#and then shooting its ass down with its own gun

[steampunktomboy]

Currently playing through half life 2 and as it turns out it really is that good

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

House Warming | Bang Chan

•Synopsis: You've worked your ass off to finally get a place of your own and now your friends are throwing you a house warming party. However, you get a house warming gift you weren't expecting.

•Pairings: au Bang Chan x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, masturbation (m. caught), unprotected, friends to lovers, fluff ending

an: this was inspired by this clip here

(be advise before clicking as it is nsfw ⚠️ volume warning as well)

Want more smut? Follow the 🍌

You finally did it. Your countless nights of hard work have paid off, and now you've got your own place. The eight men you've known and loved for six years throw you a housewarming party. It's loud and chaotic, with the scent of food wafting through the air, and you wouldn't have it any other way. But someone is missing.

"Hey, Bin?" you call, walking up to Changbin, who is currently hanging onto Hyunjin and giggling. "Have you seen Chan?"

"Yeah, he said he was going inside to get more meat," he tells you before resuming his affection-filled suffocation of Hyunjin. The latter silently pleads for your help, but there's nothing to be done once Binnie decides on something.

You step into the cool air-conditioned space that is now yours and walk into the kitchen, but there's no sign of Chan anywhere. Did he leave? Surely he would have said something before leaving. You're about to head back outside to ask around some more when you hear a faint, muffled growl from down the hall. You don't have a dog, and neither Han nor Hyunjin brought theirs over, so out of curiosity, you go to search for the source of the sound.

Slowly, you creep down the hall, your steps muted against the cream-colored carpet as you follow the soft growling that's soon accompanied by quiet panting. The closer you get to your bedroom, the louder the sound becomes, sounding more desperate by the second. When you're just outside the cracked door to your bedroom, you hear the slick, wet sounds, the desperate groans, and the creak of your mattress.

Peeking through the cracked door, you see Chan bare from the waist down, legs spread and head thrown back as he pumps his thick, hard cock into his hand. Your breath hitches at the sight, and desire shoots through you instantly. You can feel your body react, your pussy growing wetter at the sight of Chan in your bed fucking his fist. Your pussy instinctively clenches at the raw and primal sounds. He leans back on one hand, thrusting his hips upwards and groaning louder.

"Yeah… fuck, Y/N. Oh yeah!" he growls, precum flowing heavily from the head of his cock.

You bite your bottom lip to stifle the surprise gasp. Six years of friendship, and you never would have guessed that Chan would be attracted to you, never would have even guessed that he lusted over you. He did, though. For so long, he wanted you. Under him, on top of him. He thought of you in every position every single day. It made making music a little difficult, but he'd just lock the door to his studio, dim the lights inside the pale green room, and rub one out. Maybe two or three, depending on how vivid his imagination was that day or if you had made a surprise visit like you usually do.

Today, what did it for him was the beautiful, flowy summer dress you wore. He lost it when you got into a water gun fight with Seungmin, Felix, Jisung, and Jisung's girlfriend, Jade. The water made your bra just slightly visible under the summer sun, its rays drying up the water that made droplets on your skin. He made the excuse to get more meat for Minho as he grilled various things. On the way to the bathroom, he noticed your bedroom door was open, and from there he just felt compelled to step inside.

The space already smelled like you, which made his cock harder. He sat on the edge of your bed and imagined you straddling him, grinding your pussy along his hard length, coating the thickness in your juices. He couldn't control himself. The smell of you surrounding him was too much.

"Fuck! Oh my gosh!" he thrusts upwards, so much precum dribbling down his cock that the slick sounds echo off the bare walls along with his moaning.

He'd been pumping away at his cock for five minutes before you found him, and he could feel the tightening sensation building. If he knew you were watching, he'd quickly scramble up and embarrassingly utter some lame apology while covering himself. There was a thrill for him in possibly getting caught, but he soon forgot where he was, and his grunts became louder.

"So close, Y/N. That's it, baby girl, fucking ride me," he mumbles through gritted teeth.

Without thinking, you walk into the room, shutting and locking the door behind you swiftly. The soft click is drowned out by his desperation. Chan doesn't look up, not until your hands are on his shoulders and you're sinking down onto him. The brief flicker of fear in his eyes is replaced with desire when he's fully inside you.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. Didn't… fuck, didn't mean for you to see me," he grunts, hands flying to your waist.

"Shush, Channie. Just fuck me," you tell him, grinding your hips into his, and he's thrusting up, meeting you halfway.

"Oh my gosh, Y/N. So wet. For me, yeah?"

"Yes, oh my fuck… yes. For you, Chan. S—so big, mm!"

"You take it so well, beautiful. Fuck, keep going, keep fucking me, baby," he tells you, thrusting faster up into you, making you bounce on his cock.

Your fingers dig into the black T-shirt over his shoulders, protecting him from you marking him. His arms wrap around you, and he buries his face into your chest, biting down on your breast over the cotton of your dress. You cry out, arching your back, forcing your breast closer to him, feeling that coil inside you threatening to snap.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his hips snapping forward harder, faster.

You can barely breathe, barely think. "Harder," you beg. "Please."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His pace quickens, his thrusts harder, deeper. It's almost too much, almost too intense, but it's perfect. It's exactly what you need.

"Gosh, you're amazing," he says, his voice rough with passion. "So fucking amazing."

You can feel the tension building, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly. "Chan, I'm close," you warn, your voice breathless.

"Me too," he says. "Fuck, me too." He groans, his movements becoming more frantic, more urgent. "Cum for me. Cum for me, Y/N," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "I want to feel you cum."

His hand slips between you, finding your clit, and it's enough. It's too much. You come apart, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, and you cry out, your nails digging into his back.

"Fuck, yes!" he groans, and then he's cumming too, his hips stuttering, his release hot and wet inside you.

The world shatters around you as you climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you in a rush of ecstasy. You cry out his name, your body convulsing around him as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

He collapses backward onto the mattress, pulling you with him, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. For a long moment, you lie there, wrapped in each other's arms, lost in the aftermath of what you've done. A giggle bubbles up, and then you both are fully laughing together.

"Some housewarming gift, Channie. Now what do we tell the others?" you say with a smile, looking down at him.

He captures your lips, and when he pulls back, he gives you a wide grin, showing off those disarming dimples. "We'll just tell them I made a fool of myself and you couldn't resist it."

You swat at him playfully, and he chuckles, pulling you in for another kiss that would have led to another round if the sound of your names being called didn't stop you.

"Laters, yeah?" Chan whispers, holding you tighter.

"Laters."

Tag List | Tag List Request

@resi4skz @3rachasninja @moonlightndaydreams @rylea08 @hanjiphile @krayzieestay @oddracha @ldysmfrst

[frudoo]

Mountain Man!Price save me… save me…

Warnings: SMUT. Unprotected PIV, creampie ofc y’all know me. Also mentions of guns + hunting deer. Fem!Reader.

MDNI

“You see that one there?” John’s voice is low but not quite a whisper, using his pinky finger to point out a huge buck a couple hundred yards away from where the two of you are planted on the ground.

“Yeah,” You reply softly, keeping a watchful eye on the creature as it takes a drink of water from the creek.

“That’s who we want. Get a dozen meals offa him, easy,” he responds, pulling back from the scope to look back at you with a grin. “Wanna give it a go?”

Your eyes widen and you laugh softly, shaking your head. When you agreed to join him on his hunt, you were under the impression that you’d be acting as moral support, not as an accessory to… deer murder. You’ll cook the meat all day long, but actually killing the poor thing is a far different story.

“Nope, all yours, sugar,” You huff, glancing back at the big buck who was now feasting on a berry bush.

“C’mon, love, ‘fore we miss him,” John insists, lifting his arm and beckoning you closer with a jerk of his head.

You sigh heavily, scrunching your face as the dangling strands on the sleeve of his ghillie suit tickle you. He readjusts the rifle until the heel rests on your shoulder, gently explaining how to rest your head until your eye meets the scope and you can see through it clearly. Suddenly, the tattoos on his biceps make a lot more sense—what you thought were nonsensical spheres and lines are actually a common perspective for your man.

“Yeah, perfect. Don’t let him outta your sight, I’m just gonna…” John trails off, carefully bringing his arm back down and climbing partially on top of you. “Sorry, darlin’, it’s easier for me to show you this way.”

He positions your hand around the grip and your pointer finger on the trigger, then switches off the safety. Once he’s ensured that everything is properly structured, John rests his chin on your shoulder opposite of where the gun is. Your breath hitches in your throat as you try your hardest to keep your attention on the deer, but it’s hard when your husband’s hot breath is blowing against your face and his weight is pressing into you from above.

You try to get back in the zone by adjusting your body, but only succeed in pushing your ass back against his crotch. The low groan that emits from his throat makes you whimper and repeat the action, earning yourself a tut into your ear.

“Focus, baby, or we don’t eat for the next week,” John warns through gritted teeth, desperately holding himself back from grinding up against you.

Biting your lip, you allow your eye to focus on the deer once again, watching him strut to the next bush covered in vibrant red berries. The buck chomps down on a cluster of fruit gracefully, chewing slowly, unaware of the bullet you plan to shoot right into his heart. You suck in a deep breath, slowly start to press down on the trigger, but before you get the chance to fire, a pair of familiar lips attach to your neck hungrily. Your fingers clench out of instinct and the rifle goes off, but instead of hitting its target it buries itself somewhere in the dirt while the buck sprints away to safety.

Gasping, you drop the gun and push it away from you, turning your head back to look at John with furrowed eyebrows. His face is flushed beneath the streaks of green and black paint he had you smear across his skin, eyes wild with the telltale glint of lust.

“John, I had him! Why-”

“Fuck the deer,” He growls, no longer attempting to push down his desires and instead covering your body entirely with his own. “Got my own pretty, wide-eyed doe right here.”

John grasps your throat and tilts your head back so that his mouth can hastily smash against yours. His tongue shoves its way past your lips, tasting your shock, devouring the unspoken questions that dissolved before they got the chance to slip out. You don’t hesitate to kiss back, eyelids falling shut as his big hands glide between your body and the dewy grass to fumble with your cargos. The button snaps a little harsher than it should and you already know you’re gonna need to sew a new one on when you get back to the cabin.

“Fuck, your cunt’s already so damn wet,” John exhales heavily as he pulls your pants and knickers down just past your hips, exposing your ass and the glistening slick that’s collected between your thighs. “My cock’s just gonna slip right in.”

You whine at that, arching your back in invitation. John hisses and smacks one of your asscheeks hard enough to sting his palm. He chuckles at the little squeal you let out before sitting up on his knees and shoving down the pants of his ghillie suit just enough to expose his dick. It’s already throbbing, fully erect and dripping pearls of precum onto your raw skin. He glides the engorged tip through your warm folds before sliding home in one deep thrust.

The two of you shudder in sync as he bottoms out, hitting the barrier of your cervix with a blissful, dull pinch. John wraps one arm around your neck, allowing you to rest your head on his bicep as he holds himself up with his opposite elbow.

“Fuckin’ deep, ain’t it?” He grunts, punctuating each word with a strong pump of his hips.

“So deep,” you confirm with a gurgle, cheeks completely squashed between the fat and muscle of his bicep and forearm. “Feels so good, John.”

“I know it does, my sweet doe.”

Every thrust is devastating, the veins and ridges of his fat cock rubbing perfectly against the sensitive walls of your tight pussy. Raspy groans fall from his lips and echo into your ear as he nibbles on the lobe, the sound of skin on skin ricocheting throughout the busy woods along with your pretty moans. The head of his dick punches against that rough spot that makes you scream, and he chuckles, angling his hips so that he can make you see stars over and over again.

“That’s right, love, scream for me. Let the fuckin’ mockingbirds hear you, so every single soul that comes through here knows how pretty you sound when I make you cum. Yeah, just like that, baby, sing for me, sing for the birds.”

His words encourage you to obey, your cunt clamping down on him like it’s trying to keep his cock inside permanently. Rivulets of slick cream cling to every inch of his dick as he buries his face in your neck, uncaring of how the strands of his ghillie suit brush against your skin, overwhelming your senses. With a final thrust, he pushes himself deep and releases his potent load into your willing womb, spurts of his seed painting your walls an off-white.

Once the two of you have calmed down, breathing evening out, John gently pulls out and shimmies your panties and cargos back up your hips, effectively keeping his cum contained. He moves from on top of you and stands, pulling his own pants up and tucking away his spent cock, then throws the rifle over his back. You’re utterly useless, laying on the grass and mumbling something incoherent. Your lover just chuckles and scoops you up into his arms, carrying you back to the cabin, safe, warm and definitely planning to have leftover soup for dinner once again.

(When he returns to the woods the next day for a successful hunt without your distracting presence, he hears an awfully familiar call from a certain bird in one of the trees.)

[lalunanymph]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 — sylus

୨୧ meeting him meant the end of your innocence and ignorance

✧.* warnings: suggestive, hunter/prey dynamic, sylus has issues™, mentions of death, mentions of blood, making out, finger sucking, just sylus being a tease

✧.* this my chemical romance edgelord looking ass evil man has got me by the cl!t </3 i cant stop the sylus brainrot help

The sole of your mud-splattered boot splashes into a puddle of filthy water, soaking the hem of your Hunters’ pants. 

Hot breaths spill from your parted lips, and you glance back, full of panic, trying and failing to catch the barest hint of a shadowy figure spilling closer towards you.

Nothing.

But, that doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet. 

Doubling your speed, you tighten your grip on your gun, feeling the hard handle slipping between your clammy hands. 

“Damn it,” cursing under your breath, you make a sharp turn, and find yourself face-to-face with a wall. Using your Resonance, you feel for the potential threat, breaths rising and falling sharply as your watch beeps your coordinates back to your anxious teammates.

The second your whereabouts were exposed, you feared what the repercussions would be for allowing yourself to be drawn into such a risky mission. 

Captain Jenna has already warned you not once but twice for going after Onychinus on your own. 

Defying her once again, you fear it would be the last time you would ever hear her sharp words or firm tone. 

A crunch of leaves overhead startles you, and you swivel with your gun raised, eyes darting everywhere in the vicinity. The smell of rubbish burns through your nose, and coupled with the sharp sting of your sweat, it nearly makes you sick with nausea. 

Panic infuses through you, rendering you mute and unable to move when you hear a slow, dark chuckle emanating from the shadows.

He appears, dressed in all black, strands of silvery hair falling right into his deep eyes; your worst nightmare coming to life. 

“There you are,” he seems to purr, deep baritone dragging through each syllable; hammering in how defenseless and trapped you were. “I never thought I’d ever see a day when a Hunter finally becomes the hunted.”

Sylus—head of Onychinus—approaches you with a slow smile spreading across his striking face. His tall stature and fitted clothes, in every shade of black you can imagine, is exacerbated by the crow perched right on his shoulder, its blood-red pupils widening at the scent of your fear. Despite the dangerous aura surrounding him, he could easily pass as a gentleman walking down the streets of Linkon City—eccentric and grinning. 

“You’ll never get away with this.” 

