#eat a bullet fucker!

[jules-van-hering]

how the fuck do you calm yourself down from wanting to completely rip into those dudes on dating app who just saw the non-mono tag on your profile didn't read any further then texted you the most offensive shit and now you just wanna rip his head off

[misserabella]

could i request mean!ellie fucking you with her strap while wearing a suit? including a daddy kink if possible 🎀

mine

dark! mafia ellie x fem! reader

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, mean and dark ellie, jealousy, death of a second character, ellie commits murder, begging, guns, strap on! sex (r receiving), teasing, ellie being a menace, rough fucking, daddy kink, praise kink, praising, ass smacking, cum eating, use of good girl…

okay but what about mafia! ellie pissed the fuck off ‘cause one of her allies couldn’t just stay the fuck away from you during the mafia dinner; complimenting you, touching your hair, your dress. so she just had to show the motherfucker his place, and you, yours.

“you enjoyed it, huh? enjoyed the attention?” she groaned, her hips harshly smacking your ass as she pistoned into you, fucking your absolute brains out. “enjoyed that fucker gushing for you?!”

“n-no, daddy! i swear!” you cried out, your perfectly manicured nails digging on her desks wood, in which she had bent you over before dicking you down.

you whimpered at the sting of her hand landing on your ass in a harsh smack.

“it didn’t look that way to me. do you like it? like it when someone else rather than daddy touches you? you want him to fuck you?”

“no!” you shook your head, stuttering due to her relentless pace.

“louder. say it louder. who do you belong to?”

“to you daddy!”

“whose pussy is this?” another smack. her thrusts were kissing your cervix.

“yours daddy! my pussy is yours!” you babbled in between moans and whimpers.

“fucking right. you’re fucking mine.” she smirked. looking at the man tied to a chair in front of the two of you, muffled, watching. “now say it to him, baby.”

your watery eyes found the man’s, your lips puckering in a moan.

“i’m daddy’s. only daddy’s.” your high pitch voice promised.

“atta girl. that’s daddy’s girl.” you cried at the harsh thrust she gave you, one of her hands —the one that wasn’t forcefully pushing your head down against the wood— found your clit, overstimulating you. “now show him how much does this pussy love my cock baby. cum for me. give him a show before i blow his brains out.” you moaned, crying out ‘daddy, daddy, daddy’s! in between sobs as she ripped out of you an orgasm so big your ears rang and vision went white. “fuuck. good girl baby. soaking my fucking cock.” she chuckled, fucking you through it, watching your cum gather on the silicone. once you were completely fucked out of your mind, she pulled out, drops of cum splattering on her carpet.

she hummed, her hand circling her cock to pump it, your cum slicking her fingers as she made her way towards the man who had dared to touch you, to even breath beside you.

“you see this?” she inquired, bending over the man with her soaking hand showing. she slowly pushed her cum-covered fingers inside her mouth, smirking at the teary eyes of the man who muffled pardons for his life. “mine.” she whispered on his ear, the gun she had extracted out of her leather belt on the other side of the man’s head, against his temple.

that was the last thing he heard, ellie’s piercing eyes the last thing he saw, and the rope against the skin of his wrists and the napkin in his mouth suffocating him the last thing he felt. ‘cause thank god he didn’t felt the piercing of the bullet across his head, blowing up his brains.

ellie didn’t even flinch, wouldn’t even have nightmares about the dying light in his eyes as she saved her gun and made her way towards you once again, taking you in between her arms to pull you away from the body and to guide the two of you towards your room.

“i swear i didn’t mean it daddy. i only love you…” you whispered against her neck, and she hummed, kissing your head.

“i know baby. it was his fault. for touching what’s mine.”

[moonlight-prose]

I think that Logan would enjoy (more than he should) his s/o or crush or situationship telling him they’re proud of him

He needs to hear it

oh this ask is truly filthy. because can you imagine his reaction?? priceless. but also why is he hard and why is his heart twisting violently in his chest???

It's after a party. A Wade certified good time (no cocaine involved per Disney rights) party. After saving the timeline Logan and the walking red condom of a man have been sought out to assist on "hero jobs". Or as Logan called it - paying rent.

Wade is lost in Vanessa's eyes and you're in the kitchen nursing an already warm beer. That's where Logan finds you. He greets you with a smile, a tentative how was your week, and hopes that you can't see the way his ears always turn that horrid shade of red in your vicinity.

You never do. He always wishes for the opposite.

At least then he'd have a reason to explain why he feels the way he does. Why your laughter brightens his day - your voice makes his head go the kind of fuzzy that usually only comes after a bullet to the skull. He wants you to know. Needs it some days.

If only he could see inside your head - catch the way your eyes linger on his body longer than necessary. You glance down at the belt buckles you've imagined opening time and time again. Before he turns back, handing you a freshly open cold beer.

You sip at it carefully - slow enough for his eyes to fix on your lips. How they part and mold around the top. It's not long before Logan has to adjust himself discreetly as you turn to glace at the group by the too small couch. If it were up to him, he'd ask to have your lips around something else. But as usual...he was a chickenshit.

"How was your um mission?" you ask, nerves lighting up beneath your skin. You wonder if he can hear the fast beat of your heart.

He nods. "Good. Wade and I helped out a woman being stalked."

"That's some hero work." You laugh and Logan can already see himself dropping to one knee some time in the future - a question ready to fall off the tip of his tongue. "I'm proud of you Logan."

The reaction is involuntary. Surprising if he actually thought about it for longer than a second. But the second was up and there he stood - eyes wide, lips parted, and cock throbbing at the knowledge that you...were proud of him. Every response he could have given you flew out the window the second you gave him the shock of his life.

He could stand there for hours wracking his brain and come up empty for how many times he'd heard those words in his lifetime. And he's been alive for a long fucking time.

"Thanks," he rasped, trying to fight every instinct that told him to take one more step, pin you to the counter, and kiss you until you breath ran out.

Instead he's left to flounder as you smile again, take another sip from your beer, and press a soft kiss to his cheek. Leaving him in the kitchen to join the group again, with a new issue on his hands. How the fuck was he supposed to walk back out there sporting a hard on that nearly made him light headed?

Answer: He downed his beer, grabbed a new one, and thought of Canada - and Wade. That didn't matter. One step out into the room he was locking eyes with that fucker - a shit eating smile directly on his scarred face.

[gremlingottoosilly]

what if the resistance tried to, and somehow failed to kill monster!konigs mate? I know you said they usually do mercy kills but how would Konig react?

If you think you were a prisoner before, you need to rethink your whole freaking existence. You were allowed even too much before - eat outside of your room, follow your monster-husband-owner around, sometimes even explore the base while Konig was away for ten minutes or so, allowing you to stretch your legs just a little...well, it's all gone now. You don't even remember how you got caught by human resistance - you just remember standing there, in the middle of the battle, a bullet passing you only barely. It scrapped your side, dangerously close to the swell of your egg-filled tummy, and Konig thought he might just die on the spot. He can try to convince himself that you don't matter, that he can just ask for the cleaning squad to let his annoying little pet wife disappear after she is no longer useful...but he knows it's false, he is lying to himself, and failing at it. You're his everything - his mate, his pet, his precious incubator, and the most perfect being to ever lay in his nest. When he saw the humans getting their dirty hands on you...god, he wanted nothing more but to ignore the treaty with humans, all the laws about not eradicating humanity as a species, and wedge war against every single one of the fuckers trying to hurt his wife. When you cling to him, barely escaping certain death, he knows he will never let you outside your room again. If you lose the eggs from stress, he wouldn't even care about the clutch - he only cares about you, dumb and trembling in his hands, too freaking fragile to even think about resisting or escaping anymore. If eggs are safe inside, he almost wants to stop breeding you like this, putting you in such a dummied-out fragile state that you can't even resist attackers trying to kill you. This incident is forcing Konig to finally confront his feelings about you - and to hell with any of his subordinates who think that pamper and coddle your pet humans is too unmanly. He will bathe you with gifts and best nest materials, even allow you to wear clothes to hide the wounds while you're still sensitive...

[d1xonss]

HEY ASHHH!!! hope youre doing amazing HOW ABOUT SARCASTIC READER (tony stark kinda personality😝😝) WITH DARYL AAGHH IT WOULD BE SO COOL like readers always so careless

A Friend

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 4

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Fluff

✧ Word Count : 3.5k

AN ~ Hiii! Thank you for this request, I love the idea! I think any kind of sarcastic character paired with Daryl is just perfect. I’m not super confident on how this one came out but I tried to just work with it lol. Hope you enjoy!

You felt the hot sun beating down onto your skin the longer you stood outside, causing you to have to constantly wipe your forehead every few minutes to get rid of the sweat that pooled there. Your arms continued to burn with how many walkers you kept having to stab on the outsides of the fences, their arms trying to come through the openings to claw at you. You had the privilege and the honor of taking on this job today as Rick instructed, while his happy ass stayed inside and did a count of all the weapons and bullets we had. Making checklists if you will while you were stuck out here working your ass off.

Over the course of a few months, you had all been able to live peacefully inside this prison now without the Governor trying to kill everyone twenty four seven. It was relieving, but the problem you all seemed to have to deal with now were all the walkers built up along the fences, attempting to push their way in. No one knew what exactly caused this to be such a problem, maybe the loudness that everyone provided now with how many of you lived on the other sides of the gates. But it had become a pain to deal with to say the least.

You gritted your teeth as you took your weapon to stab another through the skull, moving down to the one below it, and then the one below the next, trying to take them out as fast as possible. Though suddenly you felt a cold pair of hands grasp onto your wrist, your eyes snapping up to see one from the left had a death grip on you. Literally. You yanked your arm back the moment it registered in your head, taking the blade and stabbing it through the eye, seeing its blood go everywhere.

You huffed out a harsh breath, “Fucker.” you muttered to yourself as you shook out your hand, stepping away from them for a moment to take a small break.

You reached down for your water bottle that you had placed off to the side, raising it up to your mouth to take a drink, feeling the coolness glide down your throat effortlessly. It wasn’t nearly enough to cool you down completely, but it was still better than nothing. 

Your eyes then drifted around to the many people outside the prison walls, working, eating, talking with one another. It was nice to see the larger community you had now when it was once just a small and tight knit group. Everything was expanding and growing, and you liked the look of it. But then your gaze trailed off to the left, and you really liked the look of that instead.

Daryl was hunched over the side of his bike as he tinkered with it, using a variety of tools and cursing under his breath sometimes when he couldn’t get it just right. Though that wasn’t the only thing you were focusing on. The way his arms flexed beautifully with every tug and pull he seemed to do, it was causing you to feel even hotter than you were before if that were even possible. And the sweat glistening on his skin while he worked, you could’ve sworn you were drooling a little. God he was hot.

Blinking rapidly, you managed to snap yourself out of it as you turned away before he could notice you staring, looking down towards the ground for a moment to compose yourself. Lord only knows there was just something about that man that you weren't able to resist, but the downside about that was, you knew he hardly even noticed or felt the same. The two of you had never really been the closest, in fact you barely even talked at all for the most part. He was more of a loner type, preferring to be on his own than socialize with other people. But hey, you can’t blame a girl for hoping. You then just put all your attention back to killing the remaining walkers outside the fence, wanting to get it done as fast as possible.

But you found you only lasted about another hour before you were completely over it, needing something else to do to pass the time but also make yourself useful. You found yourself wandering back towards the building as a few other members took over for you at the fence, lingering near the garages before your eyes suddenly spotted some fishing rods. You remembered how Glenn brought those back recently with the intention to use them at a lake just a few miles from here, in hopes of catching other types of food besides deer and squirrel.

You only saw the opportunity for a split second before you just decided to take it. After all it was something to do, and something that wouldn’t want to make you die while doing. You practically skipped over to the supplies laid out, grabbing the two fishing poles and the tacklebox filled with some bait, before heading back towards the gate so the person on watch could let you out.

The walk down towards the large lake was a breeze, giving you an actual opportunity to clear your head for a moment as you could finally get away from the constant snarls of the walkers. You could hardly even step outside anymore before the sound was already ringing in your ears. But out here it was peaceful, calm, and approaching the lake even further, seeing a wooden dock coming into view, it felt even more so.

You stepped out onto the wooden platform and instantly got to work, placing some bait on the hook, before casting the line out into the water, pulling at it a little every once and a while to get the fake fish to move around. You sat in silence for the longest time now, it then suddenly hit you all at once how boring this was to do alone with no one else to keep you company. How there wasn’t a single sound to be heard or even anything interesting to look at…nothing. A sigh then passed your lips as you held the rod loosely in one hand while resting your chin in the other, the silence now growing even more so.

That is until you heard a distinct noise. Footsteps approaching you from behind, heavy ones too, marching against the dock pretty loudly as they inched closer to you. Your eyes then peered over your shoulder, trying to not show the shock you felt when you saw it was Daryl coming up to you, crossbow in hand and a typical serious look on his face.

“The hell you doin?” he asked once he was close enough, eyeing the supplies that surrounded your figure, before his gaze returned to you.

Your brows furrowed. Was he serious?

“Oh you know, just…skydiving.” you said with a shrug, your tone coming out monotone and serious as your eyes squinted up towards him because of the bright sun behind his head.

He scoffed to himself at your sarcastic answer, his permanent scowl intensifying as he didn't open his mouth to speak again, causing you to roll your eyes. “I’m fishing-”

“I know that girl.” he cut you off, “I mean why the hell did ya come out here alone in the middle of the damn day?” he spat, literally. With the way he spoke so harshly he accidentally spit on your skin as he hovered above you.

You blinked a few times in slight disgust, “It’s a free country sprinkles,” you commented dryly as you wiped your cheeks, “And anyway, I needed to get away from all the constant noise back there. Didn’t think it would be that big of an issue.” you informed with widened eyes.

His expression continued to remain neutral as he nearly glared down towards you in almost disbelief. Was it because you came out here alone? Because you talked back to him? Or because you pointed out the literal shower coming out of his mouth, you weren’t completely sure. But he didn’t seem to want to say another word.

“Okay…” you trailed off awkwardly as you turned back around to face the water, preparing to just ignore his presence now until he decided to go away. He always did with interactions like this. You would know that better than anyone.

Though this whole interaction confused you slightly. He never seemed to care when you, or anyone else for that matter, went off on their own like this, so why the hell was this situation any different? Maybe he was on his man period or something, who knows. But still, besides the spitting, you couldn’t help but shake how hot he still looked in the sunlight. A part of you almost wished that he would stay.

But after a few lingering minutes, you still felt his hovering presence behind you as he continued to say nothing, yet he continued to stand behind you firmly in place. The whole thing was weird and was honestly starting to make you a little uncomfortable, just wanting to know what was going on in his head.

So you glanced back up at him, “Okay, either leave or come sit down.” you said bluntly, “Your stare is making me itchy.”

He stood there for only a moment or two longer, clearly debating in his head, before moving closer towards the edge where you sat and took a seat for himself with a sigh. His actions honestly surprised you, almost expecting him to just walk away with some kind of grumble under his breath. But it was safe to say he threw you off guard a little bit. That, and he managed to not say something assholey.

