simon seeing what your not-so-recent well behaved behaviour for what it truly was a ploy, an act.

Which feels false when you know you enjoyed those months of peace much more than any period in your relationship, when they got you back from the cabin and slowly got you settled back home, restrictions erased the more trust-worthy you were, bounderies thought over and re-establised. İt granted you ample space to be you in the realtionship, to be demanding, aware, equal.  The pain of hurting them eased by them hurting than healing you. The temporary peace period where you let yourself have the comfort, the warmth of their love in bulk for you'd be without it, for years to come if you were successful.

You don't deserve warmth, and you foolishly though you could just take a peek through the door.

You wonder if they think you've been kidnapped, you wonder if they finnaly accepted that's it better for them if they cut ties with you, you wonder if your belongings ended up in the trash or the local goodwill or if Johnny's wearing your old band tee to bed, you wonder if Simon's gotten himself a new mechanic to maintain his car, you hope he has.

Sometimes you think about settling ,about finnaly accepting that you're not worth the work it takes to hunt for this long, sometimes you want to relax and stay for a bit longer and sometimes -shamefully- you dream of being found again, brought back home; because that's what it is and that's what it will always be. It's easy to convince yourself that the road is your home when you're living like this, untethered and nihilistic but you can't help the longing you have for the music Simon would put on before bed, the framed happy pictures on the walls, Johnny's cooking after a hard long day at work, you know the orange light spilling out of the windows now through the crack between patterned curtains, of the warmth when the three of you lay together.

It's nothing but longing you remind yourself , you don't have a place there anymore, you never did.

You hop from town to town not thinking, not feeling, not hurting or at least you try to and you press salt on the fresh wound by conjuring up images and phantoms of them when there is none.

[brainr0t-landfill]

This this this forever we love our over-formal queen give her some respect

me genuinely tweaking when i read fics where farah speaks english informally and uses contractions instead of how she actually speaks in the game (will not instead of won’t, i am instead of i’m, etc)

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌅Sea Salt

A quick, tipsy charecter study on The Plague.

"God entered my body like a body my same size."

-???

(tw: literally the bubonic plague, mention of murder and self harm, religious mania, martry complex)

Adiris can feel the sea in her body, churning in her muscles, salting her wounds, rushing in her veins and lungs. Foaming out of her pores in gruesome ways, granting her growth, granting her transcendence.

Her face rots with sacred fever riding her left eye of seeing evil and making her think twice about preaching falsehoods, her skin blooms unable to accommodate god's blessing untill it deflates and settles, painted in gods flourishing green and mesmerising purple.

She has long been more than that faithful little girl, praying at cliffsides for The Sea Goat to hear the voices of their courages and sacred marttries, she grew bigger with the love of her tutor ,then the faith of her god, filling her censer with wood and letting her will be as swift and powerful as the waves that crash on shores, wearing down ancient rocks, letting her tears be as soothing and pourposefyl as they spotted her father's broken, charred face.

By the blood of her severed toe and by the whispers of the beyond she is the high priestesses, her shadow stretching, contorting to accommodate all of her beautiful people His subjects and children that he has elected her to, her voice amplified and granted by the Sea Goat.

So when the sickness spreads and bubbles up from her skin like water from the ground, like blood from a heart she knows that her suffering is not without meaning, she knows this is growth in the most sacred way, for it is with the blessing and guidance of her god who has blessed her with the sea; in her bones, in her movement, in her service to him and all of his subjects.

She kneels in a cave knees planted in a pool of her own vomit surrounded by her children, granted by him, surrounded by his hands, his breath, stands at the alter with her hands raised preaching his words that he delivers in whispers and shimmery golden fog, she kneels by his remains dressed by his word and pruified by it, she stands washing blood off her hands as the sea splits open on her back, she stands before the elders granted a privilege most honored.

She is pure, she is good this she had always been certain of; so when her vision becomes dotted and her hands clasped in prayer freeze, when her soaked, putried cloak merges with her melting skin, when her followers call out to her, in pained cries and illegible screams she knows there is The Beyond waiting for them; clean and golden.

She sends one last prayer up to him from torn, burning lips barely curling around the words, from a swollen tounge that tastes of salt and acid, from her most obedient, lovin daugter.

"Let our voices reach the beyond-"

She whispers her rings digging into her flesh, the colour of filthy rubies and emralds, fool's gold.

"Us, your sacred children, us your most devoted, us at your feet my great father. Grant whatever wrong doing and sin they have unto me and let me suffer in their place, I will honour you so, this I promise you. Deliver us to your mouth, let our voices reach the beyond."

And as the gentle embrace of her god surrounds her, she takes one last, shuddering breath her followers' voices drowned out in the feverish whispering and the sound of waves against her rotted skull.

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌇Push/Pull

gn! reader x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

"The kindness of strangers and the strangeness of everyone I know has just fucked with my heart."

-Flower Face, Honey and Milk

(tw:co-depandancey, unhealthy relationship)

Kyle is watching you get ready. He's watching you put on his favourite shirt, the one that sticks to the shape of your waist, he watches as you sling on the belt that he likes to hook his finger between when his hands get sweaty from holding your waist, he watches you put on the sunscreen, the Chapstick he bought you, the same brand as his ex but different flavour, the flavour he revealed in licking off his lips in the afterglow of your quick, chaste kisses.

And he's seething.

"So Fiona introduced me to some folks and we're meeting at the park today-"

Well maybe seething isn't the right word, maybe off-put describes his feelings better, maybe saying he feels left out or underappreciateed is much more appropriate.

"-and she asked me again why you can't come and I told her-"

"I can't come because I'm still injured from the last misson love, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"Right, that's what I told her and-"

It's not that he doesn't like you going out, he does! He likes to strut around his pretty baby, he glows whenever he gets to show you off to the friends and colleagues that he goes on and on to you about. Whenever they say as long as he's happy he smiles, leans down to kiss your cheek, he's happy he's so happy.