Your words, meant to be a threat, only serves to amuse him further. 

“Oh? Isn’t that what every good guy says?” Approaching you closer, he doesn’t pay any mind to the nozzle of your gun digging right into his chest. He knows you can’t shoot him; you still need your answers. “And then, inevitably, they all turn out to be wrong.”

A flash of red. Your arm seizes and goes limp, the gun in your hands tumbling to the ground; pained cries reverberating across the alleyway. The crow on his shoulder caws, flapping its wings in excitement. 

He grabs your face, digging his nails into the fat of your cheeks. “Pretty little hunter,” Sylus coos again, and this time, pushes you to your feet, controlling your movements with his Evol so you have no choice but to be the puppet at the end of his strings. 

Your legs spread without your consent, and your back meets the wall. 

Sylus watches, those sharp eyes ever mysterious and waiting. He doesn’t lunge or immediately savor your helplessness; letting you stew in your panic and loss of control. 

“Wh-wait,” you splutter. “Don’t do this—”

“Is this not what you were hungering for, my little hunter?” As he speaks, he advances towards you, every heavy footfall spiking fear in your chest. “You knew what you were getting yourself into when you tried to pursue me. So,” he stops in front of you, bending down close enough for his breath to touch your cheek. “Why the hesitation now?” 

“How do you know about my heart condition?” you demand, referring to the encrypted video he sent you a few days ago meant to lure you out into the open. “No one else knows that besides my grandmother.”

Sylus arches one dark brow, cocking his head to the side to truly study the mutiny on your face.

“And how are you so sure your grandmother was the only one with such classified information?” 

This asshole. He was never going to give you a straight answer. You had walked right into his trap.

Trying to move your limbs was futile. You were fully under his mercy. 

The stench of your entire situation grows harder to ignore. You replay every single moment which led you right in this situation. 

A shady video sent straight to your Hunter’s Watch. The dark background and the modulated voice whispering how you can get your answers if you meet him right at the docks at exactly one in the morning. Ignoring Xavier’s concern and Jenna’s suggestion for you to take a partner. Nero, who usually supported your crazy ideas, was for once hesitant when he inspected the video. They never expected you to take this on by yourself—for you to act this recklessly.

And tonight, you would die without any of them knowing the truth.

You want to shout, to tell the entire world that the leader of Onychinus is right in front of you. But, you cannot find  your voice. 

Sylus is close enough for the sharpness of his cologne to fill your nostrils. You can barely move your hand to press the alert button on your watch; your movements are restricted by this dangerous Evol you don’t think you’ve ever encountered.

“Tell me, why do you seek such answers when you do not know the magnitude of their implications?” 

His voice is saccharine sweet, condescending to a fault. 

Scoffing, you turn your face away, unable to look him in the eyes long enough.

“I guess… I want to know why my grandmother and Caleb had to die.”

The admission feels like a punch to your gut. To anyone else, your voice remains steady and firm. But, it took a special sort of psychopath to hear the tremble at the tailend of your sentence and yet, choose to laugh.

“Ah. Yes. I can answer that one for you—Onychinus did not cause the death of your grandmother and friend.” Nothing about tonight’s encounter could prepare you for what he has to say next. 

“You might want to look a little closer to home.”

Closer to… home? 

The confusion in your eyes is his aphrodisiac, and his nostrils flare; getting off on your distress.

“The Hunters,” he clarifies; tone like a teacher speaking down to a toddler. “Don’t you think it strange that they never investigated what happened to your family? Or, did a postmortem on your grandmother’s remains?” 

He’s speaking circles around you, intentionally messing with your mind. 

And yet, a seed of doubt begins to take root. You have to physically clench down on your fists to stop from lashing out at him; Jenna’s sympathetic expression, the doctors who told you that there was no feasible way they could glean what happened to your grandmother and Caleb without at least 85% of the body intact.

An accident. An anomaly. That was how they classified your family’s demise.

You weren’t even allowed to have a closed coffin funeral for them. 

His thumbs touch your cheek, swiping the tears away in a gesture far too intimate for a man who was meeting you for the first time tonight.

“Ever since I first saw you, you’ve done nothing but invade my thoughts.”

Your back melts off the wall and meets the ground, his entire weight pressed on top of you. He has you right under him with nowhere to go, and you can’t even call for help, those long, elegant fingers sliding right into your mouth, forcing you to suck on them.

“My pretty little stubborn Hunter,” he whispers. 

You know the look in his eye; the one men would get when they’re crossing the threshold of claiming the object they’ve been seeking for years. It’s the same look in Xavier’s eyes whenever you accidentally graze his thigh, or how Zayne’s expression visibly darkens when you call him ‘doctor’. It’s the same look Rafayel gives you when you say you want nothing more than to be by his side forever.

Desire.

And fear. 

Sylus swallows hard, and you’re surprised to find his touch faltering. Those magnetically dark eyes could engulf you whole, growing closer and closer until you’re forced to close your own eyes; his lips the first spark that sets your entire world ablaze.

Devouring you like you were oxygen in a deprived world, Sylus kisses are brutal and hard, nipping at your lips, forcing his tongue into your mouth so you have no choice but to choke on your own spit. A dark shadow flits overhead, its caws filling the night air with rampant euphoria. 

He is too forward… this is going much too fast…

“Do you not like it when intentions are made known to you?” He tugs at your bottom lip, smirking at your faltering expression when you realize you’ve spoken those words aloud.

You struggle against him, trying to turn your face away, but Sylus will not relent his grip on your cheeks. 

“Why?” you gasp. “Why are you treating me like this when we both are on different sides?” Struggling to push him away, you’re overtaken once again by his mouth moving down your jaw, caressing your pulse point and traversing down the column of your throat. Kisses which feel more like a possessive mark.  

“Who said we were any different?” He murmurs, and you have no choice but to voice out your disbelief.

“I’m a Hunter. You’re an illegal weapons seller. My job is to stop you—oh.” 

He kneads your hip roughly with one hand, expression open with want. You can’t formulate a single coherent thought, your vision purely dominated by the halo of his silver hair and those deep, impenetrable dark eyes. 

“No,” his deep voice intones, sending shivers up your spine. “You have no idea. We are more similar than you think.” 

Holding secrets you weren’t aware of, Sylus didn’t know where to start; how to make you believe him.

So, he settles for pinning you against the ground, your wrists held above your head and your body trapped under his bigger build.

“Heed my words, little Hunter,” he whispers, and there’s a look in his eye, an unfathomable emotion you wanted to unravel but it was gone the second you dared to look closer. “Do not trust what you think is the truth.”

Before your eyes, he dissipates to smoke, small flecks of blood landing on your cheeks and parted mouth. His raven caterwauls, inducing goosebumps across your entire body as it spirals into the night sky, disappearing from view.

You turn onto your hands and knees, spitting out the blood, wiping it off your cheeks with frantic swipes. 

Someone calls your name, and you don’t realize how badly you’re shivering until a warm embrace engulfs you.

“Oh, Y/N,” Xavier exhales, bringing you closer to the streetlamp light so he can scrutinize your face. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

Thumbing the blood from your face, you nod, murmuring, “This isn’t mine.”

 Xavier opens his mouth, about to ask you what exactly happened when your Hunter Watch went off the grid when Jenna pushes through the alley, her gun at the ready, mouth set into a grim line.

“Y/N. You’re safe.” 

Accepting Xavier’s outstretched hand, you stood up with his help. Jenna shines a flashlight on your face, momentarily blinding you.

“Is that your blood?” she demands, sounding like she was a second away from giving you the lecture of a lifetime. 

You grimace, and Xavier tightens his grip around your waist.

“Captain, we should take her back for an inspection—”

“Agreed,” Jenna cuts him off, then narrows her eyes as she leans closer. “Is that… a mark on your neck? And your lips—they’re quite swollen.”

Slapping a hand to your mouth, you shake your head, hoping your wide, pleading eyes will get them to drop this. Next to you, Xavier stiffens, those blue eyes going glacial as he sweeps them all over your disheveled frame. It’s unavoidable that he comes to such assumptions based on your appearance. 

But, rather than lashing out in jealousy, he reels it in, choosing to steer you back towards safety.

“Whatever happened, you can tell us later. We need to get you checked up.”

His grip digs into your skin, and you don’t know what to say once the inevitable interrogation comes up.

How could you divulge all that Sylus had said without putting Xavier in a predicament between trusting you or being loyal to an organization he serves well? 

If what the Onychinus leader said was true, you couldn’t trust Captain Jenna either. 

And Tara…

Everything dear in your world begins to blur, infecting the foundations of your love for the people you trust; making them crack and crumble. 

Xavier, Jenna, Tara, Nero… did they all know what happened to your family but refused to tell you the truth? 

You had no idea how to react; you couldn’t wrap your head around such a betrayal if the truth were to come to light.

You think you could probably destroy the entire Organization with your bare hands if what Sylus said was true. 

Abovehead, somewhere in the trees, a raven caws—a harbinger of worse things to come.

a/n. save me emo edgelord crow boy save me .... reblogs and feedback are appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunaymph. do not copy, repost, translate or share across any other platform

[slut4thebroken]

Ruin

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | Jason punishes you after you disobey him.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, knifeplay, blood, cutting, brief use of guns, bondage, ruined orgasms, overstimulation, denial, pain play, sex toys, dacryphilia, hard to soft dom Jay, established relationship.

Words | 3.3 k

Notes | For reader’s suit, imagine Black Windows’s but it’s not one whole piece, it’s a top and a bottom but still in the same style. (And yes… part of this was based on a video😭)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“You disobeyed a direct order!” He seethed, slamming the front door shut. You huffed and turned around to face him with your arms crossed. 

“Well, your order was shit.” You shrugged, making his jaw clench as he exhaled through his nose. 

“If you can’t do what you’re told then you can’t work with me.” 

“You mean work for you.” You narrowed your eyes at him and he scoffed. “Why can’t you just admit that you were wrong for once and I made the right call.” Your voice started to raise again. 

“You could have died! And all because, what? Your pride?” He asked in disbelief. 

“But I didn’t!”

“Because I had to fucking save your ass!” 

You and Jason have always been too similar. A lot of the same things set you off, you’re both too cocky, care too much about your pride and ego. And you can bet that if one starts screaming, the other will too. Your anger fuels his, just like his fuels yours. 

“I’m not one of your little underlings that has to follow your every command, Jason. And if that’s what you think, you need to get your head out of your ass.” Your voice was lower now, but still full of malice. 

“You know what, princess?” He started stalking toward you but you held your ground. “I think you’ve forgotten your place. And I’m going to remind you.”

“Oh fuck off, Todd.” You watched the muscles in his jaw tense. You never call him by his last name unless he’s really pissing you off. Before you could even blink, his hand was in your hair, pulling your head back and moving you closer to him. His breath fanned your lips but you made sure to keep the scowl on your face. 

“Fuck you.” You hissed, debating if you should spit in his face or not. Instead, you grabbed a knife from your pants and held it up to his neck. He gave you an unimpressed look and then his gun was under your chin. So you used your second hand to do the same with your own gun. His grip tightened on your hair and you both just stared at each other, having a silent battle for dominance. Despite the fact that you’re both bluffing, you pressed the knife harder against his skin, watching a small bead of blood fall to his collarbone. 

“Everything you do right now I’m going to do ten times worse to you in a few minutes.” He warned, not even flinching at the blade piercing his skin. You stared at him with narrowed eyes, but you could feel your confidence and dominance start to break— the submissive part of you forcing its way up through the cracks. You clenched your jaw and hardened your gaze, willing it to go back down. But Jason already knew. You could tell by the way his lips were slowly curling up into a smirk. 

“Put the knife away, baby.” You ignored the butterflies from the pet name and glared at him. 

“Keep patronizing me and I’ll cut out your vocal cords.” You spat. 

“I’m sure you will, princess.” He smirked and you fucking knew he said it with that tone specifically because of what you just said. You breathed heavily as you seethed, his low laughter only fueling your anger. With a growl, you shoved his chest— you weren’t strong enough to actually move him, but he humored you by moving with the force, letting go of your hair. 

“Keep taunting me, princess and I’ll shoot you.” You pointed the gun at him, clenching your jaw. 

“Oh yeah?” He smirked, clearly entertained by your outburst. He was on you in a second, pushing the gun to the side and forcing the knife out of your hand, making you whimper when he bent your wrist the wrong way. Once he disarmed you, he placed a hand on your neck and quickly pushed you back until you hit the wall with a grunt. 

“You need to learn your fucking place.” He growled, squeezing your neck. 

“You’re supposed to teach me?” You scoffed, adding gasoline to the fire. Instead of reacting with anger like you thought he would, his eyes darkened and he smirked.  

“That’s right, baby. Now get your ass on the bed.” He took a step away from you and pointed his gun at your face. When you didn’t move, he cocked it, making you roll your eyes but start walking. You sat on the bed, looking up at him with a smirk. 

“Take away that gun and what are you? Just a little boy desperate for control.” The second you said it, you knew you fucked up. 

Bad. 

He glared at you for a moment and you held your breath as you waited, then he just chuckled darkly and set the gun on the nightstand. While he was there, he grabbed the handcuffs and vibrator you always keep in the drawer. You put up a fight as he handcuffed you but he overpowered you easily. To immobilize your legs, he just sat on your thighs. 

He dragged the zipper of your suit down at a tortuously slow pace. Once it was unzipped, he pulled a knife from his pants and cut your bra straight down the middle. You shouted a protest, which was ignored as he pushed the fabric to the side, exposing your breasts. 

“So soft.” He muttered absentmindedly as he trailed the tip of the knife over your chest. “So delicate…” He trailed it up to your neck then pressed down in the same place you had cut him. “So fragile.” You hissed when the blade broke the skin but showed no other reaction. 

He removed the knife and leaned down, licking a stripe up your neck, over the cut. You let out a low moan and subconsciously lifted your hands to place in his hair. The chain rattling on the headboard made him pull back with a small smirk. 

He put the tip of the knife back on your neck to continue, going up your jaw, then down your cheek before landing on your bottom lip. Your breath hitched as the skin split under the blade and once he was satisfied with the amount of blood, he removed it and leaned back down to kiss you. 

You moaned into the kiss and he groaned in response, licking his tongue into your mouth, focusing on your lip before sliding inside to meet your own. The kiss was hot and messy and almost aggressive but so entirely Jason. 

He pulled away, but immediately moved to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and dark bruises. He gave one last kiss on the cut on your neck, then sat up again. If all he was planning on doing to punish you was cut you occasionally and kiss you… well that wasn’t much of a punishment at all to be honest. You tried not to smirk at the thought. 

“You’re awfully quiet tonight.” You hinted at the question you wanted to ask instead. 

“Baby, why would I talk dirty to you when I know how much you love it?” He grinned, making you frown. Instead of pouting you tried a different tactic. 

“Sounds like an excuse to be lazy. Is that also why you got the vibrator out?” You smirked, glancing at the toy on the bed. “Careful, Jay. You’re awfully close to becoming a pillow princess.”  

“Keep talking. You’re only making it worse for yourself and more fun for me.” He said smugly. 