“Don’t want yer dumbass somehow gettin yerself killed out here.”

Ah. Never mind.

Your eyes narrowed towards him as you looked at the side of his face, “You think I can’t handle myself or something?”

“I know ya can’t.” he replied without missing a beat.

You scoffed to yourself, “Oh you better watch yourself, I’ll make you eat those words. I could take your ass down if I really wanted to.”

Now it was his turn to scoff as he truly didn’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth, “Alright…”

Rolling your eyes at his response, you reached around behind you to pull out the other fishing rod and held it out to him, “Make yourself useful at least.” you said with a pointed glance.

He eyed the thing in your hand for a long moment, making you think for a moment that he wasn’t even going to try. But again, he seemed to surprise you. He snatched it out of your grasp with a small huff, turning to put some bait on the hook just as you did before throwing the line out onto the lake, a bored expression written on his face.

Well this should be fun.

For a while, you two only sat in complete silence, but it wasn’t one that was uncomfortable. In fact you didn’t mind it in the slightest. He was out here keeping an eye on you, helping you bring something back to the community and it was not something you would be complaining about anytime soon. He sat fairly close to you to the point where you could briefly smell the lingering scent of cigarettes on his clothes. You felt that anyone else would be slightly bothered by the smell, but in all honesty, you loved it.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before Daryl began to shift uncomfortably where he sat, his movements bringing your attention to him. He looked a little stiff, almost uncomfortable as his posture was a little rough around the edges.

“You alright there?” you asked with a raised brow.

He groaned a little as he straightened up, “My back’s fuckin killin me…” he huffed as he continued to squirm a little bit now.

Amusement crossed your features once he said that, “Really? Damn, how old are you?”

His face however was far from amused as he looked back at you with some kind of pointed look, narrowing ever so slightly that caused you to back off. “...Tough crowd…” you muttered while turning your attention back to the lake.

You could briefly see out of the corner of your vision, his eyes were still on you as he let out somewhat of a loud and lingering sigh. “Forty three.” he answered almost regrettably.

It was obvious you were surprised, slowly turning back to face him, glancing over his features before you let out a small, “huh.”

His eyes rolled, “Yeah, go ahead and say whatever, I can feel it comin.” he spoke bitterly as he tugged a little on his pole again.

You laughed a little to yourself, “Calm down, I wasn’t going to say anything bad.”

“Alright…sure.” he spoke again, clearly not believing it as he didn’t look at you again.

“I was actually going to say you don’t look it…so…” you trailed off, your words far from a lie at what first popped into your head. It was honestly hard to believe, thinking to yourself that he looked like he was at least in his mid thirties.

But those words took him a little off guard, looking back towards you to see if you were actually telling the truth, before letting his guard down a little as he felt a little warmth in his chest, “Oh…thanks…I guess.”

You nodded sincerely, “You’re welcome…grandpa.”

The sound surprised you. It even surprised him. But Daryl couldn’t help the sudden laugh he let out at your little jab, covering his mouth as he chuckled to himself in surprise that you said that so effortlessly. Even he had to admit, it was a good one.

You even smiled a little to yourself at the unexpected reaction, seeing him calm down a little as he spoke next, “Man…I guess I walked into that one, I’ll give ya that…”

You dipped your head as you did a little bow from where you sat, “Oh thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week.”

He chuckled quietly again at your sarcastic attitude, wondering to himself for a moment why he hadn’t spent this kind of time with you before. You were both in the same group for a good amount of time, nearly the whole time, and yet neither of you never really sought each other out. The two of you just never had gotten to know one another that well he assumed. But regardless, he supposed it was nice to do it now. Better late than never.

“Why…why haven’t we done this kinda stuff before?” he found himself asking out loud, just a slip of his tongue as he didn’t exactly mean to voice his thoughts like that to you. Though he almost couldn’t help it as he seemed to want to know your point of view.

But nonetheless you responded. “Cause you’re always too busy with bingo.”

He found himself laughing again, hearing you join in after a moment as your quick comebacks seemed to throw him off yet again, “Alright, alright, enough of that shit. Yer gonna make me feel ancient if ya keep it up.”

You laughed again with a shake of your head, “Sorry…but honestly…you kind of intimidate me.”

His brows furrowed a little in confusion, thinking to himself that you of all people wouldn’t have been intimidated in the slightest. Especially because of how long you knew him. “...Really?”

Your gaze ducked a little, “What? You see yourself as some big teddy bear or something, you’re not exactly Mr. Rogers.”

Daryl couldn’t stop the smirk from forming on his face at the comparison, nodding along as if you had a point, “Fair. Just…didn’t think ya saw me like that.”

“Well, if it helps…I don’t anymore. It’s nice to see you laugh…you know, showing some human emotion.”

The small smile he had still hung on his face as he looked at you, nodding again towards you, “It’s nice hearin ya laugh too.” he commented a bit quietly.

You smiled in return, not saying anything else as you were left completely content at where this ended up. You already liked looking at him, that was a given, but you also found yourself liking to see this other side to him as well. The side where he could actually let loose for once instead of putting up this whole tough guy act. And though you didn’t hear him admit it out loud, you knew he liked it too.

Though after only a few minutes of comfortable silence that fell over the two of you, he spoke up again as he squinted his eyes up at the sun, “Damn it’s hot out here.” he commented casually.

You on the other hand practically lit up at the opportunity that was given to you, staying quiet for a moment as you only nodded in agreement to his statement. He thought you couldn’t handle yourself against him? Not being able to catch him off guard? Challenge accepted.

Your eyes trailed down to the water just in front of you, leaning in a bit as you pretend to look at something below the surface, “Hey, do you see that?” you asked as you pointed.

His eyes looked toward you, before leaning down a bit as well to try and make out where you were gesturing to, “Huh? Where?”

“Right there.” you pointed again.

He felt a little stupid as he saw nothing, squinting his eyes more as he leaned a bit closer, “...Where?”

“It’s right…” you trailed off as your other hand moved up to his back, “There!” you said as you gently shoved him into the water, hearing him gasp before he fell face first into the lake with a splash. His reaction alone caused you to quite literally fall over laughing, hugging your sides as you giggled uncontrollably.

He then came back up with a breath, looking at you with a pointed glare as he was now completely soaked, “What the hell’s wrong with ya?” he asked angrily as he shook his head a little for the water that surely got in his ears.

You laughed even harder than before, “You said it was hot.” you pointed out as you laughed again to yourself, “Plus, I just made you eat your words.” you spoke cockily, referring to what he claimed earlier.

He stayed in place for a long moment absolutely dumbfounded, but then again he wasn’t planning on just letting you off the hook like that. He was absolutely drenched and pissed.

You began to notice the serious look he had on his face and you quickly calmed down, “Hey, I’m sorry, it was a joke.” you said as you leaned down a bit lower and reached out to him, “Here.” you offered to help him back up.

The man didn’t even need to think. No hesitation whatsoever. 

He quickly took your hand and pulled you into the water right along with him, hearing your small scream before you fell clumsily into the water. He chuckled to himself as he backed up, seeing your head pop back up almost instantly with shock written all over your features. But then again, you and him both knew you deserved it a little.

“You asshole!” you yelled playfully as you sent a splash toward his face.

“Oh, I’m the asshole?” he yelled back as he sent a splash back towards you, “You started this girl.” he chuckled as he kept pushing the water towards you.

That only caused the two of you to linger and splash each other in the water for quite a long time, neither of you even caring about the amount of time passing by. You were having a good time, playing around in the lake felt incredible on such a hot day like today. And neither of you could deny that each other's company, that was pretty nice too. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had laughed this hard, the situation alone causing you to be taken aback for a moment that Daryl was the one to bring out that side of you again. But it was refreshing, along with the cool water the two of you swam in for a few hours.

Though as the hour grew late and your fingers were starting to get pruney, you both collectively decided to get out and back up to the surface, ringing out your clothes all the while as you prepared for the walk back to the prison.

“No luck with the fishin, huh?” Daryl asked as he shook his head a little, the water droplets from his hair landing on you with how close the two of you were.

You sighed a little as you glanced back at the supplies you brought, “Guess not.” you commented, “But…I do think I found myself a new fishing buddy.” you said as you glanced back at him with a smile.

He looked at you for a moment before scoffing dismissively, “We ain’t no fishin buddies, that shit’s stupid.” he said with a chuckle as he moved around you to begin to gather up the stuff on the dock.

Your mouth dropped in offense, “Oh come on, it would be fun, grandpa’s love fishing.” you teased him as you watched him gather up all the supplies in his arms.

“Stop.” he said dryly as he brushed past you, beginning to walk back towards the prison.

You sighed dramatically, “Well at least bring out the joke book and humor me, it’s going to be a long walk back.”

“I swear to God, girl…” he grumbled a little at your teasing. But as much as he didn’t want you to see it, there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at your words. And maybe a little amusement in his eyes too. Perhaps this whole thing was just the start…maybe he had finally found someone he could laugh and joke with. Someone he could call a friend.

~ Thanks for reading! (also, i am working on a part two for older, it’s just taking me some time. but i promise it’s on the way;))

[velvetsainz]

summary: [ cl16 x fem!reader ] charles is in maranello but that doesn't mean he can't help. part one.

word count: 1.3k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), porn with a dash of plot, use of explicit language, phone/skype sex, masturbation, toys, overstimulation, praise kink, google-translated french (kay strikes again), fluff, i still really like em dashes

a/n: part twooooooooo! (you can totally read this before part i—this is just a sister smutlet ;) ) i've been really pleased with the response to part i, so i was super duper motivated to get this cranked out for you guys. there's mentions to previous encounters, and i'm very tempted to flesh those out in the future along with the allusions to future events. anyways, eat up! enjoy, loves! xx

You could be a tease, but Charles Leclerc was a bigger one.  

“Charles, I swear to God that—”

“That what, chérie? Hm?,” he asked as he quirked an eyebrow to you, waiting for you to answer as he watched over the Skype call.  You let out a frustrated sigh, sinking back into the bed and allowing your thighs to relax once more.

“So impatient, mon ange…,” he chided, hand working slowly, lazily over his length.  You were on the doorstep of your climax when he’d suddenly cut the power to the delicious little bullet in your hand.  He’d been teasing you for a solid thirty minutes now, listening to soft moans and needy whines as he built you up before allowing your orgasm to recede away once more.

You scoffed, brow furrowing and lid heavy with need.  “Well yes, but-but–,” you stammered as you tried to think of some good reason why you just needed to come.  You couldn’t—no reason that would be particularly compelling when he was like this.

As much as you enjoyed your games with your fiancé, your thighs were beginning to cramp and you swore you were going to have to change the sheets now, too.

You’d gotten on your usual Wednesday night call, mood worse than usual.  It’d been a long day and you were just ready to put it all behind you, bury yourself in the fluffy duvet of your shared bed, and scroll TikTok aimlessly for a few hours to allow yourself the time to rot in peace.

Charles, on the other hand, had other ideas.  If he’d been there, he’d have happily buried his head between your legs until you couldn’t put together a coherent thought and the tension had melted from your shoulders and jaw.  Seeing as he was in Maranello, though, he had to find another way to get you in a better headspace.

Enter: the vibrator.

Well, a remote-controlled bullet.  One that he could control with an app on his phone, the bastard. Some men found toys in the bedroom to be a competitor, but the Monégasque saw them as an accomplice of sorts; they were friends, not enemies.

In the moment, though, the little fucker sure as hell seemed like an enemy to you.

“Please, baby,” you whined for him, pouting with glossy eyes to the camera, “you already know it’s been a long day.”

Charles hummed, taking pity on you as he turned the vibe on once more to a low-power setting. You took a stunted breath, eyes closing as pleasure rolled through you once again.  The sound went straight to his cock, angry red in his hand as precum leaked over the vice grip he held it in.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” you whimpered fervently as the toy kicked up another speed, sending you careening towards your climax.

“I wish I could be there, chérie,” he coaxed as he watched you start panting once again, breaths coming in stuttering bursts with whines trapped in the back of your throat. “J'adore entendre tous ces jolis sons, ma jolie,” Charles purred, pulling a particularly pitiful moan from you. He laughed as he ticked the power up another notch, “Oui—juste comme ça, chérie.”

You could feel your orgasm coming at you hot and fast, mouth falling open as your hips dug into the soft material of the mattress.  A tear spilled from the corner of your eye at the sheer sting of need coming into full view, one of your hands planting hard into the bed beside you as your eyes rolled back in reflex.

“Charles, please, I-I-I—”

“C’est bon, minette,” he soothed, his own desire starting to rear its head, “Let go—let it all go for me, mm?” He set the devilish little toy onto full blast, and you didn’t wait for him to rethink his offer.

You babbled half-coherently as something melted in the pit of your belly, washing over your senses until your ears rang and your legs buzzed.  You could feel your sweat pooling in the small of your back as loose strands of hair stuck to your forehead and neck from the matching sheen that covered them, and your partner had turned the bullet to its lowest power setting to nurse you through the aftershocks that rocked your hips.  You were well and truly dripping at this point, a small wet spot forming under you on the white sheets. You really should have put down a towel before you got yourself into this mess.

But with no warning, as you basked in the afterglow of a much-needed orgasm, the toy went into full power once more.  Your eyes shot open and hips jolted away from the sensation as you looked to the screen after a moment of realization.  “Baby, no, I–t-too sensiti—,” you started to whimper to Charles as you heard the sounds of his own pleasure growing more prominent.

“Yes, mon ange,” he said firmly, hazel eyes dark with pleasure, “Just one more—I know you can.”  He watches as your brow furrows once more and your hand disappears between your legs once again.  Never did he ever think he could be so jealous of a fucking hand.

You mewled as you fought the stuttering of your hips each time you pressed the toy to your already-aching clit.  Still, in no time you were there once again, and Charles cursed and muttered under his breath as he watched the show you put on for him.

“Merde—”

“Such a good girl, yes—”

“Going to fuck you so good—”

“Fuck…fuck—”

He grunted your name once more and came with a growl, jaw slack as he spilled over the fist that held him so tightly. Meanwhile, you were coming down with glazed eyes and parted lips, breathing hard as you let out a quiet “fuck.”

“Oui,” Charles agreed teasingly as his head dropped back behind him lazily.

Toy discarded onto the bed next to you, you rolled onto your side to face him on the video call. “Why do you have to work so far away sometimes?,” you grumbled rhetorically, pouting as your body pooled in one of his old t-shirts and your breathing started to match something more normal.  Your body had lost the tension it had been carrying, those dual orgasms working to relieve the stress you’d felt when you’d started the call.  Still, a toy was a poor replacement for the man on the other side of the call, and you wanted him there with you more than you’d wanted that first orgasm.  You hated making him feel bad about being away, but damn did you need to be fucked within an inch of your life right about now.

He tsked softly, lifting his head once more to see your pout.  “I know, mon cœur,” he nodded, adjusting the lid of his laptop to angle more towards his face, “but if I didn’t come to Maranello, I wouldn’t get anything done. We’d be like bunny rabbits—like Corsica.”