Happier than ever.

Or at least he used to be.

"-and she said we could just sit at a café and talk or do something else but I said-"

"You said I fucking hate coffee right? And that I don't want to be around your group of brain-dead, usless-"

He stops himself takes a deep breath that stings his ribs, forces his disdain down.

"-friends?"

You freeze hands on hold as their buttoning up your pants and he gets to drink in every little shift on your face, once upon a time he had an abundant source of them now he gets scraps.

He knows it's unfair, since most of them are his friends or people from his circle but he'd do anything to get some more of you.

"Something along those lines."

"That's my pretty baby."

Kyle met you in a small, underfunded museum.

As a British patriot he likes to stroll around, check out new art exhibits, museums, statues. He likes to keep his pointer finger on the pulse of things and luckily for him he found you there, tucked behind a birch desk eyes wet and reddened nose pinkish from cold like a little rabbit, shaking ,frozen fingers constantly tucking in your scarf that kept coming undone.

"So we're going to the park to see the new flowers set up-"

By then you were still fairly new to London, to it's frigid, charecteristic weather. 

Just a bleak foreign student trying to work and study but you were the most inept, socially incapable thing he'd ever seen.

Try as he might he could never picture you raising your hand in class, asking for notes or showing anyone but him around the displays he couldn't picture you anywhere else either, it was like they had placed you here then built the decaying museum around you.

"-then we're gonna go to that bookshop Mark's been going on and on about-"

You were stuttery, overly apologetic, the only attendant in a cramped museum where half the displays were badly kept and the rest were moldy due to the leaking roof but Kyle liked you, he liked the way you talked the way you gushed on and on about the exhibits in that fast paced, high pitched voice of yours like you were desperate for anyone to listen to you, like any attention shown to you, like you were desperate for anyone's light to stay on you long enough to warm your clammy skin.

He liked that. Like feeling important, big, sought after.

"-then we'll probably visit the mall where you first introduced me to them, since its the anniversary of our friendship and all!"

He cringes at the over-emotional sentiment.

Then you moved in with him, Kyle was used to living with someone he often boosted about his independencey but he had first moved out with his childhood sweetheart who he was sure he'd marry and then there had always been someone to keep the house alive when he was away working and you had easily filled that role.

"It's so nice being able to go out in public without feeling like I'm gonna heel over and die y'know?"

"Tell me about it."

You stayed inside most of the time but you did your best to contribute to rent and keep the house in order, you often cooked for him too and Kyle realized the whole bit about soldiers and the way to their hearts wasn't that far off. 

He doesn't remember when the two of you started dating it wasn't a big deal it was the natural conclusion of things, you moved from the floor mattress to the couch to his bed.

And he restocked his diwindling supply of condoms.

"Are you...mad? Kyle ,you know I can stay in if you don't wanna be alone or if this is bad day or-"

"Did I say that?"

You quickly went from being the tiniest, most pathetic thing he'd seen to being a inconsequential thing with benefits then before he knew it you were the thing that pulled him out of bed every morning, the thing that gave him purpose, kept him warm and full of hope like light crawling out from under a doorway. He associates you with warm bedsheets, the last candle during a power shortage, breakfast for dinner, home; he doesn't dare wonder what you associate him with.

Then your first panic attack happened.

"Did I say one bloody thing that even mildly implied that lovely?"

"Well no but-"

It had been a regular morning till he saw you curled into yourself in bed breathing heavily, eyes unfocussed.

 He hadn't even needed to ask what was wrong, he just wrapped his arms around you and pressed his nose to the side of your hair, breathes in the smell of your anxious sweat, listened to your sharp quick breaths.

He remembers feeling this intense sense of gratitude, of privilege. He was the only one that got to see these, got to see you. He was trusted, entitled. 

He was loved and loving.

"Then don't pull shit out your ass."

It was addictive, you were addictive.

Never before had he a lover so colorful, so twitchy and moist, you made life fun and he was cold when he met you.

He desperately wishes now that he had kept you to himself, that he hadn't introduced you to his friends ,his colleagues he hadn't wanted you to go on searching for new horizons he had just wanted to show off his perfect lover, his one in a thousand that followed him home.

"I-I know Kyle I'm sorry, I really am."

"I know you are, you always are, go hang out with your dumb mates, remember to pick up groceries on the way back, yeah? Miss your cooking."

"Oh already did yesterday, with Burns! Pasta dinner tonight?"

And now you're leaving him, leaving him sprawled and injured on the bed as you go on and expose his precious to other people, he tries to be happy for you and he is.

 He's happy that you're better , that you're back in the cycle of life, back in the crowd like any other civilian but what about him?

You bend down placing a hand on his chest as you press firm, sweet kisses all over his face starting from his brow and ending on his lips, no one reaches for him like you do, no one makes him as warm ad you, he's aware he only has a small pocket of light left before his vanity wears off.

He lays there soaking it in, you pull back too quick.

"I'll pick up our meds and some pesto for you while I'm out okay?"

He nods as he watches you leave but when he licks his lips it's not the familiar taste of artificiall cherry that he'd grown accustomed to, it's apple.

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌃 Mercurial Masterlist 🌃

About: Ghoap x male reader

Reader: Male, very vauge descriptions

T.W List: Unhealthy relationship, kidnapping, obsessive behaviour, unreliable narrator, self-hatred, (always check chapter tags please)

Status: Ongoing

Inspiration: @peachesofteal (Dead Disco<3)

Old game, new rules

Chapter One: Abstain

Chapter Two: Hunger

Chapter Three: Devour

Chapter Four: Nasuea

Chapter Five: Restless