“What’s a pillow princess gonna do?” You scoffed, still smirking. You were always terrible at knowing when to keep your mouth shut. He stared at you for a moment, then laughed quietly at your disobedience and moved between your legs. He pulled on the waistband of your pants and underwear, forcing them down your legs until they were at your ankles, where he had to quickly rip your boots off to fully remove them. Then he was back to sitting over your thighs. 

He didn’t even say anything as he picked up the vibrator, immediately turning it on and pressing it against your clit. You let out a choked moan from the sudden stimulation and he started slowly moving it in small circles, still maintaining firm pressure. You squeezed your eyes shut with a long vulgar moan and heard him chuckle quietly. 

“Fuck— Jason.” You said through a breath, feeling yourself already close to the edge. It’s rare that you ever need to use the vibrator so whenever you do, it’s always really intense. You expected him to pull away, to make a remark about how you don’t have permission to come, but he didn’t say or do anything. Not being able to hold it any longer, you fell over the edge, then all stimulation was gone. You let out a choked sob and opened your eyes to look at him. 

“Jason,” You whimpered, giving him the pout that always makes him cave. By now, your ruined orgasm was done and your chest heaved as you watched him. 

“I’m sorry, did you still want this?” He condescended, glancing at the toy then back to you. 

“Fuck you.” You growled, now angry from the lack of pleasurable release. He clicked his tongue and turned it back on, pressing it firmly against your now sensitive clit. You cried out, trying to squirm away from him, but not being able to because of him sitting on your legs. 

“S-stop, Jay— stop,” You whimpered, barely able to handle the overstimulation. He just let out a dark chuckle, making you look at him with watery eyes. 

“No, baby. We’re gonna do this over and over again and I’m only gonna stop once it dies.” He smirked. You let out a strangled whimper and yanked your hands forward, the metal chain rattling loudly on the headboard. 

“Please, I- I’m sorry,” He shushed you and you let your words die off into incoherent babbling. 

“You did this to yourself. You’re a big girl, you can handle the consequences of your own actions.” He condescended. You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut. 

“Can’t…” Despite your words, you could already feel your second orgasm barreling toward you. After only another moment, the coil in your stomach snapped and you let out a loud moan that turned into a sob when he once again removed the vibrator. 

“Please! Please, I'm sorry!” You cried, the tears in your eyes threatening to fall. “Please, Jay, I won’t do it again. I promise— please,” He brought his hand down hard on your sensitive clit with a loud smack, forcing a broken moan from you.  

“No amount of begging is gonna get you out of this, princess.” 

“Jason,” You whimpered. Your watery puppy dog eyes had no effect on him though. He placed the vibrator back on your clit, making you cry out and yank on the handcuffs again. “Fuck! Jay— Jay, please.” You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut and feeling hot tears start to roll down your temples. 

“God you look so fucking hot like this. Let me see those pretty fuck me eyes.” Your eyes fluttered open and you stared up at him through wet lashes, bottom lip trembling. “Jesus fucking christ.” He groaned, gaze rapidly moving over your face and the rest of your body. 

“Aren’t you a fuckin sight, huh? Tits out, arms tied to the bed, tears running down that pretty face, and look at how red your little pussy is, baby.” He lifted the vibrator and you let out a heavy breath of relief as your chest heaved. The second you looked down like he said, the toy was back on your clit. Your crying intensified and you continued trying to squirm away from the stimulation. 

“Jay— fuck… Please, Jay.. hurts so bad.” You whimpered, pulling out all the stops to get his mercy. “Please, baby, I’m sorry— I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ll listen to you.” 

“I know you will. But I also know it’s going to take more than just this to make your words actually truthful. Right now you’re just saying what I want to hear to get me to stop.” 

“No! No, I- I'm not lying, Jay.” 

“I don’t believe you.” He shrugged, making you let out a sob and pull on the restraints again, your legs trying to kick him off of you. “Throwing a tantrum now?” He asked with raised brows. 

“Fuck— Jay, please. I’m sorry.” You whimpered. 

“Shh, baby. You don’t want the gag, do you?” You whined at the threat, bottom lip trembling, and shook your head. “That’s what I thought. So why don’t you shut the fuck up and take your punishment, like a good little girl?” Your third orgasm hit you suddenly, but as soon as your back arched and your eyes squeezed shut, he removed the vibrator, making you release an anguished cry. 

He kept that up for what felt like hours. After the fifth orgasm you could barely talk, but after the seventh, you lost count of how many ones he ruined. When the vibrator finally died, you were both relieved and disappointed. 

“Ready for my cock?” He asked, making your breath hitch. You nodded, not even attempting to speak, and watched him walk over to the closet where most of the sex toys are stored. When he came back with a fleshlight, you whined with a pout. “Relax, I’m still gonna fuck you, princess.” You were too fucked out to try and figure out what that meant. He lined up the end with your hole, making you tense up. 

“What are you doing?” Your words slurred together, heavy with exhaustion. 

“Shh. Just trust me, baby.” He cooed and you couldn’t help but obey, your body relaxing into the bed. You whined when he pushed the toy in, feeling far too sensitive, but also relieved that you were finally full. When he settled between your legs and took out his cock, it finally clicked. 

“Jay,” You whined, watching as he stroked himself slowly. “You said you were gonna fuck me.” 

“I am.” He lined the tip of his cock up with the entrance of the fake pussy and all of your protests died on your tongue when he sunk in, brows scrunched together and mouth open in a silent moan. The toy shifted inside of you, but it wasn’t enough to give you any genuine relief. You let out a strangled sob and pulled on the handcuffs— much softer than before though because of how raw your wrists had gotten. 

“You’re okay.” He cooed, making you shake your head as you cried. “Shh, princess. You can take it, can’t you? For me?” You whined, feeling conflicted. 

“Please… ‘m sorry.” You whimpered. 

“I know, baby. You’ll be okay.” He slowly dragged his cock out, then pushed back in. A strangled sob escaped your lips and he leaned down, muffling your sounds with a kiss. Once you started whining and whimpering instead of crying out and sobbing, he pulled back. 

“You’re such a good girl.” He whispered, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears from your face. His hips moved slowly, barely jostling the toy inside you. The only plus to this situation was that you weren’t empty anymore. “Took your punishment so well, baby.” 

“Jay,” Your bottom lip wobbled and he gave you a soft smile as he cupped your cheek. When you let out a choked sob, he shushed you softly. “Wanna touch you..” You whimpered, feeling more tears fall when you unsuccessfully tried to bring your hands forward again. 

“Yeah?” You nodded, biting your trembling lip. “Okay, sweetheart. Since you’re doing such a good job, you can touch me.” The second your arms were free, you wrapped them around his body, pulling him down into a hug as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. When you placed a soft kiss there, he let out a shaky breath. 

“Fuck— I’m not gonna last much longer.” He grumbled, breathing heavily against your shoulder as his hips sped up. “This is a punishment for me too, baby. It’s nowhere near as good as the real thing.” You wanted to beg him to take this out and use the real thing instead, but you could barely get any words out when he sped up even more. Your walls fluttered around the toy and you got even needier just by listening to his desperate grunts and moans as he rutted into you, chasing his orgasm. “But don’t worry, I’m still gonna give you my come.” He whispered, planting a wet kiss on the side of your neck. You moved a hand to his hair and tugged on the strands lightly as your back arched up into him. 

When he suddenly pulled up, out of your arms, you whined, but it cut off once you saw that he was pulling the toy out of you and off of his cock. He stroked himself quickly, his breathing coming in short pants until he let out a low groan, covering your sore, abused pussy in his release. He rode out his orgasm, then his hand slowed to a stop as he caught his breath. 

“C’mere, princess.” He said softly, laying down next to you and pulling you into his arms. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” He placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head and you snuggled into him more. 

“Needy..” You mumbled. When he laughed quietly, the corners of your lips turned up into a small smile. 

“That’s the only bad thing you’re feeling?” He asked again, and you realized now what he meant. 

“Mhm. Still just a little fuzzy.” 

“Good.” He kissed the top of your head again, then started running his fingers through your hair, making your eyes flutter closed as you let out a pleased sigh. The longer you laid here, not distracted by anything, the more your thoughts continued to race. You already felt bad for what you did, but the drop of endorphins, as well as the fact that you just finished a somewhat intense scene, only exacerbated the feeling. 

“Jay, I- I’m sorry.” You started, then cleared your sore throat and spoke a little louder. “I thought I was doing the right thing but I shouldn’t have deviated from the plan and I won’t do it again. I’m sorry for scaring you too.” If the roles were reversed and Jason didn’t follow the plan, then almost died— again— you wouldn’t let him out of your sight for weeks, maybe even months. 

“I’m sorry for yelling.” He said quietly, his own way of accepting your apology. 

“I deserved it.” You smiled. Your heart fluttered when you heard the deep rumble in his chest as he laughed quietly.  

“But hey I mean… if you ever want to go against the plan— in a way that doesn’t almost maim or kill you— I’m not saying it would lead to some pretty hot sex, but…” You giggled into his chest at his words. 

“There’s no fucking way I’m doing that shit again. The ruined orgasms and overstimulation? That was just downright cruel, Jay.” You tried to suppress your laughter and sound stern, but as soon as you heard his chuckle, your serious exterior broke. “And how on earth did you come up with the fleshlight thing?” That part, even though it was torture for you, was almost impressive honestly. 

“I don’t know… I wanted to fuck you, but I didn’t want to fuck you… if that makes any sense.” He said sheepishly. 

“Close enough.” You laughed quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time you deviate from the plan.” You said with a smirk. Riding a dildo right next to his cock would probably drive him mad and you were already creating a plan in your head for everything else you could do to him— for all of the ways you could torture him. 

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @faebirdie @idkdudsworld @nashja @rentaldarling @whydoyoucare866 @zurakoisanhornysimp @brooklynscherry-z @wartofart @deimks @n1ghtw1ngslvr @harleycao @baebeepeach @jayroytodd @zurakoisanhornysimp

[jiyansthesis]

LEON KENNEDY (post-re4) x reader

summary — you and leon never thought what would lead to the two of you fucking would be a surprise zombie and an aphrodisiac

note — a little something i had in the drafts for a while. i was gonna post it when re4make came out but i totally forgot. might as well post it while im getting traction on my other leon post ^^

tags — smut, aphrodisiac, basically in public, rough, overstimulation, fem bodied reader, fem implied pet names

i am not responsible for any minors that interact + nsfw below the cut

not proofread

"we're gonna get our asses kicked," you groaned, focusing on the scope of your gun which you used to survey your surroundings.

"no, you're gonna get your ass kicked. i can hold my own," leon shot back, trailing ahead of you.

there was a red wash over the two of you as you ran down the hallway, attempting to look for some vials before they get destroyed by the zombies lurking around.

"you don't happen to know where these serums are, do you?" you questioned, a zombie coming out the shadows only for you to quickly aim and fire your gun at its head, it immediately flying backwards to land lifelessly on the floor. "this is like some bad game of whack-a-mole. except without the hammer. and the moles are zombies. and we could possibly die. i'm getting tired of it."

"do you ever stop talking?" he opened a door, revealing a room with cabinets of liquids and something that looked like a chamber with a glass window.

"adding a bit of fun into this mission, leon. i can't just walk around shooting zombies and not have something to say."

he grunted, and went over to the cabinets, grabbing a container of blue liquid.

"this is it. i'll get all of these, you keep watch." you nodded in acknowledgement, considering the fact that leon was your superior.

you peered out the hallway you had come from, saw that it was clear, and shut the door, locking it.

then you decided to go into the connecting room, just in case something was in there.

the red emergency light was still messing with your eyes, and so you turned on your flashlight, scanning the room.

there were more bottles of substances. but it didn't look like the blue ones leon was getting. these ones were a reddish-pink, and had a certain glow to them. you stepped closer to it to examine it, but you swung around as soon as you heard a growl. you unsheathed the dagger around your waist.

the blade lodged in the zombie's throat, your reaction time saving you as usual. it crumpled over, but bumped into the display, causing the cases to break.

you thought it was a liquid, but it was like you could see the cloud of fumes rise from the broken vials. quickly you put a hand over your mouth and nose and ran out the room, but not before you caught a whiff of the strangely sweet, almost sugary flower smell.

you shut the heavy doors behind you, and let out a gasp of air. leon looked towards you, hurrying over as you fell to your knees.

"hey, you alright? what happened?" he held onto your arms, lifting you up and placing you in an office chair.

"th-there was a zombie. i killed it and it. . . it bumped into these flasks of pink stuff." your hands went to wrap around your stomach, a cramp suddenly appearing.

"pink stuff?" he asked

"yeah," you grimaced with pain. "there was this thing that came out of the broken tubes. it was like a gas or something."

"and how are you feeling right now?"

you felt immensely uncomfortable. there was a cramp in your lower abdomen and it felt like something was dripping out of you. your legs squirmed, not liking the feeling of your wet panties.

"i can-can't explain it." you stammered out. you think you know what were in those things, but you didn't want to make it awkward for you and leon. of course, you've known him since raccoon city, and congratulated him when he came back with the president's daughter. but you knew damn well you guys weren't this close.

even if you desperately wished you were.

"it hurts there?" he gestured to your hand over your abdomen, you nodded.

"it might've been something toxic." he glanced around the room at all the computers, lucky enough to find one that was unlocked.

you heard him type away as you shut your eyes. the pain was becoming excruciating, and you didn't know why you felt your crotch throbbing.

not only that, but your thoughts were bunching up, and you couldn't think straight. what were you here for again?

"hey, i think i know what it is." you felt him nudge you. "but you might not like it."

"i think i know what it is too. doesn't take much thinking to find out." you winced as you shifted in your seat.

he raised an eyebrow. "you know?"

"it's obviously an aphrodisiac. there's no other explanation." you slurred out.

"well, it's not a normal one. normal ones wear off with time, but this one. . . you need something for it to wear off. or you might die."

"die!?" you exclaimed, ignoring the pain of you suddenly standing upright. this definitely cleared your mind. "for fucks sake, leon. i didn't want to die from a fucking drug today!"

he let out a breath of air. "it's easily fixable. but i need you to trust me." his voice got a bit more husky.

"i always trust you, leon." you assured him. he hesitated, and slowly lowered you back down on the seat.

his fingers ghosted over the waistband of your tactical pants. "may i?" he looked up to you. never in a million years would you have thought you'd have leon kennedy under you.

you could already tell what had to be done for you to get rid of this feeling, and you gave him the okay. well, at least you get to have one of your fantasies out the way while also avoiding death from aphrodisiac.

he pulled down your pants, quickly followed by your underwear.

"didn't think to tell me about what was happening down here?" he smirked. "you're so wet."

you whined at the cold air, and urged him to hurry up and stop teasing you.

he followed your request, and instead of inching in his fingers like you'd expected, he immediately latched onto your dripping cunt, and you arched your back.