Memories of that trip came back, causing your tummy to flip at thought.  You really had fucked like rabbits on that trip, and no surface was safe from the fury of your shared lust. Nothing was sacred and anywhere that had just enough privacy was good enough for one to start tormenting the other with their fingers…their lips…their—

“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” you teased back, smile finding your lips once more as you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly.  One elbow helped prop your head up while the other hand rested between the soft skin of your thighs.

“My sunburn disagreed,” Charles chuckled as you found yourself laughing with him.  “I looked like a…a—what’s the word? Homard?”

“Lobster?,” you chimed in with a smirk as you remembered just how red he’d been. You swore you‘d slather a metric shit ton of aloe on him during that holiday. The way he’d keep you warm in the cold showers, though…

“Yes, a lobster,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands at the thought.  “Chérie, it hurt so bad—and Carlos wouldn’t wouldn’t stop laughing at me in the paddock in Spa!”

“But you would taste wonderful dipped in butter!”

“You are an idiot, chérie.”

“And knowing that, you still wanted me to be your wife.  So who’s the bigger idiot in this equation, baby?”

[sister-lucifer]

A COLLAB WITH @cryptidcircuswrites ! PLEASE CHECK OUT HIS VERSION HERE! 

Genre: Gore smut 

Summary: A mission goes awry and Toby is shot straight through the skull. Tim decides to take the new hole for a spin, and Toby is more than happy to let him have it. 

Content/warnings: OHHH MY GOOOOD DONT FUCKING READ THIS IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, Toby literally gets his brain fucked, bullet hole wound fucking, explicit gore, I cannot emphasize this enough STRAIGHT UP PENIS IN BRAIN SEX, brain creampie, guns/shooting/etc, age gap but everyone is a consenting adult, fake out death, Toby vomits a little at the end, cum leaking out of face holes it should never be in, mirror sex, rough dom top Tim, Tim bullies Toby for his trauma regarding his physically abusive father, use of homophobic language/slurs, degradation, just general nastiness, very mean spirited. NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. THIS IS AS DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT AS IT GETS.

A/N: if you skipped the warnings on this one or didn’t read them all the way, go back and fucking look at all of them, otherwise don’t read. 

Breaking and entering. 

It’s a routine for Tim and Toby at this point. 

Tim can brute force open any door, Toby can pick any lock, and both of them have long since shaken off any qualms about taking a life. They’re skilled at it now, neither of them ever leaving the cabin without their weapon of choice. In a line of work like this one, after all, you can never be too prepared. 

This was supposed to be easy. 

Three people in the house, a couple and their third wheel squatting in an abandoned vacation home. Bare bones interior, probably no weapons. 

Probably.

A lot of good ‘probably’ had done them. 

Toby had gone in while Tim stood watch in the doorway, just in case one of their targets tried to run out. His revolver fit into his palm like a glove, his grip confident and ready. He’s done this a million times before. 

Tim can only hear the altercation going on in the back rooms of the house, but he has a good idea of what’s happening. 

The sound of a hatchet coming down onto a throat. 

One down. 

A woman screams. Something knocks over, a shelf or a table. A splatter. Silence.

Two down.

A man cries out. Something hits the wall. Rogers swears. There’s a struggle. A gunshot rings out. 

…A gunshot. 

A gunshot?! 

Footsteps.

Fast, frantic footsteps coming down the hallway. 

Tim readies himself, aiming towards the dark hall with a hand that is far too steady. He’s holding his breath. The steps are getting closer. 

In a split second’s time the last target emerges from the shadows, Tim’s gaze zeroes in on the whites of his eyes and the trigger of his revolver is pulled by a swift finger one, two, then three times. 

The shots ring in his ears as the body falls limply to the floor, devoid of life in an instant. 

Three down. 

But still one bullet unaccounted for. 

“Rogers?” Tim calls into the hallway, stepping over the body without looking down. 

No answer.

“Rogers!” He says again, with more authority this time. 

Nothing. 

That little fucker runs his mouth like an engine at all hours of the day, but now he’s quiet? 

A stabbing pain of fear twists in Tim’s gut. 

Their ‘boss’ won’t let them die, he knows that. The pseudo immortality they’ve been given keeps their bodies functioning and regenerating even after some of the worst injuries one could imagine; he knows that, he’s felt it, and yet… 

This silence is sickening. 

He can’t stop himself from rushing into the makeshift bedroom, heavy boots on the creaky wood floor announcing his presence before he calls for his partner again. 

“Answer me, dammit, Rogers!” 

He looks around the room, scanning the blood splattered walls. Two bodies are slumped against them, opposite to each other, one with its neck severed and the head hanging on by a thread of viscera, and the other with half of its innards thrown to the floor. Neither are Toby, he knows that in an instant. 

Then his gaze trails to the center of the floor. 

The cold washes over him so suddenly he feels faint. He can feel the color draining from his face as he lays eyes on his partner, face down on the ground, a thick splatter of blood painting a moonlit halo around his head. 

Or what’s left of it, anyways.

A hastily fired bullet has carved a path through the boy’s skull and out the other side. 

Clean through. 

Tim’s body seizes with shock, disgust, grief, and everything in between, tensing so suddenly and so harshly he nearly passes out. A hand clamps over his mouth as it opens in a silent scream, a gasp that can’t escape because he can’t breathe. He rushes to the body before he can stop himself. 

“Rogers?! Rogers, get up!” He demands, but the way his voice cracks and trembles shows his true fear. He shakes his partner’s still body harshly, desperate to jar him into consciousness.

There’s no movement. 

Not a sound. 

Tim’s eyes start to wet behind his mask. He shakes harder, even bringing a fist down on his shoulder blade. 

Nothing. 

“This isn’t fucking funny, Toby!” Tim screams, landing a few more punches on his back, “I’ve seen you take worse than this, get up!” 

Not even a twitch. 

The realization settles in like splinters under Tim’s skin. 

He backs away from the body, the room spinning around him. He grasps at his face under his mask, his lungs starting to expand and restrict so fast it’s painful. There’s a searing panic burning the back of his skull and threatening to engulf his entire body. He stumbles back and falls onto one of the now bloodied mattresses their targets had been sleeping on. 

This isn’t happening. 

This isn’t happening. 

He’s not really gone.

He’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone— 

A sudden noise makes Tim jump out of his skin, his eyes shooting up to find the source of the sound. 

Was that a…cough? 

He looks down at Toby’s body. 

It hasn’t moved. 

Maybe it was just air escaping, or some other weird thing bodies do after death. If he didn’t get up already, then he must be…

Tim nearly screams when Toby suddenly splutters and hacks, his body jerking as he fights for air. Tim is frozen in place as he watches the partner he thought was dead slowly struggle to get up, managing to get on his hands and knees. He coughs again, spitting onto the ground and groaning at the unpleasant but not unfamiliar sight of blood. 

“Yeugh…god, it’s in m-my nose,” Toby mumbles with a sniffle, wiping his face with his sleeve. He doesn’t notice Tim as he sits up on his knees, inspecting himself in a way that is far too casual.

…He has no idea what just happened. 

Tim can feel his eye twitching as he stands up slowly, his frenzied gaze trained on the younger man as he approaches. Toby looks up at the sound of the footsteps, and Tim has to stop himself from reacting to the sight. His body trembles as he forces himself to stay still. 

Toby’s right eye is completely gone. There’s not even a shred of the eyeball left, only a pulsing, bloody cavity he instantly recognizes as the entry hole of a bullet. 

Toby blinks up at Tim with his remaining eye. 

“S-Shit, I must’ve passed out when—bitch!—when h-he hit me, heh. What, you-you thought I was—grrrk!—d-dead for real?” Toby asks with a head tilt and an amused giggle. Tim’s eyes narrow. 

Slowly Tim turns his head, following the imaginary trail the bullet would have made based on where Toby fell. 

Right there, lodged into the decrepit wall right next to the doorway. 

The first bullet. 

Clean through, and out the back. 

Toby follows his gaze, squinting in the dark to see whatever it is his senior partner is seeing. 

“…O-Oh shit,” He mutters, “Talk about a-a close—don’t listen!—a close call—c-call—call me!—hehe…”

Tim stares back at him with a look in his eyes that says ‘You have no fucking idea.’

“…W-Why are you looking at me— a-at me like that?”

Tim looks around. For some reason, he’s not sure how to answer that. 

That is, until he lays eyes on a conspicuously mirror shaped object draped in a sheet and pushed into the corner.

Yeah, it’s easier to just show him.

Tim shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he walks over to the mirror, trying not to rush. He’s annoyed with Toby for scaring him like that and nearly bringing him to tears, even if it’s not really his fault. Maybe startling him a bit will take the edge off that embarrassment. 

Toby’s eye follows him closely as he walks, then watches as his hand slowly raises to grasp the sheet obscuring the mirror. His brow raises, curiosity piqued. 

The sheet is pulled away in an instant. The cloud of dust that results makes Toby cough, trying to wave it away from his face. He squints through the grimy mist, struggling to make out his own reflection in the mirror.

“L-Look, Tim, I don’t know what it-it is that you n-need me to—suck it! fuck you!—see, but I-I don’t— Oh my fucking God?!”

There it is. 

Toby crawls closer to the mirror, his remaining eye wider than Tim had ever seen it and the hole where the matching one would’ve been stretching gruesomely. 

Tim winces. Toby can’t feel it, even if he could feel pain normally all that nerve damage would make it numb, but Tim can’t stop imagining what it would feel like. 

“…Jesus Christ…” Is all Toby can manage as he looks at what remains of his face. He feels around the wound, getting far too close to touching the exposed insides for Tim’s comfort. Toby stares at himself for a long few moments. Tim can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

Then Toby turns to his partner, and to Tim’s surprise, he’s sporting the widest, most lopsided grin he’s ever seen, his crooked teeth stained with blood on one side where it runs down his cheek from the wound. Tim holds back a shudder. 

“The fuck you cheesin’ for?” Tim growls, walking around behind Toby to see him in the mirror, “You nearly got half your damn face blown off!” 

“Relax, o-old man!” Toby replies without missing a beat, “In a-a few days there won’t e-even be a— b-be a mark…”

Tim rolls his eyes behind his mask. That’s true, yes. An injury this extensive will take a bit to regenerate, but it’ll grow back like nothing happened. Still, Toby doesn’t even seem mildly disturbed. He practically saw himself die, and here he is giggling to himself and moving his face in odd ways just to see the horrid wound contort in the mirror. The quiet squelching noises it makes nearly bring Tim to vomit. 

“…You’re not even a little put off by the fact that…you know. You’re missing half your fuckin’ face?!” 

Toby lets out a sharp laugh at Tim’s outburst, amused by his clear discomfort. 

“Don’t be s-such a—bitch! bastard!— baby, I-I think it’s—asshole!—I think it’s k-kinda cool. Besides…”

He turns to look up at Tim, yellow teeth glowing in the moonlight that leaks in through the busted windows. 

“…I-I got a brand new hole f-for you to try out.” 

Tim gasps in disgust. Before he can think a hand comes up to smack Toby upside the head, though he immediately regrets it when a splatter of blood is thrown to the floor as Toby rocks forward. 

“Don’t say shit like that, you dirty fuckin’ pervert!” 

Toby nearly breaks out into hysterics at that, grabbing his sides as he laughs like a maniac. His tics increase tenfold at the sudden rush of energy, his fingers flexing unnaturally and tearing at his sweatshirt.

“H-How can I not?! You m-make it so f-fucking—fuck! funny!— fun, haha!” Toby replies, his voice cracking as his head jerks involuntarily in all directions.

Tim crosses his arms, huffing in annoyance but not sure what to say. He can feel his cheeks getting warm under his mask. He hates when Toby laughs at him. It pisses him off like nothing else. 

He stares daggers into Toby’s restless reflection as he leans into the mirror to inspect his wound again, mumbling to himself endlessly and doing his best to stay still. 

Toby’s rambling starts to fade out as Tim glares at his mirror image. He can feel something dark bubbling up inside of him, its vines sprawling out and over his body as he marinates in his thoughts. 

He thought he was gone. 

For a second there, he really thought he’d lost Toby for good.

And now here he is, without a care in the world, looking at his own fucking gunshot wound like it’s a new tattoo. 

Someone oughta teach this kid a lesson. 

Tim’s not sure what comes over him, but something, a nagging little thought has settled into his brain and taken root there. It thumps in the back of his skull like a heartbeat under the floorboards. He pulls one of his hands from its glove, looking down at his bare palm. 

“…You think this is all some joke, don’t you?” Tim mutters, forcing the words through gritted teeth. Toby doesn’t even turn to look at him. 

“W-Why are so damn u-uptight, old man? It’s not—grrrk!—it’s not like I d-died. Psuedo-immortality, r-remember?”

“But you could’ve. You know at the end of the day you can’t really trust anything that monster gives you. It would kill you in an instant if it felt threatened or betrayed.” 

“T-The fuck is your— i-is your problem?!”

Suddenly Toby isn’t all smiles anymore. His head jerks to the side violently, pulling a sickening pop from his neck. Tim is used to these mood swings, but that doesn’t stop the heavy tension that settles over the room. 

“Y-You’re always on my back about something, a-aren’t you old man?!” Toby hisses. Tim’s ungloved hand squeezes and flexes at his side. 

“You a-always got something to say about m-me, or what I—fucker! shit!—what I-I think, you can never j-just let me—“ 

Toby is cut off as a high pitched cry is violently forced from his throat, making his body spasm as it dissolves into an animalistic moan like neither of them have ever heard. It feels like every nerve in his body is seizing, splitting apart and contorting under his skin. He almost screams at the feeling, but he can’t manage it. He’s choking on nothing.

There’s a sickening squelch as something is ripped from the back of his skull, and he falls forward onto his hands, dizzy and struggling to breathe. 

“W-What…what the f-fuck…was…”

He can’t even finish the sentence between his inability to process the unnatural sensation that just overtook him and the indescribable feeling still rippling through his body. 

Slowly he cranes his neck to look back up into the mirror. Instantly his eye is locked onto Tim’s, but he isn’t looking back. He’s staring at something else. 

He follows Tim’s gaze down slowly, swallowing thickly with a sudden nervousness. His eye widens as it falls on the thing that has captivated Tim‘s gaze: 

His ungloved hand, the middle and ring fingers now dripping with blood and viscera not his own. 

No. Fucking. Way.

“Did…d-did you just…”

Tim doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to. 

For the first time in a long time, Toby is still. His twitching and jerking ceases, his face halts its uncomfortable wrenching; He’s still, and soundless. 

There’s a beat of silence where they both just stare at Tim’s bloodied hand, neither of them moving an inch. It’s like time has stopped in this instant. Toby can feel his heartbeat throbbing in his brain. Something in his chest is twisting and turning with a burning emotion he can’t quite place yet. 

He doesn’t even have time to process the sudden movement before Tim has plunged his fingers into the wound once again. 