"leon, fuck!" you moaned out, a hand immediately going to grab a handful of his hair.

he hummed in amusement, leading you to clench your thighs around his head. leon quickly moved his hands to grab your plush thighs and spread them apart, locking them in place no matter how hard you tried to escape it.

it was like he wasn't even thinking about the aphrodisiac. it was all for his and your pleasure, rather than as an extremely awkward and embarrassing task that had to be done. or he was just too good at the job at hand.

every stroke of his tongue had your legs shaking, and you pulled at his hair every time he sucked on your clit too hard. it felt like a few minutes before you felt the buildup of something in your stomach, quickly overshadowing the pain you had previously felt.

"leon, m' gonna-"

his hands left your legs and went straight to your pussy. "make a mess for me, baby," he said as your hips bucked up violently and you let out what was almost a scream.

you panted, and you thought that at this point you'd be satisfied, the pain would be gone, and the two of you could put this all behind you and go on your merry way.

but you were wrong. it was like it got even worse.

your thoughts were scrambled, and all you could think about was the bulge in his pants. and it definitely wasn't his gun.

"why'd you have to do. . . all that?" you stammered out. you also realized he called you baby. your cheeks became even hotter.

"can't get my gloves dirty. and i wanted a taste." he winked. "are you feeling better?"

you shook your head, involuntarily grinding against the seat. maybe if you imagined it was his thigh. . . you wouldn't have to ask him to fuck you senseless. you were already shameless enough, with the fact he had just finished eating you out like his final supper, and the effects of the aphrodisiac were not helping.

just the sound of his voice and his smell was enough to send you into a frenzy.

"do you need some more help?" he began unbuckling his pants.

"yes, need mo' help," you whined. you never thought what would get you into leon s. kennedy's pants would have to be a mystery sex drug in a science lab. if you knew, maybe you would've done this way beforehand.

you almost drooled at how big he was. you would've put your lips right around him at that moment, but he was already lining himself up with you entrance.

"you ready, princess?"

"jus' hurry up," you moved your hips closer to him, sliding the tip inside which caused you to whimper. deciding not to let you suffer any longer, he slammed the rest of his throbbing cock inside of you. with every thrust he did, you were a whining, blabbering mess.

"does that feel good?" he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. you could tell that the effects of the drug were making you more sensitive.

"s' good leon," you threw your arms around his neck and brought him down for a kiss, which he quickly reciprocated. he was biting on your lips, his tongue occasionally slipping through your lips.

"i fucking love the sounds you make," he got out once the two of you broke away for air. it was like he was feral and had the aphrodisiac himself, pounding into you without giving you time to breathe.

"fuck, leon, don't stop," you could feel tears streaming down your face as your mouth gaped wide open to let out all your noises.

no doubt you were attracting monsters, but that didn't matter when you had this hot man you've been pinning for for years making you dumb on his cock.

he admired the way he had you already clawing for whatever you could grab a hold on, which was his back, and the look that you gave him.

he'd wanted to fuck you for so long, although that developed from him falling in love after the events in raccoon city. you'd kept him sane, believe it or not.

thank god he had this reason to finally have you under him.

"you gonna cum for me, yeah?" he began relentlessly hitting your g-spot, which had you screaming. he left open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

you didn't answer. or well, you couldn't with how he practically fucked the breath out of you.

not receiving an answer, he quickly took you out the chair and placed you on top of the table. you whined as he pulled out, but were quickly shut up by him thrusting inside of you again.

and just when you thought it couldn't get any better, the new angle caused him to almost brush up against your cervix. his hand made its way to your tummy and pressed down on the slight bump, making your hands fly up to cover your mouth.

"hey, pretty girl. i want to hear everything." he persuaded you to place your hands to stabilize yourself on the office desk.

"i-mm, i think i'm gonna make a mess," you warned.

"you gonna come for me? good girl," he praised, and with those words he hungrily pressed his lips to yours, devouring your sounds of ecstasy as you convulsed with your climax.

you started feeling overstimulated, the pain and sensitivity mixing in with the pleasure.

"le-leon, jus' cum in me," you pleaded, feeling your third climax coming already. maybe it was because you were practically intoxicated, or it was because you haven't had sex in so long, but you were almost self-conscious about how short of a time it took for you to cum.

"yeah? you want me to fill you up baby? do i make you feel too good?" a pool of your cum was pooling on the desk.

"yes! wan' you to, wan' you to," you trailed off as he grunted and let out a few soft, low moans, and you felt a warmth seep inside of you.

slowly he pulled out, which still had you twitch, and he looked almost apologetic about that. he searched the place for something to clean you up with, before ripping a piece off an abandoned lab coat, and slowly wiping you up with it. the table on the other hand, required the whole coat to wipe up.

he helped you put your pants back on as you regained and put your thoughts back in order.

"holy shit, we're at least twenty minutes late from meeting up at the extraction point," you checked the watch on your wrist. the two of you scurry to grab all your things as well as what you came here for, and went on your out the building. leon then called chris, who was pissed about the time delay.

as you left, it was strangely silent, as if the two of you had scared the monsters away rather than attract them.

"never thought that'd ever happen," you admitted as the two of you made it outside and to the rendezvous.

"never thought i'd fuck you during a mission in the middle of nowhere." he agreed. "how about dinner later, pretty girl?"

"isn't it a bit late for that?"

"it's never too late to take a lady like you on a fancy date. you deserve it." he shouted as the wind from a helicopter overtook your hearing.

"hmm, i'll think about it!" you grinned, saluting. "nice work out there."

"if that was my real job, i'd be doing it all the time."

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

TWO: G & G.

You know that there are those in the world who strike fear into people’s hearts and souls.

But you’ve never seen anyone react to a single human being the way they do the duo that struts into the bar in their leather cowboy boots. 

You’ve never seen the saloon so quiet and still before then when the duo steps into the scene. A tumbleweed could blow by with how silent it is.

Everyone’s eyes stay planted on the tall, handsome men oozing with confidence and intimidation standing among the swinging doors, appearing like sexy phantoms in the night.

There stands Geto Suguru, the 6’4 long-haired gunslinger with the perfect, black locks that cascade down his broad shoulders and back, seductive eyes, and skillful hands that he hides behind two riding gloves.

He usually is seen riding a black Bronco that is just as big as him and sporting a black cape with black riding pants, boots, and a low-brim cowboy hat. Black fits him so damn well. The only thing that isn’t black on him is the red vest that is so low-cut that you can see the outline of his pecs. 

Beside him is his partner (and lover as it’s rumored) Gojo Satoru, the lean, confident, cocky, blindfolded bandit standing at 6’3 with snow-white hair, a sly smile, leather gloves that hide some skillful and deadly hands, and a blindfold covering his eyes that have never been seen but are said to make a man go cold with fear where he stands.

In contrast to Geto, the white-haired cowboy is doused in colors: a denim jacket that matches his slacks where a star-shaped belt buckle hangs from his crotch; brown boots with spurs; a red bandana wrapped around his neck; and a white cowboy hat sits low on his head. He, too, has his own horse: a brown Bronco that is recognizable from its hooves clicking across the ground.  

They are a match made in heaven and hell. Handsome, skillful, and deadly. They are known for their impressive yet terrifying speed when it comes to cocking and shooting their pistols. You’ve heard of them killing all kinds of wanted criminals and even other gunslingers in other counties.

Everyone knows them and so do you. 

If a record was playing, the damn thing would be scratching by now with the way the saloon reacts to seeing the gunslingers in the flesh. Whispers begin to rise from the silence, including from Yuki, Mai, and Maki who have wandered over. “Oh, my God,” Mai gasps. “It’s the Gunslingers!” 

“What the hell are they doin’ here?” Maki wonders aloud, peering at them from behind her spectacles. “Are they lookin’ for someone? I thought they had been arrested!” 

And they did, last year. At some point, the articles of gunslingers, corporation owners, and high rollers found dead with bullets in them and a note from “G & G” left at the scene stopped when they were arrested after that train heist. And you know it has everything to do with their connection to your boss. 

“Who cares?” Yuki dreamily sighs as she stares at the gunslingers with heart eyes. “I get to admire them in person now! Aren’t they delicious?” 

“Keep it in your pants, Yuki,” Choso grumbles, tugging on a lock of the blonde’s hair as she giggles. “They ain’t even all that.” 

“Of course not,” Yuki purrs, making Choso blush. “Not above you, Chosi, but a cowboy hat would do you so well!”

Even you will admit that the “wanted dead or alive” posters don’t do them justice: they are fine as all hell, straight out of a woman’s wet dreams. But they are also outlaws. And you despise outlaws…for personal reasons. 

The duo begins to look around the silent saloon, Gojo’s head slowly turning despite his blindfold. When his head turns toward you, you feel as if the air has been stolen from your very lungs. Despite the fabric covering his eyes, you feel as if he sees you. All of you. 

Gojo nudges Geto with his elbow before waltzing over to the bar, his boots thudding across the hardwood floor. Geto follows, ignoring the whispers and stares in their wake. The piano has begun to pick up again, but it does nothing to ease the tension swimming in the air. Quickly, you turn to face your drink while the girls scatter to work, leaving you to fend for yourself. 

Geto sits on the stool beside you while Gojo takes the one beside him. You feel the air around you become stiff and tense as the cowboys settle into their seats. “So what’s a cowboy gotta do to get a drink round here?” Gojo asks with a smirk. “Can ya help a guy out, miss?”

He gives Shoko a flirty look, not knowing that this girl is gay as hell. “I could damn sure try,” she replies, barely giving him a smile. “What will you fellas have?” 

“I’ll take a Long Island iced tea,” Gojo says then laughs. “Just kiddin’! A beer, please.”

Geto takes a moment to examine the shelves of alcohol behind Shoko. He then looks at your pretty drink. “I’ll take what the lady is havin’,” he answers. “Actually, what is that you got there, miss?” 

His dark, enchanting eyes meet yours and you ignore the butterflies they invoke inside of you. “Whiskey smash,” you blandly reply.

He hums thoughtfully at the name. “Hm…is it good?” You tick your eyes at him briefly, secretly admiring his features. “If you like your whiskey with some sweetness to it, sure.”

A slow smirk appears on his face. “Oh, I definitely do,” he drawls. “I like sweetness with my everything.” 

You swallow hard, so sure you have a cherry pit in your throat. Gojo chuckles from beside his partner, flashing you a white-toothed smile. “Oooh, me too. I’ll third that order, ma’am!” Shoko nods and shoots you a look before wandering off to fix the drinks. 

You do your best to keep calm and act normal, sipping your drink and trying to relax. At some point, the silence becomes thicker, prompting one of the gunslingers to speak on it. “Welcomin’ place,” Gojo sniggers. “I feel so at home.”

Geto quietly chuckles from between you and Gojo. “Let’s just settle, Satoru. We won’t be here long.” 

‘Settle what?’ you wonder, but you know that they are here for Kento. Shoko comes back with the frothy, red drinks, lowering them in front of the gunslingers. 

“Thank you kindly,” Gojo chirps before taking a sip. Geto nods his thanks but doesn’t drink his right away. Instead, he goes into his pocket and retrieves a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it and slides it across the bar to Shoko. “I don’t suppose you know who this guy is,” he says. 

You peek down at the paper, finding it to be a “Wanted” poster with your BF and boss looking back at you. Kenzo aka “Valentine” looks much different than when you met him. On the poster, he is clean and shaven, has longer, shaggier hair, and has a distinguished scar on his left eye.

But of course, this is the gunslinger who robbed people blind and just pulled a train heist and massacre in the town of Cherrywood a year before with his crew, Geto, and Gojo. The man who takes his place now is Kenzo, a humble saloon owner who sometimes dabbles in illegal activity to fund his saloon.  

Valentine, a criminal on the lamb and your outlaw boyfriend, is known for using his looks, charm, and violence to get what he wants. He is a man who loves money, women, and jewels. As a notorious criminal and outlaw, he has bounced from place to place, county to county, robbing folks and then laying low before starting again. 

He was arrested for robbing the Cherrywood regional train and having his crew massacre all of its employees and riders before you met him. Originally, he was given a fifty-year sentence but escaped after serving five weeks just by seducing a male prison guard and then knocking him out to steal the cell keys. 

You were hot on his trails when he showed up Blackwater a year later and met you in a whorehouse that you purposely took a job in since he frequented those. He took one look at you and immediately fell in love with you (and your body), proposing you a job at his saloon. “You could be mine,” he told you. “My girl.” You agreed and the rest is history. 

“I’ve heard of him, yes,” Shoko replies as she cleans a glass. 

“Is it possible you’ve seen him around?” Geto ponders aloud. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but he escaped Cherrywood a year ago after robbin’ a train and massacrin’ everyone in it. He’s wanted in about nine different counties.”

Shoko takes another brief look at the poster before someone flags her down from down at the bar. Saved by the bell. “I can’t say I have seen him, fellas,” she apologetically says. “‘Scuse me.” 

She hurries off, leaving you with the two cowboys. “How about you, ma’am?” Geto asks, passing the poster to you. “You recognize this face by any chance?” You look down, studying Valentine’s face.

You have, but first, you need to read these guys. “I’ve seen him in the posters, but not in person. May I ask why you two are here?” 

You keep it casual and curious, making sure you don’t sound too suspicious. “We were paid by a private source to track down Valentine for his crimes,” Geto vaguely explains. 

“And for personal business,” Gojo adds with a smirk. “You see, we were in, uh…business with Valentine some time ago and never got our cut.”

He doesn’t need to go any more into detail than that. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “We don’t like bein’ played with,” he says, his voice dipping an octave, sending a chill down your spine. “Or when someone’s money is funny, so we came here to exchange words with him.” 

‘Words or bullet?’ you want to ask, but you instead bite your tongue and sip your drink. 

“We’ve been told he was last seen in this town,” Geto explains. “We figured everyone comes to saloons so why not check here?” He slides the poster away from you, a kind yet flirty smile crossing his beautiful face. “But even if he isn’t, we can still enjoy a drink with a pretty lady.” 

You roll your eyes, having heard that line before. “Does that line work with all the girls?” you scoff. Gojo coughs up his whiskey as he laughs, but Geto doesn’t take it to heart. In fact, he chuckles.  “I see not with you,” he replies. 

“I like that,” Gojo states once he’s recovered, his blindfolded eyes set dead on you. “You’ve gotta be the first person who isn’t scared of us or tryin’ to jump in bed with us.”

You passively shrug, twirling your tongue around the rim of the glass. “I’ve been around gunslingers in my time.” 

At this, the duo share a look unbeknownst to you, quite interested in the pretty thing sitting with them at the bar. “Oh, really?” Gojo drawls and you realize your mistake. “Any of these encounters you’d care to share, little lady? I’m quite interested.”

Geto nods, his gaze like molten fire. “I am too.” 

You suddenly feel your mouth grow dry and your cheeks become hot. Your body reacts in a way it never has with any man you’ve been with, not even your first love! The way they continue to stare at you, giving you their undivided and unwanted attention, is even worse.

What is wrong with you?

Luckily, your boss comes to the rescue, barreling up to the bar like he wasn’t watching the duo from afar and shaking in his boots. 

“Oh, gentlemen!” he shouts, giving them both a hard, eager handshake. “Welcome, welcome! Can I offer you two another drink or a dance free of charge?”

Gojo ignores him like he isn’t even talking, leaving Geto to handle this. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says, plastering on a kind smile. “We’re here for some information about him.” 

He passes Kenzo the poster and you watch in real time as the color in your boyfriend’s face drains. “Have you seen this guy anywhere?” Geto asks, squinting at him.

Gojo peers at him from under his hat, his stare intense even with the blindfold covering his eyes. Kenzo clears his throat and leans in to whisper to Geto. You pretend to ignore them though you secretly strain to hear. “Let’s talk in private,” he whispers. “Even the walls have ears, I’m afraid.” 

Geto nods and nudges to Gojo who sighs and downs the rest of his drink. To your shock, Geto puts a hand out to you for a shake. Though hesitantly, you take his hand and feel the room grow hotter than a sauna when he places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “It was a pleasure meetin’ you, ma’am,” he softly says. “Hopefully, we’ll cross paths again.” 

His eyes gleam as he tips his hat at you, leaving Gojo to follow Kenzo upstairs. Gojo doesn’t follow right away, instead digging into his pocket for some coins and placing them on the bar in front of you. “For your drinks and yours,” he says with a crooked smile. “Have a good night, little miss.” 

Then, just like Geto, he leaves as if he didn’t just steal the air you breathe with it. It takes a moment to get your head back, but once you do, you down the rest of your drink and get up from your seat. Shoko catches your eye and gives you a look, her eyes telling you a message: 

“Don’t get caught,” she warns you. “And don’t get killed.” 

You nod, blowing her a kiss, before following your boss and the duo upstairs.

[lunarfleur]

I Just Had To Check ~ Earth 42! Miles Morales

Warnings:Blood, mentions of fighting, mention of a gun being used

Tagging: @juneberrie @sluggmuffin @hiyaitssans

A/N: Y’all I pulled this outta my ass idek where it came from, so if this is bad I’m sorry 😟

This is x gender neutral reader

Miles woke them up with a knock on their window. His mask and claws had been slipped into his bag, now only wearing his costumes.

When they opened the window, the first thing they noticed was how out of breath he was. He was panting, eyeing them nervously before they let him step in.

“Miles?” They asked, despite knowing it was him. He set his bag down on the floor with a quiet thump and sucked in a breath. Y/N was met with Miles’s arms enveloping their body, his face being shoved into their neck. They brought their hand to the back of his neck, scratching gently.

“Hey, what’s up?” They asked. They didn’t get an answer, though. At least, not until they heard the quietest, most painful sobs escaping him. In the entire time they had been dating, that was the one thing he never did. They had never seen Miles cry.

“C’mere, sit down,” they mumbled, leading him over to the edge of their bed. Miles didn’t let go. He only held on tighter.

Any and all embarrassment Miles would have-should have-felt for crying disappeared the minute his arms found them. It had been so long since he’d done it, it was making his face hurt.

Miles pulled away a second later-tears still free falling down his cheeks. He pressed his forehead to their’s, grabbing their hands and squeezing.

“What’s going on, Miles?”

Y/N’s hands found his face, tender hands wiping his tears. His face was contorted into one of discomfort, the clearest sign of just how long it had been.

“I just had to check,” he whimpered, “I had to see you.” Miles pressed shaky kisses to Y/N’s lips, which they gladly returned.

A mere, short 2 minutes later, his tears had stopped. Miles’s hands were no longer trembling, his shoulders no longer shaking.

“You should change,” they whispered to him. Truthfully, he didn’t want to. He was perfectly comfortable where he was.

But Y/N, much to Miles’s dismay, got up. Searching through their room to find the clothes they stole from him. Sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Wiping his face, Miles got up. He took the clothes from their hands, not even bothering to leave the room before he was slipping his shirt off. Y/N stared at the scratches that littered his back and arms, obviously fresh. It gave them only the slightest idea why he was there.

He walked back over quickly, laying his head in their lap. One arm wrapped around their waist, the other hand resting gently on their thigh. They held his one hand, rubbing the skin soothingly with their thumb. The other hand returned to the back of his neck, the one place that never failed to relax him.

“You wanna talk about it?” They suggested.

“He had a gun,” Miles mumbled. “He was gonna shoot me.”

“Oh.”

“I keep having this dream,” he continued, “any time we fight, that I die letting you think I hate you.” His breath hitched under his own words. Miles fidgeted with the hem of the shirt you were wearing, his shirt.

“I don’t think you hate me,” Y/N whispered, eyebrows furrowing tightly.

“But you might, one day.”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

A brief silence hit the room.

“I ain’t ever gonna hate you, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

“And I love you more than anything. You know that, too, right?”

“I know. I love you just as much.”

Sitting up, Miles pulled Y/N closer into him. He peppered kisses around their face and around their jaw. They snickered quietly, pushing his face away to look him in the eyes. A smile forced its way onto Miles’s lips, his forehead bumping against theirs gently.

“Kiss?” He asked.

They were more than happy to oblige.

[4pfsukuna]

Enemies to f⭐️cking lover Toji

Ok so ive been thinking about releasing a 3-5 part enemies to lovers(or something along those lines) for toji although i know the most common works on here is one shot smut. Trust smut will be involved… its toji

You used to be an american spy but japan pays nearly tripple. The jobs were quick easy taking 2 days at max. You had climbed the interest ladder for your ability to get things done in a quick and neat fashion with minimal mess and uproar increasing your salary from 4 figures to six in only a couple of months. Unfortunately theres another assasin whos getting in your way and hes the exact opposite of everything you stand for. 

Not only does he not wear a mask to cover his identity, he lets his targets know exactly who he his just so they can have his name as their last thought before death.

Toji fushiguro.

The biggest jackass youve ever met.

This wasnt your typical one sided beef where youd get mad at him and hed flirt no he had beef with the number one assassin who was stealing his target which means his money. It truly grinded his gears and yours when they made you split a salary.

“Might as well go home princess” you hear his raspy voice though princess was said in a derogatory way hes made it clear several times he hated the way you did things. Why be so… clean. Death is death.

“Fuck off pretty boy go back and crawl into whatever shitty little backroom of a laundry mat and return to horse betting” you seethe having done your research on him. Its not like he needed the money for anything important unlike you who wanted it for taking care of responsibilities back home.

This mission had been one of your biggest yet and you did not need to blow your hiding spot nor cover by arguing with his big ass over nothing.

You're grabbed from the crouching position your in and slammed against the brick wall not hard enough to hurt but it does press into your all black outfit.

“You can do whatever research you want on me but you dont fucking know me… you dont know shit.” he snarls lip on his scar stretching further yet you shove him off. “And im not a pretty boy”

“Please youre not the threat you think you are” you scoff attempting to bruise his ego and the way he steps forward lets you know you did but you never let your guard down to your surroundings and youre quick to pull out your gun aiming in his direction.

He chuckles crossing his arms over his broad chest and you may be uninterested but youre not blind to how his compression tee squeezes him in a way thats… satisfactory to the eye.

“Going to shoot me princess? I thought you were too good to get your hands dirty. Squeemish at blood even” he pokes until you release six shots shooting the men slowly approaching that he failed to notice.

“You fucking shot me!” He growls touching the tiny drip of blood from where the bullet grazed the tip of his ear just enough to break skin not cause any definite damage. 

Taking a bow you smirk before making eye contact with him the only gap in your mask being the slot for your eyes.

“Oh sorry about that pretty boy, ill do you a solid and let you tell shiu you got this one all on your own.” you tease knowing his pride wouldn't let him take the credit for something he wouldn’t do. 

“No i don’t want your pity kill” he seethes looking as if he’s ready to throw a tantrum yet you can only smile knowing you won this battle.

“Great more money for me” you grin running past him the location no longer serving you any purpose. It was time to cash in and Shiu didnt stay up past 2am.

Toji grabs your arm stopping you from escaping though before he could speak the faint sound of sirens in the distance growing closer.

“What? You goin’ to hold me here until the cops get here with these other dead bodies how do you think that’s going to look? A big, strong and muscular giant holding a petite young woman like myself” you victimize yourself and you watch the frustration grow in his eyes knowing he has to let you go.

“Its not fucking over” he hisses releasing you with a slight push making your smile grow even wider.

“Great more chances for me to teach a pup like you what not to do” you tease tearing off a piece of his shirt and pressing it to his ear. “Wouldn’t want your blood at a crime scene would we fushiguru”

And youre dissapearing into the darkness of night and he watches your silhouette slip down an alley until he no longer can. 

You may have thought you had the last laugh but he was best friends with Shiu. So when you near you third week of no assignment you figure its time to reach out to the former and see what the issue is. Learning that Toji somehow convinced him you wanted a break you decided it was time to cut your ties temporarily with the man and find a new “project manager”

The next assignment is the most you’ve ever been offered so high in the six digits it’s close to seven and for a simple retreival mission.

So when youre standing surrounded

“Toj

Waking up with a throbbing headache youre confused when you meet the eyes of a spikey haired 5 year old who is playing with a toy truck a black puppy not to far behind. He must feel you stairing since he turns to face you and gives you a toothy grin.

“My dad must like you, he doesnt let us wear hats in the house but let you keep your mask on” he stutters slightly and you reach up feeling the mask

[yokohamapound]

BSD Characters React to Getting Shat On By A Bird 🕊️

No, I'm totally not writing these to make myself feel better after getting bird-splattered on my way home from work. T-T

Characters: Osamu Dazai, Nakahara Chuuya, Kunikida Doppo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Nakajima Atsushi, Sigma

Contents: 💩

Osamu Dazai

Dazai might react in one of two ways.

If he's on his own, it's a muted, annoyed kind of disgust. He just feels the impact and sighs.

"Ugh, really?"

He might shove his head into the Yokohama river to try and wash it out. Whether or not he remembers to pull his head up again is another story.

If he's around other people, however, Dazai hams it up more than a pig in a blanket.

His whole body clenches, his shoulders hunching toward his ears and his hands hovering near his hair but not quite touching it. His face is an exaggerated rictus of disgust.

"Get it off, get it off, get it off! Eww!"

He runs at Kunikida and tries to wipe it off on him, only to get himself punted across the room. That isn't enough to stop Dazai, though. He'll theatrically pour water over himself, retching, gagging, and bemoaning his bad luck and the cruel fates for doing this to him.

Nakahara Chuuya

Thankfully, Chuuya's lovely red hair is safe from the bird shit thanks to his hat, but on the other hand, his hat. He freezes as soon as he feels the splatter against his hat. Reaching up slowly, he takes the brim of his hat between thumb and forefinger and lifts it off his head.

Chuuya's face contorts with anger and disgust. There's shit on his hat. There's shit on his hat.

He resists the urge to drop the hat in disgust, since that might damage it further. Instead his ire snaps upward toward the bird that just ass-bombed him. Little does it know that its victim is not bound by the laws of gravity. Chuuya can follow it.

And that he fucking does.

He shoots into the air, cracking the asphalt underfoot, and goes gunning after the hapless bird, which is probably terrified to find a pissed-off ginger zooming after it at mach speeds.

Later, once the bird is 'taken care of' Mafia-style, Chuuya will take his soiled hat to a specialist cleaning place. Yes, he's got a hat cleaning place—this is Chuuya we're talking about.

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida does not have time for this. Perhaps it is a personal failing, but he didn't account for the potential of being shat on by a bird en route to the office in the morning. Now he's standing there with egg on his face and crap on his hair, regretting his life choices.

Frustration builds in him like a volcano, but he forces himself to take a deep breath. As long as he is calm and rational about this, it should not impact his precious schedule too much.

Thankfully, he does have all manner of supplies to hand. Namely a water bottle and a handkerchief to try and clean himself off as best he can in the nearest reflective surface. He uses his handy dandy notebook to conjure up a solid shampoo bar and cleans himself up.

All in all, he only ends up being three minutes, thirty-seven seconds late to the office. No one even notices, but Kunikida is left irked for the rest of the day. Also, he doesn't know how but he's sure Dazai is behind it somehow. Maybe he's been teaching the birds how to target blonde men with glasses, preparing months in advance for just this day.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Akutagawa goes still, and his eyes go very, very wide, until you feel like you're staring down tunnels into the Abyss. The bird guano is stark white against his dark hair. His nostrils flare.

"RASHOUMON."

A tendril of darkness slices from the back of his coat and slashes the bird in midair, sending feathers spiralling down to dust the earth around him.

He stares down at the offending creature's carcass like an god of dark justice.

"Foul beast."

Growing up in the slums, Akutagawa was used to being dirty, covered in mud, blood, and all kinds of filth, but he will not take the disrespect of any man nor beast, least of all a pigeon.

Nakajima Atsushi

This is not the first time for poor, unfortunate Atsushi, and probably not the last. He flinches when the splatter lands on top of his head, automatically closing his eyes. He's used to being spat on or having food poured over his head.

"Ah, jeez."

At least the bird crap isn't personal.

Atsushi probably just snips off the locks of befouled hair and then scrubs his hands. His hair is already a tufty mess, and he's usually too busy running around for the Agency to run home and shower again. That is, until Kunikida hears what happens and sprays him with disinfectant.

Sigma

Poor Sigma. Doesn't he have enough on his plate without being target practice for a bird who doesn't eat enough fibre? He's under enough stress already.

The bird shit is the tipping point, and he might just cry.

His face twitches when he feels it. The cold dollop on his head, ruining his pretty hair, making his neck want to retract back into his spine. His eyes widen as he looks upward to see the feckless offender flying away, soon lost to the horizon as it flies beyond the reach of the Sky Casino.

Sigma gags, his hands fluttering a little as he doesn't know what to do. He's only three years old and this has never happened to him before.

He runs toward his private quarters, lest anyone see the General Manager looking so undignified. He flings himself into his bathroom and sticks his head directly under the shower, running the water as hot as he can stand.

He washes it twice. Thrice. Then wraps it in a hair mask and huddles in his quarters with a stiff drink and his hair in a towel. Poor thing.

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day 4: Runaway

My Little Runaway (5+1)

In the aftermath of the “earthquakes” – Wayne doesn’t buy that government bullshit for a second, earthquakes his ass – Hawkins becomes entirely uninhabitable. And said United States government, out of the goodness of its heart, deigns to relocate all of its remaining citizens to one of the nearby towns in Indiana (except for Eddie and his friends that got all mixed up in that bullshit Wayne still doesn’t fully know about; all of them get relocated to Illinois, Wayne included.)

And it's nice, in the immediate aftermath, having all of them around, Jim and Joyce and those kids. They make Eddie come to life in a way that Wayne had worried he’d never see again during those first few days in the hospital. It’s nice having other adults to talk to, who understand the circles under his eyes, who wake up alongside their own kids when they start screaming. Hell, it’s even nice living next to the Harrington’s boy – Steve, who looks just like his father yet couldn’t act more different. Steve, who shepherds around the kids and that girl with the short blonde hair without a complaint.

Steve, who is starting to spend a lot of time in Eddie’s bedroom these days.