This time Toby is forced to watch his reflection in the mirror as Tim violates the gorey cavity, thick digits rooting around inside his head and shooting a new sensation through him with every touch. His entire body stiffens, his mouth falling open involuntarily as he loses control of it. He can feel his senses being reduced to mush as he groans, the endless sound falling from his lips in unintelligible waves. It’s mindless, desperate babbling, but he can’t do anything else. 

Toby watches the depraved scene in the mirror until his eye starts to roll back in his head, further than it should be able to. Tim watches the hazel iris recede until only white is left. Only then does he finally give some reprieve, yanking his hand back and shaking off the chunks that come with it.

Toby’s head bows towards the ground as he catches his breath, his entire body rocking as he heaves desperately for air. He’s too preoccupied to notice the way Tim is leering down at him, his breathing now hot and labored. 

“…How did that feel?” 

Toby sneers at the question, not looking up. 

“H-How did it feel?! You’re d-digging around—shhhh!— in m-my fucking brain, d-dipshit, how do you— d-do you think it f-feels?!”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I know it doesn’t hurt, so how does it feel?” 

For some reason, Toby doesn’t have an answer to that. He wants to snap back with something witty and biting, to tell him it feels like Hell and back and if he doesn’t stop he’ll scatter his brains next, but…

That wouldn’t be the total truth. 

“…It…I-It feels…” He stammers, unable to find the words. He sits back up on his knees, locking eyes with his partner in the mirror. Tim is silent. He’s anticipating the rest of that sentence. Toby thinks for a moment, a series of tongue clicks in an odd rhythm sounding as he pauses. 

“…It…I-It wasn’t bad, if that’s w-what you’re looking for.” 

Tim’s breath hitches. 

Only Toby could hear a sound so small, yet so telling. 

He has to push this further.

“A-Actually it was kind of…k-kind of good, y-you know? I-I don’t know—rrrngh!—how to explain it, but i-it just…it’s like n-nothing I’ve ever f-felt or imagined, I-I—“

Toby cuts himself off with a gasp as Tim grasps his hair tightly. His other hand moves to his belt. The sound of the metal buckle makes Toby shiver. 

Tim leans down a bit, speaking lowly to his partner. 

“Keep talking.” 

Toby’s stomach flips. 

Tim’s not giving him a choice.

“I-It’s like…fuck, it’s l-like every muscle in my— in my b-body is spasming like c-crazy,” Toby continues, watching with crazed eyes as Tim slides the belt from its loops. He grits his teeth as it clatters to the ground. 

He doesn’t want this to stop. 

He has to keep going. 

“I-It’s like f-fire under my skin, b-but I can’t feel t-the burn…” 

Tim’s hand moves to the fly of his jeans. 

“…I-I lose all control of m-my body, I can’t—fuck off!—I-I can’t even think, i-it just all turns i-into gibberish…”

Tim tugs down his zipper, and Toby can see his twitching bulge straining against his boxers. 

“…It’s l-like I can feel myself l-losing my mind, and I c-can’t do anything— d-do anything about it, I c-can’t even p-put—put it back! put it back!—put together a sentence…”

Tim hooks a thumb under the waistband of his boxers. He starts to push them down. 

“…F-Fuck, Tim, I-I wanna feel it again.” 

Toby clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle the moan that threatens to break free as he watches Tim’s erection spring free from the confines of his clothes. He’s thick and uncut, throbbing with rabid need. Toby shudders as his partner lets out a relieved groan, breathing hard under his mask. 

“S-Shit, Tim…y-your—your cock! your cock!—n-no! I mean you’re—your cock! your cock! fat cock!—dammit! I-I didn’t mean to s-say that—!”

“I’m taking you up on your offer, Rogers…” Tim growls, cutting off Toby’s attempt to explain himself. He grabs Toby’s head with both hands, fingers digging into the front of his wound on one side and the gash in his cheek on the other. This time Toby doesn’t bother to stop the moan that crawls up his throat as he feels Tim’s cock rut against the back of his head.

“…I wanna give this new hole of yours a proper fucking. What do you say?”

Toby can’t see Tim’s mouth, but he can tell he’s smiling from the way his eyes crinkle at the corners behind his mask. Toby groans at the thought. He can’t stop the crooked grin that spreads across his pale face like butter on a hot pan.

“P…P-Please, Tim,” He whispers, and he knows he’s hit a nerve when he feels Tim‘s grip tighten for a moment.

“…Please what, Rogers?” 

He figured he wouldn’t get it that easy. 

“Please, Tim,” Toby continues, sucking in  a breath and swallowing his pride, “I-I want you t-to fuck me, please—“ 

Tim ruts against the back of his head again, barely brushing his wound. He wants more.

“P-Please, fuck, I-I’m—need! give it!—I’m begging you! I need it, I-I need you to fuck m-my brains out, please!” 

Tim shifts his hips. He’s lining up at the opening. 

It’s working. 

“Please, please, p-please, Tim, I-I want you to f-fuck my brain! I n-need to—fffuck! fuck! fuck!—I need t-to feel it! Please, dammit, j-just fucking—!”

Toby doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. 

Tim shoves himself inside the bloody cavity without warning, forcing Toby’s brain out of the way as his cock enters. The scream that rocks Toby’s body is as lustful as it is carnal and gruesome. He reaches up on instinct and grabs Tim’s wrists, not trying to pull his hands away but holding on for dear life before he loses the ability to move at all. 

“You broke so easy,” Tim sneers as he bottoms out, talking over Toby’s uncontrollable moaning, “What would the others think if they saw you begging for dick like a whore on the street? Huh?!”

He punctuates his sentence with a sudden rut of his hips, making Toby yelp and his body jerk. His nails dig into Tim’s arms, and the pain is delicious. 

Tim studies the scene before him in the mirror. 

It’s disgusting. It’s horrid. He can see the tip of his leaking cock resting inside his partner’s skull. 

He doesn’t want this to end. 

He’s going to relish this opportunity, every sickening moment of it. 

“What would they think…”

Tim starts to pull back, breath trembling at the slick noises from the movement.

“…If they knew I had you whining for me like a dirty fuckin’ sissy?!”

He pushes back in with even more force than before. Blood is forced out the front of the wound, dripping down Toby’s face and onto the floor, leaving a red trail on his skin. His meaningless babbling is music to Tim’s ears.

Again Tim pulls back, faster this time, and pushes in again. He watches Toby’s face in the mirror as he finds his rhythm, completely enamored as it contorts with overwhelming sensations that no human should ever experience. His mouth is hanging completely open, his tongue limp and lying against his chin as he pants and wails desperately like a dog in heat. He’s starting to drool from the lack of muscle control.

There’s something about watching Toby quite literally lose his mind at his hand that makes Tim feel like God. 

“You know, I like you a lot better when you can’t run your mouth,” Tim says with a chuckle. He digs his fingers into the front of the wound, groping around in the cavity and feeling the pulsing meat shift under the pads of his fingertips.

“You’re lucky I’m not gonna tell anyone about this, not gonna tell the others you’re a nasty fuckin’ faggot who’s so desperate for dick you’d take it in your brain…at least someone’s finally making use of the lump of meat in your head, eh?!”

He pulls Toby’s skull back on his cock hard and fast, fucking into the hole with more fervor than he thought possible. His arms are bleeding now from where Toby’s nails are digging in, his knuckles locked up as his motor function is ripped to shreds. 

Tim’s eyes trail down the reflection as he thrusts, down to Toby’s body and stopping at the tent in his pants. There’s a painfully obvious stain on his groin now where his erection is straining against the denim of his jeans with wretched need. His precum is leaking through the material in viscous waves, a constant stream of shameful arousal. It looks like it hurts, like his zipper is about to burst, but Tim has no interest in granting him even that small mercy of freeing his hard-on. 

“Damn,” He mumbles to himself, watching the liquid pool where the tip of his partner’s cock pushes against his pants, “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re not just tolerating it to see how far I’ll go, you’re getting off on this shit! You’re a dirty fuckin’ boy slut!” 

He’s getting mean, meaner than he really needs to be, but he doesn’t care. Toby might not even be able to hear him, and even if he can, Tim’s not going to waste this chance while his partner can’t snap back. 

He ruts his hips more intentionally, trying to hit every spot he can. He’s catching on to patterns, that certain touches here or there make Toby twitch or jerk or yelp involuntarily. His eye has rolled back in his head almost completely. It looks agonizing, and it only makes Tim thrust faster. 

“Then again, in that messed up little mind of yours I bet this is nothing. You’re so used to gettin’ beat on this practically soft to you, ain’t it?! Or did your old man slam your head into the concrete too many times for you to know the damn difference?!” 

Tim’s practically screaming at him now, drool running down his chin and neck as he loses himself to the pleasure. It’s unbearably hot under his mask, but he can’t bring himself to release his death grip on Toby’s head to take it off. 

“I should’ve put you in your place a long time ago, lord knows you’ve needed it for who knows how long!” 

Tim angles his hips upward a bit, brushing against a certain spot that makes Toby tense and cry out suddenly. The thing Tim notices most, though, is the way Toby’s cock twitches in his pants. It spurts just a bit, not climaxing yet but getting dangerously close. The stain on the front of his pants is only growing with each passing second that Tim violates his brain.

“Oh, you really are disgusting,” Tim huffs, “You’re really about to cum in your pants, and I haven’t even touched your cock? That’s pathetic, Rogers.”

Tim angles his hips up again just to watch the precum gush from his partner’s tip, his stomach flipping in his gut at the thought that Toby is so, so damn close, but he can’t beg for more or touch himself or even move at all. 

“Nngh…Like hell I’m gonna let a little bitch boy like you cum first, though.” 

He takes a moment to adjust his grip. He’s preparing for the last stretch. 

The speed of his thrusting increases tenfold, completely losing all sense of rhythm. He can feel the pleasure taking him over, melting his resolve and screaming at him to go, go, go, just keeping going, go until you can’t anymore, and that’s exactly what he intends to do. 

“You better take all of my cum, Rogers,” Tim growls through gritted teeth, “Though I ain’t exactly giving you a choice, am I? You’ll take it whether you like it or not…” 

He hasn’t looked away from Toby’s face in the mirror. The sight of it twitching and frozen in a state of screaming ecstasy is like a horrific work of art. Tim’s never going to forget it. He won’t forget any of this. Every second is burned into his brain, and he’s more than happy to keep it that way.

The gory cavity is carved into the shape of Tim’s cock by now, each thrust only feeding the growing puddle of blood and viscera on the ground below Toby. That stain will stay there forever, Tim thinks. A permanent reminder of the debauchery the two of them are so gleefully partaking in. The idea of someone else finding this old house scattered with bodies, walking around and not even knowing the half of what these walls have been subjected to…

God, that’s good. 

The knot in Tim’s stomach starts to tighten. 

He can’t hold on for much longer. Neither can Toby. 

Tim angles his hips in that special way again, hitting that sensitive spot over and over and over again with each frenzied thrust. Toby’s practically soaking himself now, so close to the edge but not quite close enough to fall off, though he runs the risk with each passing second. It’s barely a matter of time. 

Faster, faster, faster, that’s the only thing Tim can think. 

More, more, more, that’s all he can think about.

Faster, faster, faster, more, more, more, more, more more more moremoremore—

“Shit!” 

Suddenly Tim throws his head back with a wild noise, his cock releasing without warning into the bloody cavity he’s been so graciously desecrating. At the same time he brushes that spot again, and it’s finally enough to give Toby his release, too, only a second later. His cum soaks the front of his now completely ruined jeans, the shameful stain running down his groin and thighs. The scream he lets out as his climax rocks his body will haunt Tim’s dreams. 

Tim’s thrusting doesn’t slow to a stop until it feels like his balls are empty. Only then does he finally go still, allowing himself to breathe. He looks up at the ceiling as he pants, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment as his orgasm gradually washes away.

Finally Tim allows his fingers to unfurl, releasing Toby as he pulls his cock from his ruined skull. It comes back soaked in blood and sticky with viscera, taking a few chunks with it. He tries to step back, but Toby’s still gripping his wrists.

He manages to shake him off, only for Toby’s body to go completely limp and fall forward, face first onto the dusty wood floor and into the puddle of mixed bodily fluids. He twitches a bit, but doesn’t move or show any signs of life beyond that. Anyone else would think he’s dead. 

“I’m not falling for that again,” Tim mumbles with an eye roll, using his discarded glove to wipe off his now flaccid cock before tucking it back into his boxers and zipping up his pants. 

He crouches over Toby, grabbing his hair and forcing him up from the floor back onto his knees. All Toby can manage is a pathetic groan. Tim studies his partner’s fucked-out face in the mirror for a moment, watching as the blood and seed lazily roll down his cheek and chin. He can’t help but chuckle to himself.

“…Anything to say for yourself?” Tim asks teasingly, shaking him a bit.

The only response he gets is the sound of gagging as Toby retches. Tim barely moves back in time to watch him cough up a horrible concoction of blood, cum, and God knows what else without being in the splash zone. 

“Goddammit, watch it!” Tim scolds cruelly, “If you hurl on my new boots I’m leaving you like this.” 

He at least has the decency to let Toby finish before scooping up his limp, helpless body. He carries him under his arm like a log, not taking any care to be gentle.

“I’ll get you back home to Eyeless,” Tim mutters, “He doesn’t ask too many questions, and he’ll patch you up good ‘til you’re all healed…” 

Tim tries not to think too hard as he carries his partner out of the house, away from the crime scene and into the endless wooded darkness. 

All is quiet for a moment, save for the sound of Tim’s heavy steps on the dry leaves. That is, until what Tim thinks is a muffled giggle sounds from his partner. He stops and looks back, but there’s no more noise. 

Dammit, he thinks. 

Neither of us are going to be forgetting this. 

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[bubble-dream-inc]

i walk the line.

You had joked with Ghost before about getting married, never with a tone serious enough for it to be taken into account, even if it was something you dreamed about whenever you were alone with your thoughts. What you hadn’t expected was the question to come up at such an inopportune time. 

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Sergeant Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 2.1 K

a/n: i hate giving my fics titles so just assume the song in the title is the vibe i want the fic to have lmao. also this is unedited and not beta read so beware of typos and shit

warnings: estabilished relationship, profanity, whump, description of wound, mentions of death, badly timed marriage proposal, medical inaccuracies, fluff, happy ending

It’s cold.

No, scratch that. It’s fucking freezing.

God, you hate the cold. Considering how much you despise it, it amuses you to think you might have been a desert creature in another life. A lizard, maybe. The types to scurry really fast and eat small insects all day. What a life.

You’re lost in your musings but you think there are a few very faint voices calling for you. Where are they coming from? Above? Seems like it. First, you hear their voices getting clearer, and recognize a word. It’s your codename, meaning, it’s your teammates voices. But why do they sound so agitated? Next, you feel pain. Quickly rising, scorching hot pain in your abdomen. 

Oh, that’s right. You were shot.