So despite the hullaballoo and pain it took to get here, Wayne is grateful that they all live so close, that their houses are all in a row on that sunny suburban block. He’s grateful to have a house, with neighbors that are actually his friends. And he’s grateful that when Steve and Eddie do start dating, when Eddie is all but moved into Steve’s small house next-door, that he’s still close enough to see his kid every day.

(At least, he’s grateful for it at first.)

1. The Lawn Incident

The first time it happens, they aren’t dating yet.

“WAYNE!”

Wayne startles at the sound of Eddie’s shout as he sprints through the front door, screen shutting behind him with a loud bang.

“What? What is it?!”

The government is after them. That kid from Hawkins is there, he’s got a gun. Eddie’s hurt, he’s bleeding, he’s – 

“Get me away from him!” Eddie screeches, gesturing at the door he just ran through. Wayne grabs for his rifle (the one he keeps next to the door just in case) and runs forward, expecting to see a mob on his doorstep – 

There’s no mob.

There’s no sign of anyone. Just Steve Harrington mowing Claudia Henderson’s lawn across the street, shirtless –

Wayne sets the gun back down by the door and turns to shoot Eddie an unimpressed look.

“What? What?! Didn’t you see that? He’s trying to kill me!” Eddie pants, peering out the window and ducking as Steve turns. He sees Wayne and waves.

“He’s not the one you need to worry about killing you, boy.”

Wayne leaves Eddie to his moaning about the boy’s physique and tan and sweat and heads to the kitchen. (Surely 10 AM isn’t too early for a beer.)

2. The First Date

Wayne’s honestly grateful that the Harrington boy moves faster than his own nephew. If it was up to Eddie, he’d be pining for years. Steve, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to invite him to dinner the next time he saw Eddie after The Lawn Incident. And he has the insight to plan their dinner date for the following day, meaning Eddie only has twenty-four hours to work himself into a tizzy.

(Granted, that’s plenty of time for Eddie to accomplish that, but still.)

Anyways, Wayne has to sit through Eddie parading across the living room in various band shirts of varying quality before Eddie finally decides on the one he’d tried on first (Iron Maiden, and Wayne doesn’t have the heart to tell him that maybe a grinning skeleton isn’t the best idea for a first date but hey, the Harrington boy already knows what he’s getting into), and Eddie’s debating the merits of sneakers versus boots when the doorbell rings.

Eddie spins around so fast to stare at Wayne that Wayne has to stifle his laughter. “He’s here!”

“You gonna get the door then, or are you just gonna let him decorate the porch?”

“Right, right,” Eddie mutters, first to Wayne and then to himself. Throwing his shoulders back, he takes a deep breath and makes his way to the front door. Wayne watches as Eddie nods to himself once, twice, and pulls the door open – 

And then just stands there, blinking at the Harrington boy, before slamming the door in his face.

“Eds? Everything okay?”

Eddie whips around and backs up against the door, pale like he’s seen a ghost. He tries to whisper something to Wayne, but Wayne can’t hear it. “Sorry?”

“I said HE BROUGHT ME FLOWERS!”

“Are you gonna let him in and get a vase or – ”

“Huh? Oh, SHIT - ” Eddie turns back around and throws open the door. The Harrington boy is standing there with an amused grin on his face that only grows wider as Eddie starts babbling, snatches the flowers out of his hand and makes a break for the kitchen, leaving Wayne and the kid to look at each other.

“He’s a little excitable,” Wayne finally breaks the silence, and the Harrington boy laughs.

“I know. I like that about him, though.”

Wayne lets himself finally smile at the Harrington kid – Steve. “Me too, kid. Me too.”

3. The GED

“Wayne, you gotta hide me!”

Wayne barely has time to set his coffee down before Eddie is sliding into the living room and diving behind the couch. “Oh? And what’s the emergency today?”

Eddie pokes his head up from behind the chartreuse couch cushion. “Wheeler’s gone crazy, Wayne! Do you know how many flashcards she has?”

“More than a few, I’d hope. Your test is coming up next month.”

“They’re color-coded,” Eddie hisses. The doorbell rings and he dives back down, making a meep sound.

Wayne rolls his eyes and stands up out of his rocking chair. “I guess I’ll get the door.”

“NO NO NO - ”

He opens the door and Steve is standing there, alongside the older Wheeler girl and Steve’s friend Robin. “Wayne,” the Wheeler girl greets him with a tight smile, and then she’s passing him and powerwalking into the living room, Robin at her heels. (And judging by the immediate hollering Wayne hears, she finds Eddie relatively quickly.)

“Evening,” Wayne greets Steve over the din of voices in his living room. “I take it studying’s going well?”

The sound of something breaking cuts Steve off before he has a chance to reply, and Steve shoots a nervous look at Wayne. “It’s, uh, it’s going. I think Nance might have met her match.”

“Mmm,” Wayne hums, and then something else crashes onto the floor and ya know, Wayne didn’t need to watch Bonanza tonight anyways.

“I heard Hopper got some new IPAs from Wisconsin?” Steve offers, wincing as the sound of Eddie and Wheeler arguing meets its crescendo.

“Let me grab my jacket.”

4. The Fight

Wayne’s not expecting there to be any lights on when he gets home from the shop that day; Eddie had said something about an anniversary dinner with Steve, something about six months of dating, so it’s a shock to walk through the door and see Eddie swaddled under a blanket, eating ice cream while watching The Thing.

“Everything okay, son?”

“Of course! I mean, what would I have to be upset about?” Eddie snaps, forcefully digging his spoon into the Chunky Monkey.

“Right,” Wayne says, and then slowly makes his way into his bedroom where he makes a call.

“Eddie, please, I just want to talk - ”

“Sorry, son, it’s just me.”

A choked-up Steve sighs over the phone. “Hey Wayne.”

“Hey, kid. You mind telling me why Eddie’s on a mission to clean out Ben & Jerry’s tonight?”

 Steve sniffles. “I asked him to be my boyfriend. Like, officially.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Eddie assumed we already were, which is bullshit because I asked him, like, after our fourth date and he said no, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be ‘Steve Harrington’s Boyfriend’ or whatever but apparently it was a joke and, I mean, it’s not like I’ve been dating anyone else but I just thought - ”

“That he meant what he said, right,” Wayne huffs out a breath. “Let me go talk to him for a bit, okay son?”

“ ‘kay. Thanks, Wayne,” Steve replies quietly, and then he hangs up the phone. Wayne takes a moment to look at the ceiling – Lord, he loves his kid, but this is not what he wanted to be doing on his Friday – but he heads back into the living room anyways and turns off the TV.

“Hey!”

“Son, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About what you said to Steve, that’s what.”

Eddie grumbles, stabbing his spoon through the bottom of the ice cream carton. “You’re on his side then?”

“Hey, you’re my kid. I’m always gonna be on your side. But that means sometimes I gotta tell you when you’re in the wrong and right now, son, you’re in the wrong.”

Eddie throws his head back against the couch with a sigh. “It’s just – he should have known!”

“Eds, we both got a bit of that Munson-meanness in us. We both know that sometimes our jokes don’t sound like jokes. How was your boy supposed to know that if you didn’t talk to him about it after the fact? He can’t read your mind, kid.”

“I know, I know, I fucking know!” Eddie scrunched his face up and threw the empty ice cream carton to the side. “It’s my fucking fault and I just – I hate that he thought I was just trying him out for six fucking months, as if I’d actually do something like that to him!”

“Well,” Wayne sighs, “then it sounds like both of you let your own shit get in the way of things. And the only way you can fix it now is if you talk it out.”

“And say what?”

“That it was a stupid joke and that you’re not the sort of person who’d treat anyone that way. And for the record, kid, I think he knows that. He might be gone on you, but he’s not the type of guy who’d stay with someone who treated him badly.”

Eddie bites at his lip for a little bit. “Okay. I’m gonna go talk to Steve.”

“Good,” Wayne nods, and then Eddie is fast-walking to the door – 

And he still has Wayne’s blanket.

“Bring that blanket back!”

“Yes, Wayne.”

“And some more Chunky Monkey!”

“Yes, Wayne!”

(Wayne’ll be lucky if he sees either in the next year.)

5. The Game

It’s a perfect fall Sunday; a cool breeze flows in through the open window, Wayne has a cold beer and a new can of peanuts in front of him, and the Colts are starting as receivers for the first playoff game of the season. He has four blissful hours of peace in front of him, just him, his football team, and –

“WAYNE!”

Wayne groans as Eddie slams into the house. “WAYNE, I need – no, no, no, WHY? You’re watching the game too?!”

“It’s the playoffs, son,” Wayne says. Or, rather, he tries to say; a whole stampede of footsteps follow Eddie into the house and suddenly Wayne’s surrounded by his kid, six teenagers, a pre-teen and the Corroded Coffin boys (who were in town for a visit). 

“Whatever, he can watch the game Eddie, we just need a table - ”

“ – grab the extra chairs, we can get it set up - ”

“Wait, wait, wait, set up what exactly?” Wayne asks but the teens have scattered, running to all ends of his house to set up something at his dining room table and – ah, yes. Their dragon game.

“Really, son?” Wayne asks as Eddie walks by and snatches a couch pillow. “Can’t you do this at your house?”

“I promised Steve that he could have the house if his team made the finals or whatever - ”

“The playoffs, Ed.”

“ – yeah, that’s what I said, but we need to finish up this campaign before Jeff and Gareth go back to school and - ”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Wayne scoops his beer and his peanuts up and heads for the door.

“ – only six hours or so and – hey, where are you going?”

“I’m running away,” Wayne replies drily as he shoots Eddie a final wave. “Steve has a bigger TV anyways.”

Eddie lets out a theatrical gasp, but Wayne is too far away to hear whatever else he has to say. 

(Steve does have a bigger TV. And Jim and Charles are fans, too. Maybe they have more of that IPA.)

+1 The Proposal

Wayne’s used to it by now, the sound of his front door slamming shut. It usually signals that Eddie’s in one of his moods, or is excited to share something about the store or Steve or their brand new puppy – Strider, because his kid is a nerd – or because it’s been seventy-two hours and at that point Eddie usually feels the need to make an entrance to check in on Wayne because it’s rare these day that they go three days without at least checking in, but when Wayne goes to check the door, it isn’t Eddie standing there.

It's Steve, and he’s panting.

“Steve? You okay, son?”

‘Yeah, yeah,” he nods, “I just – I don’t know how much longer I can put it off.”

Wayne feels warm all the way in the cockles of his heart. “It’s just ‘til this weekend, son.”

“I know! But Eddie’s so smart,” Steve complains, running his fingers through his hair, “he’s so smart and he knows something’s up and I’m trying not to act weird but because I’m trying not to act weird then he knows that I’m acting weird, and I’m afraid he’s going to pull away again and I just – we just keep having moments where I want to tell him and I keep having to stop myself and I don’t know if I can wait any longer – ”

“Then don’t.”

“ – and I – what?”

Wayne shrugs. “If you don’t want to wait any longer, then don’t.”

Steve looks lost. “But I – I just want this to be perfect. Eddie deserves something perfect.”

“Kid, you are his something perfect,” Wayne replies, and Steve flushes bright red. “You could ask him while he’s on the shitter and it’d be perfect because it’s you.”

“You really think so?” Steve asks shyly. “I mean, not that I’m going to ask him when he’s going to the bathroom - ”

“You probably could do a little better than that,” Wayne agrees, and the two men are laughing when Eddie bursts into the room behind them.

“WHAT is going on here, hmm?” Eddie exclaims.

“Eddie,” Wayne starts, trying to stop whatever monologue is coming but Eddie cuts him off.

“No, Wayne, don’t try to tell me something isn’t going on because something is going on and you,” Eddie says, turning to point at a bright-red Steve, “you are being incredibly suspicious right now and if I didn’t know any better, I would say that you keep running every time we’re in the same room because you don’t want to be with me anymore but that can’t possibly be true because I woke up with you - ”

“EDWARD ANTHONY MUNSON,” Wayne interrupts, completely unwilling to hear whatever scandalous thing was going to come out of Eddie’s mouth next, but it turns out he didn’t have to be the one to interrupt Eddie after all because Eddie has stopped talking entirely. He’s just standing in Wayne’s living room and gaping at Steve.

Steve, who is kneeling on Wayne’s shaggy carpet, a black ring box in his hand.

Wayne’s throat tightens up as soon as he sees the tears lining Eddie’s eyes. “Steve?”

“I was going to wait until next weekend,” Steve starts shakily. “I had a whole plan. I was going to take you to Metallica next weekend and wait until they started playing our song - ”

“Nothing Else Matters.”

“ – right, ‘Nothing Else Matters,’” Steve replies, his own eyes swimming but he’s beaming at Eddie, he’s smiling up at Wayne’s son and shit, Wayne’s going to need a handkerchief himself, “and then I was going to slide this ring onto your hand and – I know that we’ve only been together a year, I know it’s really, really fast – ”

Eddie’s half-laughing and half-gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face and collecting in the corners of his smile.

“ – and I know that it’s only for us, really, but being with you – this past year has been the best year of my life and maybe it makes me selfish, but I want the rest of them, too. I want them all with you, Eds. Will you - ” Steve swallows, bracing himself, “would you do me the honor of being my not-at-all-lawfully-wedded husband?”

Eddie nods and gasps and shouts out the word “YES!” and then he’s throwing himself on top of Steve, laughing and crying together and kissing and then Steve is sliding the ring on Eddie’s finger – a small black diamond with a silver band, one that Wayne had helped Steve decide on out of four possible choices – and then they’re kissing again and murmuring words of love into each others’ mouths and the moment is everything Wayne has ever wanted for Eddie but if Eddie keeps kissing Steve like that it is going to quickly become something Wayne doesn’t want to see, so he interrupts.

“Congratulations, sons,” he says, and then Eddie is jumping up and running in Wayne’s arms, laughing and jumping and asking if he knew and if he wants to see the ring and if Wayne knew it would ever be possible for Eddie to be this happy.

“Oh, I knew,” Wayne replies with a sly grin. “Knew it the day you ran away because you saw him mowing Claudia’s lawn shirtless.”

“Hey!”

“Aww, my little runaway,” Steve says, hugging Eddie from behind and pressing a smattering of kisses against his cheek. “Just as long as you let me run away with you from now on.”

“Deal,” Eddie says, turning to smile at Steve and yeah, Wayne can give them a few moments while he digs out the IPAs. (They’re not champagne but hey, they’ll do.)

(And having Steve as a son-in-law? Yeah. That’ll do too.) 

[slutforsnow]

As an apology for being dead as hell, i would like to provide this one-shot/oc fic of Billy the Kid from the TV drama series.

A Pretty Girl Playin' With The Big Boys

Inspired by Diva and Beautiful Liar

CW//saloon fight, western time period, poker, mild sa (like almost touches but nothing more), implied sh00ting threat, Billy is his own warning for being so hot, mentions of abusive ex, rape mention

She smiled to herself as she watched her brother Jesse play poker as she took a shot of whiskey sittin' in her chair like the cowboys so one caught sight of a woman planning to get in on the next game. What she didn't notice was that a man, around 2 years older than her, was watching her as he played. His gaze seemed predatory and observant as he played-like he didn't really feel like focusing on the game.

He took a shot of his whiskey as he showed his cards, and Jesse slowly set his down. He lost, and he looked pretty pissed about it. He frowned, clenching his jaw. He half-expected it but had some hope that'd bring home somethin' to his ma and Joe since Henry was injured. As Billy got up from his seat and place his hat on his head again, he noticed an oddly small cowboy take the seat that his opponent, Jesse, had been sittin' in as Jesse gathered his winnins.

"She's gonna get herself found out," Jesse murmured laughin' to himself. Billy snapped his head to Jesse, his brows furrowed in confusion.

'She? She who?' The brunette thought before turning his gaze to the mysterious she at the poker table. She had put a rather large sum of money on the table, causing Jesse to raise his brows, surprised. "She never bets that much."

'She's a regular poker player?'

As the game proceeded, the mysterious she kept quiet, only making noise to clear her throat or move away from one of her opponents that seemed off and tried to lay hands on her more private areas.

Billy kept a frown on his lips as he watched her discomfort, but every moment he went to go shove a man off her, she'd shoot him a glare as if to say 'if you expose me, I'll shoot you.'

As the game came to a close, she smirked, gathering her winnings as she won more than Jesse. The other men bet more in this game than the last one and were surprised to lose a quite hefty amount. The men were genuinely shocked, thinking they lost to a 15 - or 16 year old boy. One man, however, looked pissed and as the mystery girl began to stand after pocketing her winnings, he grabbed her arm pulling her down to the table, knocking her hat off and letting her lustrous curls unfurl from her messy bun that was tucked neatly under her hat. The curls fell around her face, and one strand fell in front of her face. Smiling awkwardly, she stayed still.

'Well shit,' She thought, freezing as the man froze. The gambler lost to a woman, and he was furious. A WOMAN beat his ass in poker, a men's game.

The saloon was dead silent as the sound of her hat hit the ground seemingly echoed.

"Now, sir, there's no need to violent its just poker," She said, trying to wiggle her arm free, only for the man to tighten his hold. 'Okay, maybe I'll need Jesse for this,' She thought, glancing to her brother and his friend.

"You beat me in my game. No one ever beats me," the gambler growled, grabbing his gun and bringing it to her temple. The man's words sent Billy's mind to the night Carlos was shot for winning and for being Mexican. He wasn't having a repeat of that. Before he could think, Billy spun his gun out of the holster, shooting the hole through a broken window, hitting an old crate which exploded due to the force of the bullet hitting such a delicate and old thing.

The sound grabbed everyone's attention, even the gambler who dropped his gun in surprise. The saloon was still in silence, watching Billy's next move.

"Let her go," He said, moving his gun and aiming it at the man's head. The mystery woman smirked in approval of Billy, liking how he was handling it. "I don't wanna have to kill you, so just let her go."

Out of pure fear, the man dropped his gun and let go of her, causing her to fall onto the floor with a hard thud.

Standing up, she brushed the dirt off her jeans and grabbed her hat, swiping the dust off.

"Gentleman," She commented after a moment of silence and bowing, exiting the saloon with Jesse behind her and Billy behind both of them.

As the three walked in awkward silence, she put her hat on, ignoring the stares from other women at her boyish appearance, aside from her cerulean eyes and ginger locks that had been pulled into a braid down her back.

"I suppose I should thank you," She uttered, smiling towards Billy and turning to walk backward, now following Jesse based on the sound of his footsteps.

"'S nothin'," Billy told her, shrugging as he walked behind her, but noticing her bruised arm as she pulled her over shirt off to check on the bruise. "You gonna be okay?"

"Oh I'll be fine," She answered, shrugging off his concern. "This ain't nothin' compared to my last man."

"Last man?" He repeated, staring at her puzzled. "What happened to him?"

"Jesse ran him out of town for trying to marry me while I was seventeen. Stopped him from rapin' me too," She commented. "Ex was awful."

Billy stared at her, surprised at how she could be so calm about it. Then he thought of something; she was so calm about it as if it was nothin' more than picking flowers by a river. It reminded him of how calm and unbothered he is to murdering, at least small animals and people who truly deserved it. He smirked a little before extending his hand to her to shake.

"Billy Antrim."

"Violet Evans."

[modelbus]

Have I ever mentioned I’m a Greek mythology nerd? If not… here’s a good time to drop that. This is HEAVILY Orpheus and Eurydice inspired!!

This is just a little writing EXERCISE, I know it’s not good :) I will be posting an actual writing thing on WEDNESDAY!!

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Gn!Reader

He Doesn’t Look Back

You’d follow your lieutenant through fire if he asked you to. And he never did ask, but you still did it. Bullets pinging at your feet, all you can do is grip your gun and keep your eyes trained on his back.

Ghost doesn’t look back.

Hesitating for even a second would get you both killed, and he knows it. Glancing back at you, even just to confirm you’re alive and following, would end with a bullet in his head too.

It’s not far from cover, a building you two can duck into to reload and go back at it. Call Price for an evac, inform him the mission went sideways.

Damn intel leaks.

This was your mission, technically. You were sent out alone, collecting information on a mobster from afar. It was simple, safe.

Until the Task Force servers were hacked and your mission was leaked.

Being disconnected from the team unless you called them left you unable to know what happened. When the mobster suddenly went into hiding, you searched the city high and low, trying to figure out what had triggered it.

Ghost was the one to come into the city to tell you, to save your ass. And now he’s the one helping you get out, helping you live, continuously saving your ass.

Despite what everyone says, Ghost is hardly callous or emotionless. If you chose, you’d liken him to a tragedy. For all intents and purposes, he’s the makings of a hero: strong and brave, loyal enough to dive into hell to save you. But he’s got the air of a dead man walking, someone who has so many ghosts that they’ll drag him down. Ironic, considering his Callsign.

You let out a muffled curse as a bullet zings past you, barely missing. Ghost doesn’t turn, too busy dodging his own bullets.

There’s just a few more paces, then you’ll be in the safety of cover. This is the last time you’re letting Price put you on undercover work, you swear. Soap will probably tease you for days for needing Ghost to come rescue you.

Your hands tighten on your gun instinctively, glancing over as you catch a glimpse of fabric. Honestly, you’re not sure you’ve been in a worse situation. At least in other times you had all of 141 to back you.

Finally, Ghost ducks into the doorway of the abandoned house, looking back at you before he’s even fully in. You can see his eyes through the mask, relief clear as he reaches back to haul you through with him.

You lower your gun, stretching to grab his arm, eyes only on him and the prospect of safety.

Neither of you ever sees the grenade.

It flings you back, the ground seeming to erupt beneath your feet as you fly. You slam against someone’s abandoned car, scrabbling for purchase as you’re sent tumbling across its hood. Glass tears through your sleeves and gloves, piercing through to your skin.

Ghost shouts your Callsign, but you can’t even hear it past the ringing in your ears. Like everything is muffled, you can barely get yourself to focus on pushing yourself to a sitting position.

Pain shoots through your body, but you ignore it. You have to get up, you have to get to Ghost, you have to fucking live.

You look up, right into the barrel of a gun.

A man you’ve never seen before stares down at you, sneering. As you watch, his hand tightens around the grip.

Ghost is nowhere in sight. He came back for you, but at what cost? He looked back to help you, to make sure you were still alive, and you were a fool for dropping your gun to reach for him.

The man above you squeezes the trigger.

Ghost’s name is the last thing on your lips.

[jevilowo]

TEAM ASCENDED FORTRESS 2

An AU by me in which the mercs ascend to their ultimate forms

Oh God tumblr wrecked the quality-

More about the AU under the cut!

WOKE SCOUT: she started taking estrogen and instead of fixing her it made her worse. She gets into fights on twitter about neopronouns and has successfully cancelled everyone she doesn't like at least once. However, as cancel culture isn't real, this only lasted about three seconds for each. She managed to pull Ms Pauling also which is pretty cool.

SOLDIERSUNE MIKU: the ghost of Shakespearicles told him to dress as Miku and redo the salem witch trials. Only knowing one witch (Merasmus), he finished this quickly and now roams the country with Zhanna (who is now Zhannagane Miku after Mikus metal counterpart) spreading malice and wonder through the power of AMERICAN SONG COVERS. He uses a wig for the Miku effect, but is working on growing his hair out also.

MITOSIS: Pyro and Engie were shagging one time and they came so hard they did mitosis. Now theres 23 babey Pyros (count em) and Engineer is a single dad. There's a lot of Pyro Mitosis Lore™ in my head, but the basics are that they evolve into either humanoid, beastial, demonic or celestial Pyros eventually.

TAVISH, KING OF THE LOCH NESS: he did it he blew up that bloody sea monster and now he is king of Loch Ness. The self loathing has died down a lot which is great for him but his body is still a scrumpty distillery which is eh. Still, he has funky water powers and his partners Soldiersune and Zhannagane come to visit often.

KEEPER OF TIME AND SPACE GUY: Heavy was mad, he knew he'd been had so he shot at the sun with a gun. Instead of being a show off like that bitch Juno, he had a nice philosophical conversation and chess match with Time and impressed Time so much he was appointed as the guardian of Time and Time's partner, Space. His guns (the six angel thingies pictured) can turn into celestial weapons which helps in the protecting but people don't shoot at the sun so often so its a relaxing enough gig really.

GODDAMMIT ENGIE: after realising how much more efficient Gunslinger was than a lame ass human hand, Engie succumbed to his hubris and eventually replaced all his body parts with robot parts. Including his dick which led to the Mitosis Incident. Anyway. His chest is a dispenser which makes projects pretty convenient and he has a mini-sentry attached to each arm and leg, making him a walking weapon. This did not help with the god complex, but it helps with the single father thing.

THE INFERNAL DOCTOR: Medic kept attaching more souls to his own and selling them to Satan for power. Satan got so sick of this eventually he attempted to beat the shit out of Medic. By now Medic was slightly more powerful than Satan so this ended with Medic absorbing Satan's powers and basically taking his place. Somehow, his relationship with the guy who is now a celestial being was unaffected by this. If they really tried they could probably ascend even further. To godhood, perhaps. In any case, Medic becoming The Devil from The Bible did nothing for the god complex.

???: Sniper just kind of fucked off into the woods one day god knows what happened to him but Scout's convinced she saw him for like three seconds a week ago and "YOU GUYS HE HAD ANTLERS I SWEAR-"

RETIRED AND BECAME A FUNCTIONING MEMBER OF SOCIETY SPY: yeah. He's very happy with Scout's Mother (Maureen), and he's letting his roots grow out (his spy agency made him dye his hair black). He's even making an effort to be a good parent to Scout, bought her the trans flag ipad cover and everything, but she just keeps trying to cancel him. Maureen's sure they'll work it out between themselves eventually, but until then she has to keep finding more secure hiding places for the ipad (the best so far was the time she buried it under a tree a mile away, took Scout at least four hours to find and retrieve it that time)

There's also YURI MS PAULING, in which she pulled a whole polycule of beautiful women, but I'll cover her in another post.

Also TERFS DNI please. Woke Scout is just Scout being Scout (which is to say a bit stupid), and assuming all trans women are like that would be ridiculous. So fuck off.

[anonymous-dentist]

Grian stumbles into town with a bullet lodged in his spine and another in his ass. He walks with an obvious limp, making his spurs jingle obnoxiously with every step.

He doesn’t know where he is. His absolute idiot of a horse is at the bottom of a canyon choking on dirt. His back hurts, and his coat isn’t doing much to hide the blood oozing out of his bullet wounds.

All in all? Miserable day. Zero out of ten.

And, he thinks as a cloud passes over the scorching western sun above, it’s just going to get worse from here.

There are people staring. Townspeople, obviously, on both the street and inside whatever piles of wood they’re trying to pass off as actual buildings. And then there are the horses, as judgemental as Grian’s own rude, terrible horse.

And then there are the ghosts whispering to each other in the shadows. They point and laugh and mime shooting guns and stick their tongues out and flip him off as he walks by.

Grian grimaces at the attention and pulls his hat low over his face.

(That’s the thing about the living, they never know how to mind their own business!)

(Not that the dead are any better, mind.)

(And not that Grian is much better than them.)

He’s got a walking stick and a gun. The gun doesn’t have any bullets left in it, and the stick is half-broken. He used to have a knife, but he left it with BigB (because he’s stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!) His sword is at home, and his ax is somewhere in the desert buried in a skeleton’s ribcage.

It’s a small town, at least. Grian only walks past the saloon and the general store and the post office and two whole entire houses before he’s through the town and in front of the church.

More importantly, he’s in front of the graveyard.

He looks up at the tree in the middle of the graveyard. It’s got a noose hung on it, and there’s someone hanging from it: no soul, no breath, no life.

“Rip,” says Grian. (Living slang, he thinks.)

Looking around carefully, he hops the graveyard’s fence and heads towards the body.

“It’s nothing personal,” he tells it once he’s standing before (and below) it. “I’ve just got to borrow some of your juice, that’s all. You won’t be needing it where you’re going.”

Letting out a long, and deeply annoyed. breath, Grian leans his stick against the tree. He cracks his neck, shimmies a little in place, winces as the bullets in him wiggle around painfully.

“Right,” he says.

He nods.

And then he gets on his toes and places his hand on the body’s chest over where its heart once beat. He closes his eyes, and-

“What are you doing?” he hears- a whisper, hoarse like an asthmatic, well, horse.

The Living, Grian judgmentally thinks.

He wrinkles his nose in response. “Nothing. Go away.”

“Uh-huh. Well-”

The whisper cuts off as Grian shushes it. He’s busy!

No soul, no breath, no life… but there should still be, at least, juice. Tasty juice, perfect for getting rid of nasty bullet holes and dissolving the bullets inside.

But.

“This is a little personal, don’t you think?” the voice asks. “I mean, we don’t even know each other!”

Grian frowns.

And then Grian screams as the body he’s touching starts freaking wiggling.

His eyes fly open (hah!) and he stumbles backwards, clutching his hand to his chest and breathing entirely too heavily for a creature unable to feel fear.

The body smiles. It waves. It laughs as Grian hyperventilates below it.

“Why, hello there!” it cheerfully says.

Grian lunges for his stick and starts beating the corpse with it.

“Ow!” it yelps. “Hey! Ow! Stop that!”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” Grian snaps. (He’s rather an expert in these kinds of things.) “Go on! Be dead!”

The body whimpers and moans and kicks at Grian at Grian swings at it:

“Yeowch!”

“‘Yeowch’ this,” Grian huffs. He cracks his stick upside the body’s head so hard that his stick actually finally breaks in half.

The body just looks offended.

As Grian bends down to try and magic his stick back together, the body raises a hand to rub the side of its head.

“Okay, rude,” it angrily says. “What did I do?”

Grian narrows his eyes up at it: jagged scars cutting across its face, skin almost grey in appearance, rope around the neck. Fancy clothes like that of a businessman.

No soul. No breath. …Some life?

“You’re alive,” Grian explains. “That’s a problem.”