A scream echoes out wherever you are and only later you’d recognize it as your own, in the same moment you recognize Ghost’s own booming voice frantically calling out for you, and the heavy weight of Soap’s large hands holding you down so you wouldn’t trash as much. It had been ironic, really, how much the mission went smoothly, 99% of it being completed without a hitch, but right as you were about to celebrate success, some fucker neither of you had seen before had decided to put a bullet in you - any of you - blindly, and it so happened it would hit you. The offender was long gone, a throw knife lodged in his skull as quick as a blink of an eye in the split second after the gunshot was heard, but the damage was already done. A few seconds before it happened, you had groaned how much you couldn’t wait for evac to come so you could take a hot shower and sleep, since your bones were aching, and Gaz had laughed and called you old-spirited. So much for that shower, you think as you take in the surroundings of what you could see of the abandoned safe house from your position on the blood stained table. It was painful to think about if that same table was used in the past for a family reunion or to gather folks around for good news, before hell broke loose and war tore apart the people, so you didn’t think about it. Ghost called your codename again and you cast your eyes downwards to look at him, the fear in his eyes sending a chill down your spine.

“Hey! Talk to me, don’t you dare close your eyes!”

You had screamed as he was removing the projectile from your flesh, you realized. Was not your first rodeo, a thought that made you want to laugh bitterly, but just the idea of laughing made you wince in pain. His hands were currently trying to stop the bleeding, and after taking one look at the wound, you suddenly felt at peace. 

It was pretty shitty you were going to die in an equally shitty safehouse, but that’s the life you chose. So, against your better judgment, you chuckle lowly and decide to follow your superior’s orders.

“Keep talking, eh? Alright.” You groaned once more when he applied more pressure to your gaping wound. “L.t, do you- do you remember when i told you…I wanted to retire early and - fuck - get to the countryside and get a big ass dog?”

He looked up at you briefly, glad you were talking but clearly wondering where you were going with this. You knew he hated when you spoke of the future as if you were going to die - which, right now, you were pretty sure it was really happening this time - but you couldn’t help yourself. Of course he remembers that conversation, it was in the beginning of your secret-not-so-secret relationship. You had asked him what he would do if he wasn’t a soldier, and he had given you a very cryptic and vague answer that resembled a lot like nothing. In turn, you told him your wishes half heartedly, as if thinking of living for 10 more years was a very distant dream. 

The relationship between the 141’s Lieutenant and one of its Sargeants was a sort of urban legend going around. People knew it was happening, but didn’t dare speak of it, and no one had ever really seen any proof of it, so, it was best to avoid prying into Ghost’s private matters as to not risk being at the receiving end of his annoyance, and, in turn, you both found solace in having something that only the two of you knew about. It never hindered your professionalism and it had been going on for a few good years now, so it became somewhat naturalized between the folks coexisting in the same space as you and Simon after a while. However, that never stopped the natural curiosity to flourish in a few people - namely, your comrades, who always knew there was something going on given the fact you’d literally look at your superior with hearts in your eyes - so you had to ignore Gaz and Soap’s expectant eyes on you as you spoke so tenderly, the intensity of witnessing the start of what seemed like a very intimate talk momentarily sharing space with the worry they were feeling over you. 

“...Yes. I remember.”

He never forgets the things you say, even if you think it’s not important at the time. You hummed, ignoring the pain that came with it.

“Big dogs were never really my thing. I just-” A cough ripped out of you, and you didn’t need to look to know there was blood in it. “ I just thought it was the kind of thing you’d want. Big dogs fit you. It felt less scary to think about retiring once I added you in the equation.”

You were slurring your words and you knew it. As you regained your breath, you briefly saw a very wide-eyed and angry looking Price curse into his comm asking where the fuck was the goddamn chopper. Your codename being barked alongside the word “WIA” to a poor fellow soldier on the other side of the line left you with a bad taste in your mouth. You hate how scared Ghost looked, your big, scary, stoic Ghost, and you can’t help but feel selfish for leaving him, even if being shot was not your fault and wasn’t really in your plans when you left the base that morning.

“Stop talking like you’re fucking d-”

“We could have done it, you know?” Your laugh is, once again, bitter, and you’re acutely aware of the tears streaming down your face. Death has never scared you, but now that you got a reason to stay, you’re terrified. “Could’ve gotten hitched somewhere nice. Can’t really imagine you in a suit, though.”

The pain doesn’t stop, but it gets duller as you feel your consciousness slipping away, and you never fought so much to stay awake in your entire life. Simon yells something to Soap among the lines of getting something from somewhere so he can continue trying to save you, but you don’t register his words. His tone softens once his eyes are back on you.

“I’d wear a suit if you asked me to, sweetheart.”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask, though.”

Not caring there are other people in the room, you smile at him, well aware it must be uncanny to see Ghost be so tender towards another person, but again, you were the lucky one who got to see it every time it was just the two of you, so you got used to it with time.

Your vision starts spinning more and more, and your eyes start to close the moment you hear the familiar, faint sound of a helicopter getting closer, Simon’s big hands suddenly on your face to try to keep you grounded, and he sounds even more exasperated than before. He calls your name - not your codename, for once.

“Stay alive, do you hear me?! You gotta stay the fuck alive so i can take you to the bloody countryside and get bloody hitched-”

“You askin’ me to marry ya’ in my deathbed, sir?” You manage to slur out, your smile growing despite the panic you don’t have the energy to express settling in your bones, and Simon’s eyes widen even more behind the mask.

“Yes, I am, so stay with me, that’s a fucking order-”

You chuckle, closing your eyes as the frantic sounds around you all blur into a garbled mess. Faintly you feel your body being moved around, a strong wind on your blood and dirt caked hair, hear some more shouting, but then,

Silence.

——————————

Feels like the thousandth time you have woken up, and the feeling of coming in and out of consciousness is unbearable at best.

The first time - or the second, you don’t remember - there was a strong light above you, but you had no energy to open your eyes, so it lasted a measly second before you were out again. Later, you heard an unfamiliar voice saying something about an induced coma for a few days for a better recovery. You wondered if they were talking about you (they probably were). This happens a few more times before you actually feel your consciousness coming back for good, and, before you open your eyes, the first thing you notice is how warm it is, and, if you could, you’d smile. The spring air smells good, and you think you catch a whiff of cleaning products while you inhale, suddenly aware of how empty your lungs felt. The third thing you notice is the weight on your hand, and once you open your eyes, you find a familiar set of skeleton gloved hands on top of your own. A few years back you had told him with a laugh the print was very 2000’s, and he had just brushed you off with a scowl, but you’ve never been so glad to see the tacky thing. His thumb caresses your skin as he patiently waits for you to become more aware of your surroundings, and you instantly smile when you finally meet his gaze, which looks extremely relieved.

“Hi.” Your throat feels parched, voice straining as if you’d swallowed a kilo of sand, but Simon thinks your voice never sounded so sweet to his ears.

“Hi.” 

It hurts to move, but you do so anyway, slowly sitting up despite Simon’s protests just so you can see him more clearly and grasp his hand a little better. While you are busy cringing at the dull pain in your stomach from the stitches, he extends a glass of water for you, to which you grab and gulp down immediately, quenching your thirst and looking over at your partner with such gratitude an onlooker would have thought he was a literal godsend. 

“How bad is it?” Your voice still felt rough from disuse, but at least it sounded a bit more familiar to your ears. 

“Pretty bad.” He doesn’t bother you with details; he knows you were never a fan of hearing about your wounds descriptively. “But you’ve always been tough.”

You flash him a grin that has him silently flabbergasted both with how beautiful you are and how quickly you seem to bounce back from a near fatal injury. Suddenly, you remember your last words before you blacked out, and your smile turns shy as you cast your gaze down to where your hands meet.

“...Did you mean it?” 

Simon has always been extremely observant and smart, he knows what you are talking about immediately, and you like to think he is smiling under the mask as he goes back to gingerly caressing the top of your smaller hand with his thumb.

“I did, sweetheart.” His voice is low, and every time he calls you a pet name it has your heart doing somersaults. “I’m sorry I don't have a ring yet and I don't know when we would have some time off to have a ceremony, but I want to marry ya’. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Feeling like your smile would grow so big it would rip your face, you beamed at him, acutely aware of how you must have been looking like a mess with a - hospital - bed head and tired eyes, but you’d hoped he could notice the hearts in your eyes as obviously as you felt them. Things always seemed to fall in place with Ghost; no need for extravagance or huge acts, and the fact that your marriage proposal was exactly that, made you fall even more in love with him. You watched lovingly as he raised your hand to press a mask covered kiss on the top of it, and shook your head, laughing gently.

“Of course i’ll marry you, Simon.”

[grandlinedreams]

|| welcome fellow Ghoul fuckers ily

|| notes: sequel to [this], got nothin' to really say beyond reader and Cooper make the most fucked up implied pseudo parents for Lucy lmao, Canon somewhat compliant, post s1, gonna have to wait for the prequel meeting dic to know why reader knows Coop's whole name

|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, Canon typical gore/violence, something something save a horse ride a cowboy, NSFW ㅡ fingering, edging (i had to take a lap around my house), irradiated cream pie, unprotected sex (supposedly those swimmers are FRIED but I can dream),

The low croak of a crow echoes over the barren stretch of sunbaked, irradiated earth ㅡ and the creature itself lands on the bent, rusted post of a long gone sign. Tilts its head this way and that, blinks liquid black eyes ㅡ three of them. Then squawks indignantly when a bullet narrowly misses it, jet black wings flaring as it takes to the sky to complain in that low, creaking voice.

"Get lost," you tell the bird, glancing at the way Dogmeat tracks the creature. Then she whines, licks at her muzzle like she wants to go catch and eat the damn thing.

"Don't even think about it, pup." You inform her, soothing the disappointment with rough scratches to her head that have her nudging for more before you walk away, sharp whistle summoning her to your side. You don't know why, but she's taken a shine to you over your companions, and you're not about to push her away.

The set up for tonight isn't far off, but it's the skitter of some other creature off in the distance paired with the ominous rumble from above that gets your attention ㅡ and you click your tongue at the foreboding, electric green that rolls in the clouds, cracking with lightning. It isn't nightfall yet, but it's growing closer with that mess on the horizon.

There's a pitiful attempt at a fire being made by Lucy when you return, and she offers a smile that you echo briefly before moving to Cooper's side, nudging him with your boot. "Storm's rollin' in."

He grunts, tugs his hat from where he'd been shading his face ㅡ pretending to sleep to ignore Lucy's still-attempting-to-be-friendly rambles, you suppose. "How far out?"

You shrug, slinging your pack back onto your shoulders. "About an hour, give or take."

Lucy flicks a confused look to both of you as Cooper gets to his feet as well, and her head tilts. "Why're we moving?"

You raise an eyebrow. "You want radiation sickness, vaultie?" It's worth it for the way she bristles, and you snicker. "Come on. There's something of a building not far from here."

You're kind enough to wait for her unlike Cooper, who heads off with Dogmeat while you trail with Lucy.

The building was probably an apartment complex at one point for the squared off, honeycomb like interior, the sections that remain halfway decent.

The presence of scattered, long empty supply packaging ranging from stimpacks to tins of cram says that you aren't the first to be here though, and you split off with Cooper to scout out the place, leaving Lucy with Dogmeat.

You're just as quick with tongue and trigger as Cooper ㅡ Lucy has learned that the hard way over the last week or so. But there's still a softness to you that Lucy likes, gravitates towards ㅡ and figure that Cooper likes it too, for the way she spots him watching you sometimes, pretends not to notice when he looks up and glares at her.

"Clear," you report, pulling her from her thoughts as you toss her a bedroll and a spare blanket. Where you got them, she doesn't know. And the dark stains of what absolutely is most likely blood tells her she doesn't want to know.

What she does know is that she's allowed what constitutes as a room to herself ㅡ three walls and a roof that won't cave in are enough for her to take it without complaint. Dogmeat goes with her, and when she looks up, she knows why with the unspoken way you and Cooper split off for the same little room a couple broken spaces down from hers.

"Get some rest, Lucy," you tell her, offer a small smile that makes her beam as she settles down for the night, deciding that she is far, far better off not thinking about just how close you and Cooper actually are.

"Cute kid," you remark as you finally trail into the room after Cooper, earning an amused scoff.

"Fuckin' annoying is what she is," he grouses, and it's your turn to laugh as you shrug off your pack and kneel, digging for your own bedroll.

"Considering that's what you called me when we first metㅡ"

"No, I called you an annoying bitch."

"Potayto, potahto." You tug the bedroll free and roll it out, blinking as Cooper settles himself over it with a groan and then a sigh. "Excuse me."

He peers up at you. "What now?"

"This is my bed." You snip, jerking a thumb over your shoulder. "Up, Cooper."

"Nah." He folds his arms behind his head. "You like the vaultie so much, go cuddle up with her."

You stare. "Cooper Howard," you say, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous of the kid." He's silent, and you raise an eyebrow. "Are you?"

"No." The words is sharp, and he lifts his head to eye you. "Don't need to be jealous when I know what's mine," he rasps, "now quit bitchin' and c'mere."

You don't know what it says that you do so without fuss, settling yourself to straddle his hips as he sits up, draping your arms over his shoulders.

"There," you snip, adjusting to flick at the rim of his hat. "Better?"

He watches you with eyes as dark as an oil spill, and you don't miss the flick to your mouth and back up. "Gettin' there."

You snort. "You know," you murmur, tone dropping lower, "if you wanted to kiss me, all you gotta do is ask."

He smirks, the flash of his teeth. "Where's the fun in that, sugar? I like the chase. Besides," he lowers his tone, leans in further, "you're the one bitchin' when we can share this sad excuse for a bed. And the way I see it, you're gettin' the better deal anyways."

You roll your eyes, act like you're annoyed ㅡ but the way you don't tell him to shove it or get off of him speaks volumes enough.

Poetically, it starts raining just as you kiss him. The fingertip drum of it on the roof, sour-sweet smell of it that still reaches you because this isn't a real bedroom, just some shitty excuse for it. Doesn't matter, because this is far better than the kisses you've stolen over the last few days when you're absolutely certain Lucy isn't watching either of you.

Cooper seems to think so too for the way he deepens the kiss, cups your face as he nips at your lower lip and licks into your mouth when they part.

He squeezes at your hips, snakes his fingers back under your shirt, pinches and tugs and maps until you're squirming in his lap as he shoves your shirt off completely. He pulls, coaxes you into an arch that lets him mouth at your ribs, nip and sow sparks of pleasure in your veins as he leaves little patches of bruised pink skin in his wake.

He likes marking you, he realizes, the subtle claim without him having to say it. Mine.

He welcomes the grind of your hips against his, your body soft in all the ways that his isn't, filling in the cracks and rounding out all his sharp edges until he can't think of anything but getting his hands on you properly.

The pop of the button on your jeans is easy, the slip of his hand deliberate ㅡ you're louder this time, covered by the storm above as you whine and moan and buck into his hand and the sinful, clever work of his fingers.

And then just as you're about to crest that wave of pleasure, he stops. Smirks at the way you glare, taps your nose with his other hand. "You know you don't get nothin' for free around here, sugar."

He's teasing though, pushes you back to work his belt open, pants down ㅡ then dragging you back over him. Groans, tips his head back at the teasing glide of you before he's adjusting to line himself up and guiding you down.

The gasp he gets is music to his ears, nearly lost to the gutteral, hissed noise he makes himself at the tight, warm squeeze of you around his length. His eyes roll, and he bucks his hips up.

"C'mon sweet thing," he rasps, "don't make me do all the work. Ride for me."

The rhythm is stilted for the way he grips your hips anyways, reluctant to let you pull off of him too much ㅡ but it still feels good. Your breath matches the staccato movement, hands splayed on his chest for balance and head thrown back, looking for all the world like some sort of dedication to a long gone diety that he'd gladly worship to the end.

And he does still, reverence to the way he touches, kisses, bites ㅡ throbbing vitality in your veins calling to him, sweet siren song wrapped in those plush lips of yours. Soft skin squeezed under his fingers, forgiving for all the ways he can't be gentle, desperate as he is.

It's the throttled clamp of your warmth that says you're coming undone, gooey and wet and warm in all the right ways that has him clutching at you, cursing as his hips jerk and he fills you, mouthing at your pulse point as he does.

Heavy breathing sets the undertone of the roll of thunder outside crumbling walls, rapid beat of two hearts, and there's something dangerously soft, romantic in the way he lets you melt into him.

You drape over him, whisper soft kisses to his cheek, his jaw, his mouth until he kisses you back, slowly, selfishly, dangerously sweet.

"You," he tells you, "are absolutely no good for me." He slings an arm over your waist, softens the bite until it's nonexistent.

After all, what's one more vice?

ㅡ

In the morning, the four of you leave ㅡ there's a lot of ground to cover, after all. Lucy walks beside you, Dogmeat and Cooper just a few feet ahead.

"So," she begins conversationally, "what're those marks on your neck from?"

To your credit, you neither flinch nor blush, busy yourself with fussing with something at your hip. "Mosquitos."

Lucy hums. "That's funny, didn't realize mosquitos got so big. Best be careful then, huh?"

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Consorts [Part 3]

The Ghoul|Cooper Howard x F!Bounty Hunter!Reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // <- -> // Part 4 // Part 5 //

Summary: The Reader and Cooper continue on their travels before running into some of the men hunting them down. One of them get hurt and they must retreat.

a/n: apologies in advance for this leaving on a slutty cliff hanger lmao

~~~

Cooper stood before you. Dapper in his attire, cleaned up in a suit and tie. His face was the same, but he bared a bright white smile. You were dressed in a vintage housewife dress, your hair fixed in an updo. It felt like a scene from one of those old black and white shows you used to watch.

He took one of your hands in his, the other going to the small of your back. He dipped you before beginning a ballroom-esc dance. Twirling you around, your dress dancing along.

"You look gorgeous," his twang falling off his tongue. You giggled at him. "My gorgeous wife," he kissed your collar.

"I love you, Cooper," your eyes stared into his. His grin painted his whole face, he leaned in for a kiss, "I lov-"

Your body jerked you awake.

You sat up quickly, looking around. Cooper was standing a few meters off hunched over something it looked like he was eating. You did not want to bother him knowing he was most likely feasting on something that would turn your stomach. Adjusting your clothes, putting your jacket back on as you stood up. You rolled your neck, stretching your shoulders and legs.

Cooper looked over his shoulder seeing you had finally woke up. He finished his mess then headed over to you. "'Bout time you got up," he strutted over to you. You gave him a halfway side-eye, how unamused you were written on your face.

"We've got a hell-of-a-lot more walking to do," he took a hit of his meds, "Hope you're ready, doll."

You nodded.

The two of you began walking. Sand and debris was the only thing you saw for hours. Mostly silence between the two of you made the travel all that more tiring.

You heard a strange sound in the distance. Cooper was humming some tune a few steps ahead of you.

"Do you hear that?" You questioned him.

He stopped in his tracks, stopping his whistling. It sounded like... footsteps charging in the sand.

Cooper looked around, seeing some blobs heading directly at you two. "Oh for fuck's sake," he grabbed his guns. You looked where he was, seeing the men charging you. All of them fully armed. You groaned, throwing your head back and grabbing your gun.

Cooper began firing at them, sweeping past one of their legs. Causing him to trip and the rest of the group to freak out. Muffled angry sounds came from them. Bullets started flying towards you and Cooper. Both of you pretty much unprotected, but confident in how bad of a shot those men were.

As they centered in on you, they began separating. You grabbed one of the grenades off your belt, pulling the pin and throwing it into the feet of the group approaching you. It sent them flying, blowing one of their legs off.

Cooper chuckled seeing their bodies go flying. He fired both guns, hitting man after man. They stumbled as he hit their legs and arms. They shot back smaller weapons until you saw one of them pullout a real gun. Not some tiny thing, something that would hurt.

Bang.

A bullet fired directly toward you.

Cold.

A cold pain shot down your arm. Like your body was in shock at the wound. Right through your shoulder. Your hand instinctively covered it, you pulled your hand away.

Blood.

Dark red, almost brown.

"Fuck," you exclaimed breathlessly. You stumbled a little to the ground, pain flushing your whole body. Cooper looked to you, his eyes widening seeing the red painting your shoulder. His jaw hung open, a glimmer of concern painted his expression seeing you hurt.

"Fuckers," Cooper began firing his guns rapidly at the men in front of him, each bullet piercing them multiple times. His demeanor changed, like he was angrier than ever before. You watched as all the men who had been chasing you flew to the ground. The desert sands painted red with their blood. A dozen corpses laid before you. Once every single one of them was good and dead, Cooper turned around to face you.

"Can you walk, sweetheart?" He kneeled in front of you, looking in your eyes to read whether or not you'd lie about how you were feeling.

You nodded, not wanting to look him in the eyes.

"There's a settlement a few paces up from here. Make it there and you can rest for the night," he looked over his shoulder almost double checking that they were all dead.

You could not deny the slight embarrassment that formed in the pit of your stomach. You were supposed to be a strong bounty hunter and here you are kneeling on the ground with a bullet shot through your shoulder. Worse, your number one competition was the one who had to save you.

Cooper walked over to one of the corpses, ripping the skin and taking a bite. You stared mindlessly. Moments like this reminded you how bad things really were here. Your road companion could not survive without having to eat someone else.

You knew if he ever had to, he would do that to you.

You shook that thought off.

He walked back over to you, bending down to help you up. He was being so gentle with you. You winced slightly causing him to slow down helping you. Your arm was limp at your side as you stood. You rolled your neck, squinting your eyes.

"Come on, sweetheart." He walked with you. The whole way keeping pace with you, shooting a glance at you every time you made a slightly off noise. You eventually came upon the settlement he had spoke of, only it was completely empty. Only decaying bodies of people remained.

"Guess we got the whole place to ourselves," Cooper's hands went on his hips. He led you into what looked like an old house. Shooting his gun into the ceiling to make sure no one remained. No response.

Cooper helped you into an abandoned room. Dark other than a slight glow coming in through a single window in the room. An older mattress and a nightstand were the only things in the room. Once you got sat, Cooper went looking through the house for a form of something to mend your wound. You could hear his heavy boots throughout the entire house.

"I need to bandage you up," he spoke across the room. You looked at him. Hesitantly, you took your jacket off laying it on the mattress behind you. You unbuttoned the shirt underneath, leaving you in an exposed white tank-top. Stained around the shoulder with your deep red blood. He joined you, standing at the edge of where you sat. He wetted a piece of cloth, dabbing your wound. You gritted your teeth.

"Clean through you," he mumbled.

You watched as he gently cleaned your wound the best he could. You found yourself admiring how he was treating you. He was brash and coarse most moments, but right now he felt soft. Like he was worried about you.

His eyes looked up yours before directing back to your shoulder. For the moment your eyes met, it felt like everything slowed down. Like he was truly taking care of you. Eyes checking to make sure he was not hurting you.

He wrapped a dry piece of the same cloth around your wound, gently lifting your arm to make sure it was on properly.

"Thank you, Cooper," you breathed out. His eyes shot up at your face. Jaw slightly hanging open like he wanted to say something he could not. Slightly hooded eyes stared into yours. He lifted his hand from your shoulder as if he was going to caress your face, before swiftly putting it back down, "Have to make sure you're able to fire tomorrow." He turned his head. A small smile creeped on your face as you looked at him.

Cooper swallowed and cleared his throat. He stood up suddenly, his back to you. "Get some rest," he mumbled through his hand.

"What are you going to do?" You asked as you scooted back onto the mattress. You laid back, stretching your body out.

"I-" he looked over his shoulder at you. He could swear his cock jumped in his pants. Your body on display, skin-tight shirt showing off your breasts, unbuttoned pants showing your pantyline, your hair disheveled, sweat decorating every inch of your exposed skin. He took a deep breath, composing himself. "I'm going to keep watch," he spoke monotonous.

"You could try and get a little rest yourself," you grumbled, "We have a pretty big day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Doesn't matter," he spoke stern, "Can't trust anyone, anywhere." You huffed at him. You rested your eyes, not quite ready to go to sleep. Your shoulder ached, pulsing under your skin. Silence filled the room around you. Your mind wondered to who Cooper was before the war. You knew he had been around longer than most people. Maybe he did not even remember who he was. You wondered if he had a family. If he had any hobbies. What his favorite drink was. You wondered what made him him.

Time passed. Your mind wandered imaging Cooper with hair. The image of him from your dream stuck with you. You bet he was charismatic. Somehow your body was still fighting sleep. Maybe it was the adrenaline from getting shot.

"No one's coming, Coop," you sighed, throwing your legs over the side of the bed.

"Why the hell are you getting up," he walked over to be standing in front of you. "I'm grown," you scoffed.

"Yes, I know that," he rolled his eyes, "I just want you to rest. I don't wanna hear you bitching tomorrow about how bad your shoulder hurts when you won't even lay down for a few hours."

Your head fell forward, eyes in your lap. Cooper stood in the same spot, waiting for you to lay back down.

Doe eyes stared up at him now. The slight light coming through the window illuminated half his face. You watched as his tongue wetted his dry lips. Hooded eyes stared down at you. Warmth washed over your body as you stared at him. "Don't give me those sad eyes," tilting his head. Neither of you were backing down. Both refusing to give into the other.

"What do I gotta do to get you to lay down?" Cooper blew his breath out. You thought of a hundred things you could say to him, ranging from snarky to sexy.

"Sit here and talk to me," you whispered. Cooper's expression softened. Something neither of you had done since reuniting: talked. You went straight into the mission back on the run. You had learned his name, but other than that there was nothing else but minor arguments and groans of disdain.

He clamped his teeth together, looking towards the window. He gestured at you to scoot down on the mattress, "This is stupid." Normally that would have angered you, but in this moment you could not help but smile at him. He was slightly slouched, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Why didn't you turn me in to those guys?" you questioned looking at his hands. You caught him off guard. He stammered slightly, "I-I... You're more important for me to keep you. Besides they would have just came back for me."

Important to him...

You nodded at his response. Thinking it over.

"What did you used to look like?" you smirked at him. If looks could kill, you would be dead. His head sped around to look at your face. He exhaled a slight chuckle. He licked his lips, smiling slightly like the memories made him happy. "Handsome," he grinned for a moment. "Oh?" you laughed out. "Handsomer than any boy you've seen in the Wastelands, that's for sure. 'Kind of handsome that you'd see in the movies," he sat up straight looking at you. You giggled at him. He framed his face with his gloved hands, "Can't you see this on the big screen?" He faked a toothy smile at you.

For a moment you both felt human. Like the world was good.

You had never seen him smile as much as he did right now. Maybe you were both getting comfortable again. Sometimes people moved past bad moments in their past. Maybe you and Cooper could...

"You don't get to ask me all the questions now," Cooper cocked his head at you. You gestured for him to go on and ask. You saw smugness dance across his face. "How was that night?" he grinned. You rolled your eyes, cheeks getting red from the memory. You shoved his shoulder, "Is that all you ever think about?" Cooper chuckled, "Okay, okay... But-" "Oh my God!"

You both laughed together for a moment before silence washed over the room. Somewhere in the laughing his hand had ended up on your thigh. Heat radiated when you realized.

You looked at him with slightly hooded eyes, the light making your eyes glow in the darkness. Your mouth ran dry, you swallowed heavy. Tension so thick in the room that you were losing your breath.

"Do you ever think that..." Cooper started before stopping himself. He blew his breath out, standing up off the bed. He walked back over to the window, hands on his hips. He tapped his foot slightly. He was angry at himself. He wanted to be soft for you. He wanted to fuck you again. He wanted a life with you that he could not have anymore. You stared at him from the bed.

Things got too comfortable. You scared him off. He can't be soft for you, not how you want.

You stood up, taking your pants off. Cooper looked over, watching you strip down to your underwear. "I'll lay back down," you mumbled a little disappointed, "Thank you for looking out, Cooper." You curled up under the old blanket wishing you were wrapped in his arms. You took a deep breath. Forcing your eyes to squint shut.

Silence for only a moment.

~~~

END//Part 3

[Thank you for reading!  If you are interested in being tagging in any of my writings don’t be afraid to message me!  All tag lists are open!  I have a master taglist and one for each character!]

Tags:

@mortuus-poet | @giggle-shade | @ghcstvibess | @pixelatedprofilepic | @maezydaezy |

[anonymous-dentist]

Ocean's Haunted

Read on AO3

-

First off, the ocean's haunted.

That's very important.

Once upon a time when Cesar was still on land, his mother told him all about the spirits that lived on the water. There are the ghosts, of course, and their ships that sail under the full moon. Sea monsters that live in the deepest parts of the ocean and drag sailors to their dooms. Sirens that take on the appearance of one's deepest desires.

What Cesar's mother failed to mention were the goddamn sea zombies.

Sea zombies like the ones currently trying to eat Cesar's face: lean and filled with holes like a sponge, leaking water from every orifice, hair the color and appearance of decayed seaweed. And, of course, smelling of dead fish.

Being alone on his back in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean miles away from land and armed with only a pistol (one bullet left) and a bottle of rum (unopened), Cesar briefly thinks that this is how he's going to die: alone.

The sea zombie gurgles and spits up a mouthful of brackish brown water onto Cesar's shoes. Its teeth graze the back of his calf, tearing his pants' leg to shreds.

Cesar kicks the fucker and skitters back in his boat until his back is against the bow. His hand scrambles for his pistol, finds it.

He raises it with both hands. He doesn't have the time to aim, but at at least his hands don't shake as he fires his last and final bullet into the sea zombie's icky oozing skull.

The sea zombie collapses into a puddle of sea foam with a scream. Its teeth, somehow, are left behind. As are its remaining clothes, including a large, audaciously-colored tricorn hat.

Cesar stares at the foam.

"What the fuck?" he asks it.

The foam, predictably, doesn't answer.

Slowly, Cesar sits up. He puts his gun down in his lap and adjusts the remains of his pants. He looks longingly at the bottle of rum. He internally curses his mother for not knowing about goddamn sea zombies. He externally curses his "father" for his very existence, just because he can.