“Tell me about it,” the body sighs. It rolls its eyes towards the town. “Those guys spent weeks trying to get me killed! Haven’t the faintest idea why.”

This is. Strange.

“Where is your soul?” Grian demands. He stands and pokes the body right in the tummy, ignoring the light giggle it gives in response. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Ah, see, that’s a funny story, actually…”

Grian turns and starts to walk away with his broken stick. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to hear it. I haven’t got the time.”

A cloud passes over the sun.

“Hey!” the body calls. “What about my juice! You said you needed it!”

“I can’t get it from someone alive.”

“Oh, is that all? Cut me down, I can help.”

The bullet in Grian’s back is awful smug for something about to get dissolved. It digs in as Grian turns around and gives the body a capital-L look.

“Did you kill someone?” he flatly asks.

The body bats its eyelashes. “Well, you won’t find out unless you get me down from here.”

Grian… weighs his options. He can’t run like this. Death will find him by sundown if he can’t heal up and hide himself. But the corpse in front of him is an affront to nature and he kind of really hates it.

He sighs, anyway, and starts back towards the tree.

Twenty minutes later, he and his new corpse friend are standing in a cave over the lightly-decomposed body of a young man in a dirty white shirt.

“That’s a dead man,” Grian astutely says.

The body nods. “Yup. Found him myself a few days ago. Went and reported it to the townspeople, but they just hung me instead of thanking me.”

Grian looks at him with a confusedly-furrowed brow. “They didn’t even come and get the body?”

The body shrugs innocently; Grian is sure that it killed this man.

He crouches by the dead man, anyway, and puts his hand over its heart.

“You’re one of those reaper guys, right?” the standing body suddenly asks.

Grian chokes on his own breath. “Ah-”

“Oh, don’t mind me asking!”

“That is. Private information.”

“So you are! That’s good, ‘cause, see, I’ve got this problem…”

Slowly, the body settles on the ground next to Grian, criss-cross-applesauce. It puts its hands in its lap.

“I may have screwed with Death,” the body says.

Grian looks at it, a walking corpse. “Well, I’d say.”

“And now Death is after me,” it continues. “So, if you’re a reaper, maybe you can put in a good word for me? I’m not abusing my immortality or anything, honest!”

Grian sucks in a sympathetic breath through his teeth. “Yeah, sorry, bud, I can’t do that. Death’s after me, too.”

The body doesn’t so much as blink before grinning and saying, “Then that’s even better! We can team up! You know what they say, two heads are better than one!”

“Better not. I’ve got a big target on my back. If you want to be left alone, I am not the reaper you should be hanging out with.”

He’d be much better off with Mumbo, Grian thinks. Death likes Mumbo. They’re good friends even outside of work.

But the body just shakes his head. “No, man, you don’t get it.”

And then he reaches into his suit’s inside pocket and pulls out a gun. The gun: old, tarnished silver with skulls engraved in the metal.

It points Death’s Scythe at Grian with a tilt of the head.

“Cool, huh?” it asks. “Now, I know that you know what this is, so I’m sure that we won’t have any arguments here when I suggest that we start working together. Reapers avoid other reapers, right?”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, unless they’re explicitly looking for other reapers. Put that down, you can’t shoot it, anyway.”

He turns back to the dead man on the floor; he needs his juice.

He jumps as a bullet flies right past his ear and into the cave wall behind him.

He freezes.

“I’m Scar, by the way,” the body- Scar, and Grian has heard of him, his name has been on the reaping list for almost a century now- says. “I’ve got a wagon hidden in an old barn outside of town and some supplies.”

Slowly, Grian lets out a breath. Of course. Of course! He’s only been on Earth for a day, and he’s already being kidnapped by a Living. Great. He’s never going to live this down.

Through grit teeth, he says, “Grian. Now, excuse me…”

He closes his eyes, and he plunges his hand right through the dead man’s chest until he’s holding the heart. He squeezes it, and he pulls it out of the body, and he brings it to his lips. He opens his mouth, and-

———

Or: It’s the Wild West, and Grian is a grim reaper is running away from Death, Scar is a human who cheated Death and (mostly) got away with it, and is immortality really all it’s cut out to be?

I’ve never written anything with these characters before, so let me know what you think!!

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - chapter four

you know you never stood a chance series

four: beg me to take care of things

qz!Joel Miller x f!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You continue your free use arrangement with Joel in exchange for shelter, but it hits a little snag.

Warnings: qz life comes with its own warning, dub-con due to power imbalance, trading sex for shelter, free use, vaginal sex, anal play, oral sex (m&f receiving), canon-typical violence, whoops there's more plot, Joel is mean/bad at feelings, no y/n, despite what it looks like this is NOT going to follow canon

also on ao3

“Not a fucking sound,” he whispers, stifling your moan with his hand. Ellie is asleep in the next room over, but the glass of the door between you is broken. It’s the only reason he feels comfortable leaving her in that room: the sole entrance is in his line of sight.

He’s got you pinned to the grimy tile, his whole weight atop you as he fucks into your cunt. You can’t make a sound if you wanted; you can hardly draw a breath. He’s not a small man by any means. But it feels so fucking good.

It’s been weeks. Ever since you got roped into this mission, ever since you left the QZ, he hadn’t touched you once.

It hurts in the best way, though just a little past the point of pleasure. There wasn't the time for prep. But your whole body is tingling just from finally having his hands back on you, his thick cock inside you, feeling like more than just a burden.

Each slap of his hips against you is a rebirth. In the six months before you started on this horrible trek, you had known very little outside of Joel’s touch. You went to work each morning, collected rations, and came home. He’d come home an hour later, always on edge, always looking for an outlet.

For six months, you had been little more than Joel Miller’s live-in fucktoy, and honestly, it was probably the best six months of your life since the outbreak. You wanted for nothing (at least in the realities of post-apocalyptic life—in the grander scheme of things, you wouldn’t have said no to some fucking McDonald’s french fries). You had protection. You had shelter. You had company.

Well. Okay. You sort of had company. You could count on him to speak at least a few words in the evening. He almost always made sure you came, too. It had been hard at first, relying on him, but there was no use for a martyr complex these days. The only one who’d suffer by turning down assistance was, well, you.

He doesn’t make sure you cum, this time, but you think he can tell you don’t need any help. The relief of having him inside you is enough, and you can’t spare the energy to be embarrassed about it.

After he pulls out, having covered your ass in his cum, he stands up immediately, knees cracking. He tucks himself away and nudges you with the toe of his boot. “Up, get dressed.”

You scramble up, tugging your pants back into place, and watch him for a moment. His jaw is ticking, and he’s scowling at the wall behind you.

You open your mouth, and he cuts you off. “Shouldn’t have done that. Not gonna happen again.”

You’re aghast. “What?”

“Wasn’t fair of me. Y’don’t owe me anythin’ out here.”

You take a hesitant step closer. His jaw twitches again, but he doesn’t move (or look at you). “You’re still protecting me,” you offer.

“I made you come out here. Kinda have to protect you.”

“You don’t, though,” you say, feeling emboldened enough to slide your hand up his arm to his bicep.

He knocks your arm away and grabs you by the chin. “Why’d you even come? You just do whatever I say, even stupid shit?”

“Well, yeah. Didn't really have a better offer.”

“Christ.” He drops his hand from you and wipes it down his face.

“How ‘bout you get some sleep?” you say warily. The bags under his eyes are deeper and darker than ever. “I can keep watch.”

“You learn how to shoot a gun when I was takin’ a piss earlier?”

“No, but I can still keep watch. I can wake you up if anything happens.”

You’re shocked when he seems to actually consider it. It’s the safest you’ve been in weeks, here in this abandoned high-rise. There are no signs of Infected or hunters.

“Fine.” He grunts. “But you wake me if there’s any sound. I don’t care if you think it’s a rat or the wind. You fuckin’ wake me, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you joke. Something darkens behind his eyes just for a moment, until he blinks it away. You file that away for later.

He hands you a pistol and a knife, just in case. Not that you’ll know what to do with either, but he can’t just leave you unarmed. You nod, understanding passing between you.

He sucks on his front teeth, staring at you for a moment like he wants to say something. You’re not sure you want to hear it, though, so you say, “Goodnight, Joel.”

Nothing happens. You stand, leaning against the door frame, Joel’s pistol in your hands. Despite his paranoia, there’s not even a squeak out of place, and he sleeps for four full hours before getting up. He moves more nimbly than he has since, well. Since Tess.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious to know what was between them. She had, after all, seemed very aware of what function you served to Joel, but there was no jealousy in her eyes. Maybe when he fucked her, it was like making love, and she was fine to leave all the rough, angry moments for you to absorb.

Or maybe it was nothing. It hardly mattered, and she was nice to you, so you respected her memory by leaving it alone.

Though you do wonder if that’s why he wouldn’t touch you anymore.

Dawn hasn’t broken, and Ellie is still asleep. When he comes out to check on you, you offer the only other comfort you can.

When you sink to your knees, he closes his eyes for just a moment and sighs. “Yeah, okay,” he says. His body had worked ahead of his brain, already undoing the button on his jeans, and he lets you ease him into the morning.

After, when he helps you stand, he holds you against him for a moment, and even presses a kiss into your hair almost absentmindedly. You figure maybe he’s forgotten his promise that it would never happen again.

And he does, for a little while.

When you first moved into his apartment, it was so incredibly awkward. Like, worse than a school dance awkward. Worse than walking in on your sister getting railed by some scrawny FEDRA officer awkward.

Eventually, you tracked his habits and rhythms and used the information to stay out of his way. You stopped wearing underwear when you were home, as it ended up on the floor anyway. After a while, he just started leaving you a couple of his shirts, and you gave up on sweatpants entirely.

You’d be lying if you said you were uncomfortable, and he tended to leave the shirt on you when he fucked you, so there was no need for dressing and undressing.

He left first in the morning and came home last, so the key quickly became your responsibility. He had shoved it into your hand the second evening.

“I’m leavin’ for a couple days. Lock the apartment. Don’t talk to anyone, and don’t tell anyone I’m gone.”

Before he left that evening, he ordered you to your knees and fucked your throat, wiping away the tears after he finished. “Be good,” he said, dragging his knuckles down your cheek.

And then he was gone. You locked the door behind him and sat on the dingy carpet, legs folded pretzel-style. The yellow fluorescent bulb overhead had a faint pulse to it, a barely-there dimming and brightening that started to hurt your eyes. What the fuck were you supposed to do here, in this flat you were haunting?

You didn’t dare look around. You ate the rations you had earned and left everything else alone. You knew there were pills, guns, and alcohol somewhere. You weren’t keen on learning where, though. Plausible deniability and all that.

Joel came home in the middle of the night three days later. The key issue became apparent when he had to pound on the door until you woke up to let him in.

“New plan,” he snarled when he came in. “From now on, when I’m gone, I’m lockin’ you in here until I get back.”

“Fuck no,” you said.

“The fuck did you say to me?” he said, stalking closer.

“What if you don’t come back soon enough? What if I fuckin’ run out of food?”

“You think I’d go to all this trouble to keep you safe and then let ya die in here?”

“I don’t know!” Your heart struggled to keep up with your irrational fury, and stumbled at his words. Why did he go to all this trouble? You were about to ask, but of course, he ruined it.

“What good’s your pussy to me then, huh?” He was chest-to-chest with you, towering with a venomous glare.

“I don’t know, Miller, you’re kind of a creep. Maybe you’re into that.”

“I’m a creep, huh? Then why are you so wet?”

You flushed, heat crawling across your cheeks and ears. “Who says I’m wet?”

It was the wrong thing to say. He pinned you against the door and shoved your pants down, plunging three fingers right into your cunt. You yelped at the stretch and pinch, but had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, as he brought them up to your face, coated in slick.

“Looks pretty wet to me,” he said, the words rumbling from somewhere deep and dark within. “Open.”

You did. God help you, you did. He smirked and pressed his fingers in, wiping them on your tongue.

“Suck,” he murmured.

You closed your lips around him and sucked until your cheeks hollowed around them, saliva leaking from the corners of your mouth. He pulled his fingers out and patted your cheek with the same hand, leaving a wet trail behind.

“Go get on the fuckin’ bed.”

"Which bed is the fucking bed?" you said before you could control yourself, and darted into his room before he could register your words.

You were hardly in position when his hands gripped the sides of your hips, and he licked into your cunt. “Fuckin’ slut, trying to say ya weren’t wet and waitin’ for me,” he grumbled, and nipped at your thigh before diving back in.

Your orgasm came embarrassingly quickly. His derisive chuckle brushed against your clit, which he sucked at until you were spent.

“Seems like ya missed me,” he said, standing and wasting no time before stuffing his cock in. “Well? Did ya?”

You didn’t answer, whining into the sheets as he set a slow but harsh pace, slamming in only to draw back out inch by inch.

He slapped your ass, watching it ripple. “Don’t be rude, sweetheart.”

“Oh, were you gone?” you huffed between thrusts.

He brought his hand down again. “What did I just fuckin’ say?”

“Y’know, come to think of it,” you couldn’t stop yourself, couldn’t shut up, “there was a distinct lack of grouchy old creeps hanging around.”

He grabbed your hair and craned your neck back so you could see the way his eyes were blown dark, teeth bared. “Watch yourself, sweetheart. I’ve had a real bad couple of days. Here I thought I was comin’ home to a sweet cunt.”

You opened your mouth, though you didn’t feel a retort dancing on your tongue. You figured by the time you came up with it, you’d have already said it.

He didn’t give you the chance. His other hand came up, and he hooked two fingers into your cheek. The hand in your hair released to dip into your mouth, swiping his thumb through the pooling saliva. He dragged it down and pressed the wet thumb into the cleft of your ass, firm pressure against your tight hole.

You were breathing heavily around his fingers, back arched. He didn’t stop fucking into you, hissing as you clamped down when his thumb pushed in, just enough to make you feel the pressure.

“Awfully quiet now,” he drawled. “You just needed all your holes filled, huh?”

You thought you might die from the humiliation, if only the pleasure didn’t take you first. You squirmed, pushing back into him.

He jostled your head by pinching the fingers in your mouth and shaking your cheek. “You gonna be quiet if I take these out?”

You nodded. He withdrew the fingers and brought the hand down to your hip, holding you steady so he could chase his orgasm. Each rough thrust knocked a quiet cry from your lips, and he pulled away from your asshole to tangle his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back again.

The kiss was mostly teeth and spit, but it was euphoric. He felt the way you tightened and tensed, and he smiled against your lips. “Cum for me,” he said, and licked into your mouth to gobble up your scream.

When you convulsed on his cock, he lost control, and almost didn’t pull out in time. He spilled against the bed, swearing deep and low.

That memory and the many others get you through the lonely nights on the journey, your hand down your pants and gasps muffled around your fist when you can catch a moment alone. If Joel notices, he doesn’t show it. Except tonight, when you look back on it, you realize he was only making good on his promise not to let you rot in his apartment. Whatever delusions you had about being brought along get left behind in the shitty high rise.

next chapter

*title from "Send the Pain Below" by Chevelle.