The sun starts to set over the horizon, and Cesar settles back at the boat's oars. He presses a hand gently to his stomach, and he lets out a sigh of relief when he doesn't start bleeding again.

With a sigh, he cracks his neck, and he picks up the oars in each hand, and he starts rowing again.

-

Pirates.

Ever since he was a child, Cesar has hated pirates. Not because of their whole rob-and-kill-and-steal thing, but because he's only met one pirate in his life, and his life has been ruined ever since.

It's a personal thing. Some people hate pão de queijo. Others hate the winter months. Cesar hates his no-good father, and he hates pirates.

But when a ship that looks about as textbook a pirate ship can be pulls up next to Cesar's rowboat, Cesar feels a rush of relief.

A head pops over the side of the ship, feet above Cesar's head.

"Hello!" the head calls- black hair, and a smile obvious even in the night.

Cesar raises a hand in greeting. "Hey."

"Do you need some help?"

Cesar moves to answer with a, "Nah, I'm good," but, suddenly, the head is yanked out of sight by a pale hand.

"What are you thinking?" a new voice- female?- hisses. "We don't know this guy?"

"Aw, look at him, though! He'll die without our help!" the head argues.

Cesar puts his oars down for the moment.

And then he picks up his still-unopened bottle of rum and holds it in the air like it's a trophy.

"I have rum!" he calls.

Immediately, a woman's head and shoulders appear where the last head was. She looks almost as much a corpse as the sea zombie Cesar just killed, but beggars can't be choosers.

"Why didn't you say so?" she asks, warmth dripping off her voice like slime mold. Her head turns to the side. "Joui, get the ladder."

And that's when a third voice appears and sighs, "Come on, are you just going to let any old wretch onto the ship because they have rum? They could be a siren."

"I'm not a siren," Cesar helpfully says.

A new head, the third voice's, presumably, appears next to the woman's. This man, Cesar notices, is balding.

R-I-P.

"Prove it," the balding man says.

The first head appears on the woman's other side, pouting.

"Would a siren do this?" Cesar asks. He raises his empty pistol to his temple and puts his finger on the trigger.

Alarmed, the first head reaches out as if that'll do anything.

The other two people are not amused.

Sighing, Cesar lowers his gun and flatly says, "And I can play the accordion."

The balding man grins and claps his hands together. "Joui, get the ladder!"

Head number one salutes and ducks out of sight once more. (That'll be 'Joui' then...)

The woman looks at the balding man with a frown. "So me wanting rum is suicidal, but you wanting sea shanties isn't?"

The man shrugs. "What can I say, my dear? We're pirates. We need a sea shantier."

Cesar isn't sure if that's an actual word or job description, but he doesn't quite feel like arguing with the pirates currently saving his life.

One rope ladder climb later, Cesar finds himself tied to the ship's mast with his rum being drank straight from the bottle by the woman.

All three of the pirates are gathered around him, each one with weapons very clearly visible on their persons.

Cesar squirms slightly. "You couldn't have at least let me sit down before tying me up?"

"Nah," says the woman, bottle to her lips.

Well.

Pirates.

Cesar looks around. It's an empty ship, no crew members in sight besides the three in front of him. The sails are down, and the anchor's chain is leading off the side of the ship. The deck is a mess, and the rigging is knotted just so incorrectly that it's making Cesar's teeth hurt.

The balding man steps forward, his hand resting on the end of his sword on his belt.

"What crew do you work for, then?" he asks, fake smile and even faker gold teeth.

"None," Cesar truthfully replies. "I'm out here on my own?"

Presumably-Joui furrows his brow in confusion. "In a rowboat?"

Cesar shrugs. "It was all I could afford."

That, though, is a lie. His mother left him one hell of a fortune when she passed, and all that money is currently siting in a bank back home waiting for his return. (He'll never actually return, but the money doesn't need to know that.)

But, well, it's a bunch of pirates. They don't need to know the truth.

(Mostly because the truth, of course, is too strange for anyone, even a pirate, to believe.)

Silence. Physical silence so heavy that it weighs Cesar's shoulders down. It sits in the pit of his stomach and tugs on his tongue, begging him to talk.

The woman leans over to whisper to the balding man. His face crinkles, and he whispers back with his hand cupped over her ear.

Cesar chooses to lock eyes with Maybe-Joui.

He looks... nice? He smiles when Cesar makes eye contact, though he stays a fair distance away from the mast, a full step or so behind the other two pirates.

A literal second of eye contact is all Cesar can take, though; he shivers and swallows the lump in his throat and looks up at the sky, instead.

Stars.

And the moon.

Bald and Woman's whispering gets louder as they start to argue.

"We are not telling him!" Bald hisses. "Are you crazy?"

Woman rolls her eyes. "What else are we supposed to do? He is literally ten feet below us right now!"

"Yeah, and he probably heard us bringing him up," Maybe-Joui adds.

Both Bald and Woman snap their heads towards Maybe-Joui with narrowed eyes.

"This is a private conversation!" Woman huffs.

"Cover your ears," Bald tells him.

Maybe-Joui's face falls, but he nods and puts his hands over his ears, though not without mumbling, "Maybe don't speak so loudly next time..."

He even closes his eyes for good measure. How polite.

But Cesar, facing him, can see that the way his hands are placed leaves plenty of room for sound to sneak in.

Cesar bites back a smile; he can always appreciate a good fofoqueiro.

"What about me?" he asks. "Do I need to cover my ears, too?"

Woman and Bald both ignore him. Assholes.

Sighing, Cesar tips his head back until it's resting against the mast.

At least they aren't sea zombies, he tells himself.

"We could use the extra help..." Bald muses.

Suddenly, there's the sound of a hand striking cloth, and an offended, "Hey!"

"Are you crazy?!" Woman argues. "He might be an occultist!"

"Look at him, he's, like, twelve. How many occultists do we know that are children?"

Okay, what?

"I'm 29," Cesar sighs.

He tilts his head down to give the pirates a tired look.

They both look at him with varying levels of confusion on their faces.

"Maybe he is an occultist," Bald admits.

"Maybe we should get Cris," Woman adds.

A shudder goes down Cesar's spine at that.

A cloud passes over the moon.

Foreboding.

Maybe-Joui's eyes snap open, and he drops his hands back to his sides.

"Oh, are we getting Cris?" he asks. "I can get him."

Cesar barely manages to hold back a wince.

A cold wind blows across the ship's deck.

Foreboding.

Cesar flexes his arms against the ropes tying to him to the mast. He isn't that strong, but maybe...

Oh, who is he kidding? There's no way that he's on this ship. What would be the odds of that?

The ship creaks.

And then Cesar hears them: footsteps. From below, wooden planks groaning in protest of the weight on them; a door opening.

Panic rises in Cesar's throat. It's bitter and horrible and familiar in the same way as an old blanket and, suddenly, he has a bad feeling.

"Throw me overboard," he hoarsely says, looking right at Maybe-Joui because he, at least, seems normal.

Maybe-Joui's eyes widen. "What? No!"

Woman claps her hands together. "Well, you heard him, boys. Let's throw him overboard."

Cesar strains against the ropes. His ears ring. The moon is looking at him, judging. The pirates are looking at him, judging. His chest hurts. His arms hurt. Is he bleeding again? His shirt feels wet. Damnit.

Bald holds up a hand. "Now, hold on, look at him. Something's wrong."

Of course something is wrong, something is always wrong!

Woman puts the bottle of rum down on the deck. She crosses her arms, a frown appearing on her face.

"Hmph," she brilliantly says.

Maybe-Joui perks up slightly. "Guys, I hear someone moving downstairs."

Woman and Bald tense. They look at each other, having a silent conversation that Cesar, frankly, could care less about.

"Cris," they say in unison.

Bald turns to look at Cesar, and something weird lights up in his eyes.

He smiles, slightly, and he takes a full step back away from the mast, stretching his arms above his head.

"Liz, darling, take a good look at our guest," he calmly says.

Foreboding.

Cesar flinches as a door slams open on the other side of the deck.

Woman's eyes widen. "Oh. I see."

"I don't," Maybe-Joui says.

"What are we seeing?" a fourth voice- utterly grating and horrible and terrible and shitty and bad and disgusting- calls, a yawn and a smile in his voice.

Panic falls way to anger, which falls to hatred, which falls to nothing.

Cesar goes limp, falling back against the mast and looking down at the deck. He's. Tired.

"Who's this?" he hears.

"We have a guest," Bald hums. "Joui fished him out of the ocean. He hasn't given us a name yet, but... maybe you can help with that?"

The deck creaks with every heavy footstep.

Once, Cesar's mother told him about his "father": a tall, handsome man with a big hat and wide shoulders. He was a sailor, she said, and he always came home from his voyages with gold and silver and the finest jewelry Cesar's mother had ever seen.

A few weeks after Cesar was born, Cesar's father left for another trip. He left a letter behind. He left his wife behind.

He left his son behind.

"He can play the accordion," Maybe-Joui helpfully says. "I think we should keep him."

"I'm not an animal," Cesar grumbles.

He looks firmly at his boots even as the hulking figure of the fourth pirate comes to stand in front of him.

"Well?" Woman asks.

"Why is he tied up?" the pirate asks, sounding almost upset. "Hold on..."

Hands start tugging at the ropes.

And then they suddenly stop.

"Wait a minute..." the pirate murmurs.

"Oh, this will be good," Woman quietly says to her friends.

"Look at me," the pirate gently orders, voice cracking as his two hands settle on either side of Cesar's face.

Cesar sneers and tries to shrug off the pirate's touch. "Go fuck yourself, old man."

The pirate gasps, "It is him!"

And then Cesar is being pinned to the mast as the pirate hugs him, wrapping his beefy arms around both Cesar and the mast and Cesar can't breathe for so many reasons-

"Cesar!" the pirate weeps, tears in his voice and running down his face and dampening Cesar's hair. "My boy!"

Cesar tries to become one with the mast. Why didn't they throw him overboard?

"Cristopher," he stiffly replies. "I can't breathe."

The pirate backs up immediately, though his hands remain on Cesar's shoulders.

For the first time in years, Cesar looks his father in the face, and he feels nothing.

The pirate is crying. Cristopher is crying, the overemotional old man. He's gained a massive scar on his face since Cesar last saw him, and his hair has gone fully white. He's in his pajamas already even though it's barely past sunset.

"Girl!" he shouts over his shoulder. "Untie my son!"

Maybe-Joui winces. "Um, Mr. Cris, I'm not sure-"

"Gladly," Woman smirks.

She approaches, winks as she passes Cesar and steps behind the mast.

Cesar desperately tries to avoid Cristopher's gaze as he's being untied.

Maybe the sea zombies aren't too bad...

The ropes drop.

Cesar immediately makes a break for it, shoving past Cristopher and the balding man and running for the edge of the ship.

"Son!" Cristopher cries.

Cesar manages to get one leg over the ship's railing before two strong arms are wrapped around his chest and pulling him away from the edge.

"Don't be stupid," Maybe-Joui snaps, stumbling backwards with Cesar and expertly dodging the fists being thrown his way.

"Who's stupid!?" Cesar exclaims. He throws an arm out and points at a pained-looking Cristopher. "That guy's insane! I'd rather take my chances with the sea zombies!"

"'Insane'?" Cristopher repeats, face falling. "Cesar..."

Cesar glowers. "Don't."

He does stop fighting, though... mostly because he can see Bald and Woman snickering together near the mast.

Maybe-Joui drags him just a little bit further before dumping him on the deck. He crouches next to Cesar, head cocked slightly, a weird expression on his face. It's halfway a smile, halfway a frown, halfway a confused hmmmm? of a look.

And then he holds up a hand, one that was pressed against Cesar's stomach during the brief struggle. Even in the moonlight, it's clear to see how it's painted red.

He looks up and towards Woman.

"Liz-senpai?" he calls. "Is your office cleaned up yet?"

Cesar looks down at his stomach and groans, flopping fully onto the deck in defeat.

"What?" Woman asks. "Why... oh. Huh. Shit, okay. Help our new friend down, would you?"

Cesar doesn't so much as spare a glance in Cristopher's direction as Maybe-Joui and Bald each take a side and help him to his feet.

"What happened?" Cristopher demands. "Cesar, what happened?"

What else could it have been? Out of every monster Cesar's mother told him about, one came up time and time again in her stories as the worst of them all:

Pirates.

--

A/N: Hi! If you liked this, please let me know! I'm super nervous about writing for a different fandom, so any comments or reblogs or anything would be SUPER appreciated!

[lokischocolatefountain]

Sickness and Health

A married!Javi Drabble based on this request

Series Masterlist

Rating: All fluff except for a few inappropriate words

A/N: I had to use this gif because I couldn’t think of anything for sick Javi. Just imagine he’s wiping his snot instead of his sweat (you’re welcome for the new mental association I’ve created)🤪. I got this request a month ago and I’m writing it only now 🙈 Sorry anon requester, but I hope you see this and like it 💜

I’ll be fine, he said. It’s just allergies, he said. My god querida, stop mothering me, he said. Yet here he was, flopped on the sofa with a leg on the floor as he snored. The man never came home before her. There were times when he’d come home briefly in the morning to shower and put on a fresh set of clothes before bolting out the door with nothing to spare her other than a rushed kiss. And now here he was at 5 PM, sleeping.

She placed a hand on his forehead, wincing when she found him burning up. Not to say she told him so, but she told him so. But he would hear none of it. The man dropped her off at work with the promise that he’d take an Advil if he needed before driving away to the embassy. He probably forgot. Or his promise was made just to placate her, stop her from being the nagging wife.

She didn’t quite know how to do it, the wife thing. Was she supposed to force a pill down his throat? Would she be the annoying nagging wife men talked shit about to their friends if she did? Was she supposed to leave him be? Would she be a bad wife for neglecting him and letting him go to work ill?

Knowing the man, he probably didn’t have anything to eat. His only intake was whiskey and tobacco from all the smoking he did. Was she supposed to pack him lunch? Send food to the embassy? She didn’t know. He never asked for anything and was happy to eat what she gave him when he came home. She provided dinner, leaving it on the table and leaving a note on his bed reminding him to eat it. Sometimes she managed to force a glass of OJ into his hand in the morning. But that was all. Lunch was a big question mark. What he ate when in Medellin was a blind spot.

Retrieving some chicken, carrot, celery and broth from the refrigerator, she got to work. With some time, spices and low music playing on the radio, the soup was ready to be served.

She poured some into a bowl, placed it on the coffee table and hovered over him. Beads of sweat had collected on his forehead, either from the hot weather or his sickness. Messy black hair stuck to his forehead and she reached over and pushed it back.

“Javi…”

Nothing. She placed a hand on his shoulder and shook gently. “Javi?” He stayed still as a rock. Goddamn. The man usually woke up at the slightest noise. A bullet could leave a gun two miles away and he would hear it. It was rare that he slept at all, so when he did, she did everything in her power to keep his surroundings quiet.

“Mi amor…” she called, caressing his sweat soaked forehead. “Come on, get up. You need to eat something.”

He trembled under her touch and whined something incomprehensible. She tried again, called his name while giving gentle rubs to his shoulders. “…hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know,” she said, smiling at his half-awake form. He looked so sweet like this, so innocent and childlike. She wanted to pick him up like he was a puppy and give him a million kisses. He might be a big bad federal agent but sleeping on their couch like this, he was her little puppy.

“… ‘s the paperwork and…Wysession…la Quica…umm and yeah what do I think?” He mumbled, making her laugh. This fucker would not survive without his job. It took a few more tries and sweet words, some of which embarrassing enough that she’d never repeat to him if he were awake. His eyes opened a little, his mumbling about work dimmed down and he spoke her name.

“Yeah. It’s me. Get up. I made soup. You should have some, have a Tylenol and sleep on the bed. Okay?”

“What time is it?” He asked, sitting up suddenly.

“Six thirty three.” The man always wanted the exact time. No rounding up or down. It was unnerving.

He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palms. “Fuck. Got an early meeting at eight with Noonan. Gonna be late. She’ll kill me,” he said, getting up. He hunched over the couch, hand gripping on to the leather of the headrest for support as his other hand clutches his head.

“8 PM is not an early meeting. Unless you’re talking about a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? Wait, what’s the time?”

“Six thirty. In the evening. You have a bad fever and you were asleep on the couch when I got home at five.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Yeah. Fuck. Now sit down and have some soup. You can’t have Tylenol on an empty stomach.”

“Actually, I can. The body absorbs it faster on an empty stomach.”

“Alright buddy, sit down and have the soup,” she said, coaxing him to sit next to her on the couch. He sat a bit too close to her, leaning on her shoulder and placing his weight on her.

“Feel like absolute shit,” he said, dipping the spoon into the bowl of hot soup. He blew on it once and then twice before drinking it. “So good.”

“Thank you, baby,” he said, pulling her to his side. She did not want to contract whatever he had and proximity would increase the chances of infection. But she didn’t have the heart to push him away. Even on a normal day, the man liked physical contact with her. It could be anything from a hand on her back when they were out in public to full on cuddling her in bed. He just showed his affection through touch. She didn’t want to deny him affection when he was so vulnerable and soft.

He drank it down quietly, wincing every now and then from his headache. He even surprised her by asking for a second helping and she gave it to him gladly, even topping his bowl up another time when he wasn’t looking.

“Now Tylenol.”

“Nooo,” he whined, flopping back on the backrest of the couch. “Hate pills.”

She laughed and popped a pill out of the foil wrapper before handing a glass of water to him. “Aww, is the big baby afraid of pills?”

“Not scared,” he pouted and folded his arms over his chest, looking like a petulant three year old. Good god. Was this really the man being paid by the US government to catch Escobar? Or was he the secret sweet cuddly twin to her grumpy sassy Javi?

“Right. Definitely not scared. Now have it.”

“I’ll be fine without it. Just need to sleep.”

“Sure, Dr. Peña. If you say so,” she teased. She was definitely noting down all the details of his behavior in her head to tease him with later. “Can you have the liquid Tylenol?” She asked, recalling seeing a bottle of it in their medicine cabinet.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said, getting up to go fetch the Tylenol for him. Before she could step away, his hand wrapped around her wrist. She looked back at him to find him staring at her with those big brown eyes, all wide and precious. He was still grumpy, but less intimidating and more adorable. “I need to take my hand with me, Agente…”

“No.”

“No?”

“Don’t go. I miss you.”

“It’ll just be gone for a minute. I’ll get you your Tylenol and be right back.” Huffing, he finally let go of her hand. When she returned, he smiled up at her lazily before grabbing both her wrists.

“Javi…I can’t give you your medicine if you don’t let go of my hand.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of this too. There is no plan C, Javier. Pill or this,” she said, holding up the bottle of the liquid acetaminophen.

“That tastes like shit.”

“Yeah. You’ll survive.”

“I wooooon’t,” he whined, pulling her onto his lap. He may be very sick, but he was still strong and worse, unaware of how much force he exerted. She fell with her face forward, smushing into his chest. She made a low sound of satisfaction before wrapping his arms around her and settling his chin on her head.

“Bebito…”

“‘m not your bebito. I’m your husband.”

“Yeah yeah. Then stop acting like a bebito, bebito.”

“Don’t do this to me. That thing tastes vile. Tastes like shit. Like, like horse shit mixed in with rat poison.”

“God, you drama queen,” she teased, adjusting herself on his lap to sit up properly. “It’s just 20 ml. Have some of it, drink some water to wash the taste off and go to bed. God knows you need the rest.”

“Fine. On one condition.”

“Uh huh?”

“Bit of whiskey after the medicine.”

Absolutely not.

“Of course, baby. All the whiskey you want,” she lied through her sweet smile. She did not have the energy to argue with a gigantic baby she couldn’t yell at. She’d make him have the medicine first and figure out the rest when she had to.

At the mention of whiskey, he smiled wider than the day they got married and happily let go of her wrists. She hissed at the dull pain around them, flushing when she realized just how strong he was. Yet he never used such strength on her, handling her gentler than this even when she asked for rough treatment. She’d have to ask for more the next time… she looked away from him embarrassed. The man was sick and delirious, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t the most appropriate time to be horny.

“Tilt your head back,” she ordered and he followed immediately, exposing his neck to her. “Now open your mouth,” she said, bringing the little cup of the liquid to his lips. It went alright for the first second, but when it touched his tastebuds, he gagged and groaned.

“Uhh that was fucking disgusting!”

“That was just 10 ml. You need another 10 for the full dosage.”

“No, no, no. Please don’t do this,” he begged before sticking his tongue out as though casting out the organ for making him experience the medicine’s taste.

“Please, Javier… Just one more, okay?” She said, pouring him the other half of the dose. “Imagine you’re taking a tequila shot.”

“Then it should be on your bellybutton with salt on your tits and a lemon wedge between your lips.”

Horndog

“Suuure. You couldn’t tell it was evening and not morning just half an hour back but you think you can do a body shot, huh?”

“Absolutely can. You didn’t know me in college. Plus I’ll do anything to lick your tits,” he said, his eyes looking too adorable for the things he said. Shouldn’t he be too sick to be horny?

“Alright big guy, open up” she said, tipping his chin back and forcing the rest of his medicine down his throat. He groaned and whined once more and summoned a couple demons with the sounds he produced.

“Tequila?” He asked, pouting as he fixed his puppy dog eyes on her.

“Sure. Go sit on the bed and I’ll bring you the goods,” she said, helping him get off the couch.

“Perfect. You’re the best wife, you know that?”

“I’m your only wife. You don’t have much else to compare me to, do you?”

“Fine, I’ll get more wives. Test the hypo- hypo…tenuse?” He asked, squinting.

“Hypothesis.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said hypotenuse. That’s the longest side of a right angled triangle.”

“The fuck,” he said under his breath, allowing her to lead him to their bedroom. When she’d gotten him to lie down, he pulled her to himself and held her to his chest. She was yet to have dinner and there was a tv program she’d wanted to watch before bed. But with his arms around her and his lips mumbling in his sleep, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

It wasn’t often that she got to be wrapped up in his arms at this early hour. Why fight it when she could savor it.

[userchai]

𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞

(steve x fem!reader smut)

written for @imyourdaninow I love you so much Dani! 🖤

wordcount- 970

warnings (do not read unless you’re eighteen or over! mutual masturbation, phone sex, name calling. reader is driving) if I’ve missed something please reach out to me! hope you enjoy, feedback is always welcome and appreciated! love you guys!

“Baby, did you hear what I said?” You snap back to reality at the sound of Steve’s voice coming through your car’s speakers. You’d zoned out for a moment around the time when Steve couldn’t shut up absolut wanting to get his mouth on you. “This isn’t fair, you know I’m driving home baby.” You whine out, pouting even though he couldn’t see you do it. The older man laughed on the other end, you could picture his smile in your head, he was far too cocky.

“Awww but isn’t that a part of the fun honey? Don’t you like being all wet for me? Don’t you like being my pathetic slut?” You bite back a moan that threatens to slip out at his words, squeezing your legs together as you try to keep your car on the road and not run off into a ditch because your boyfriend is a menace. “I know you took your bullet with you, you always do, why don’t you use it while you drive baby?” You roll your eyes, really you wanted to slap him silly for this, you sigh and reach over into your bag, pulling your mini vibe out, Steve knew you far too well.

“You’re holding it aren’t you?” You roll your eyes harder, pushing your hips up to pull your pants down to your knees, slowing down a little. You hold the button down, turning it on before pressing it against yourself, letting a strangled moan out, hearing Steve’s breathing pick up on the other side of the phone call. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this baby, you’re so fucking dirty. Can’t even wait to get home to get off for me can you?” You shake your head slightly, gripping the steering wheel in your other hand that isn’t busy pleasuring yourself.

“N-no, can’t help it baby, you turn me on so much. I wish you were here, wanna pull over and ride you in my backseat.” Steve moans loudly, the slick sound of him rubbing his cock rings throughout the small space of your car. “Fuck, listen to you, wouldn’t even care if someone saw us either would you? All you’d care about is how deep inside you I could go, I think you’d love it if people driving by looked over and saw you bouncing yourself down around me, you want everyone to know who owns you.”

The aching in your body intensifies as you stop at a red light, his words shooting straight down to where you need them the most, you’re so wet it covers your thighs, leaking down onto your seat, you’d have to clean that up soon but for now you were enjoying the sensation of your boyfriends dirty words, not even caring if someone looked over and saw what you were doing. It would only make you cum harder if they did. “Please, I c-can’t last much longer Steve, need you please.” You press the button again, the vibrations kicking up some as you try to stop your hips from moving too much.

“Cumming already? What a desperate thing you are, do you think you deserve to cum? I think you’re being a very bad girl right now, getting off in the car isn’t what good girls do, baby.” You grit your teeth, what a fucker. “I-I’m sorry! Please I can’t anymore.” You bite your lip hard, feeling your orgasm approaching faster and faster, your legs shaking as you check your mirror, looking around to make sure you weren’t keeping someone from being able to pass you. Steve says nothing, his breathing ragged as you hear his fist working himself faster and faster, the combination of trying to focus and feeling lust drunk makes your mind spin. You feel dizzy, or like a feral animal, he was driving you insane.

“Just think baby, if you cum really good for me, I’ll give you whatever you want when you get home. I’ll drop to my knees at the fucking door and eat you out like you deserve, I’ll fucking worship you, now, cum for me, show me how desperate you are, let me hear you.” He says. The fire burning within your veins finally becomes too much, you pull over quickly slamming on the breaks and quickly putting your car in park, a few more circles over your clit and the sound of Steve’s praises is all it takes.

You should be in porn, is the only thing you can think of as you cum, the breathy sounds coming out of you were enough to make you cum even harder than you already were. Steve didn’t last much longer on the other end, grunting out some things you couldn’t understand along with breathy little ‘fucks.’ You quickly turn your toy off, your hands trembling as you throw it down onto the seat next to you. You slump down, gripping onto the wheel as your entire body trembles. Your seat completely soaked under your ass creating an uncomfortable feeling as you lift up your hips again, pulling your ruined underwear and pants back up your legs.

Steve laughs before speaking again, his voice sounding hoarse from how loud he was being just moments ago. “Holy shit baby, that was the hottest shit you’ve ever done.” He praises, causing your face to flush as you shush him. You two quickly fall back into a regular conversation as you turn your blinker on, putting your car into drive and pulling back onto the highway slowly. You hoped Steve would make good on his promise when you got home, you cranked up the air conditioner and shook your head giggling at some joke he was currently making, pressing down on the gas with the thought of him waiting for you at the door, on his knees.

taglist 🏷️

@bunnyhargrove @sweetdazequeen @steves-babysitter @reidsbtch

[6rookie-writer0110]

Trouble in Paradise slowed down

Anika Kayoko x Male Reader

Request: could you do a male deadpool reader protecting Anika

Anika finished her class and you watched her come out of the classroom. You start to follow her but you are trying not to get too close to her. But Anika pretends to take out her cell phone and you look away. But she noticed you following her for days but hasn't said anything to you. She walked towards the library and pretended to go inside. You were about to go inside but she grabbed you by your shirt and slammed against the wall.

“Y/n, why are you always following me around?” Anika asked.

She lets go of your shirt and you have one class with her.

“Oh, just enjoying the fresh air” You smiled.

“We are in school the only fresh air here is from the vent on the third floor,” Anika said.

“I really enjoy your company,” You said.

“You do know that I'm gay, right,” Anika said.

“Sure do, girl power” You winked.

“You are weird, Y/n I like weird,” Anika said.

“That’s me” You smiled.

“My girlfriend's friend would love you, Tara”

“Oh, Tara Carpenter, yah high, nice smile, good butt, yeah never heard of her,” You said.

“You are already hitting that?” Anika asked.

“Yep, please don't tell Sam,” You said.

“I won't tell Sam,” Anika said.

You and Anika went to get lunch together. You tell her how you met Tara but Tara doesn't know that you are in love with her.

——-

You live alone and you are cleaning your gun while singing to the Spice Girls.

“Colours of the world Spice up your life Every boy and every girl. Spice up your life, People of the world. Spice up your life Aah… I should be a singer” You said.

You kept singing along to the song. Your phone sends you an alert text and you start to read it. You get Anika’s location and you start to get ready, you put on your mask. After grabbing your gun, you get an Uber and you keep looking at the tracking app.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Anika is on campus and Ghostface starts to chase her. She managed to lose him and she went to the storage room to hide. She texted you that she is in the storage room hiding. You kicked the door open

“What in the earth, wind, and fire is going on here?!” You yelled.

Ghostface enters the room

“Don’t worry your girlfriend will meet you soon,” Ghostface said.

You aimed your gun at Ghostface.

“Hey fucker, don't fucking touch my fucking best friend!” You yelled.

“Y/n?” Anika

“Yep,” You said.

“You’re Deadpool?” Anika asked.

“At your service,” You said.

“Ghostface is getting away,” Anika said.

“Nope,” You said.

You pulled the trigger again, the bullet went straight through the back of his head…

“Now let's look at who this fucker is under the mask,” You said.

You take off the mask of Ghostface.

“Looks like a fucking pussy” You said.

“That’s Ethan,” Anika said.

“The same Ethan that has tried to hook up with Tara?” You said.

“Yeah,” Anika said.

You pulled the trigger many times and that made Anika jump.

“I think he is dead” Anika said.

“Wooops finger slipped,” You said.

“Ten times?” Anika asked.

“It happens,” You said.

“Y/n,” Anika said.

“Yeah?” You said.

“Thank you for saving me,” Anika said.

“Of course bestie, I would have burned the entire town down to the ground to find the killer if you had died,” You said.

“Good thing it didn't come to that” Anika said.

“Yep, now let's go get food I'm starving,” You said.

“My treat” Anika said.

“Fuck yes, saving people is the best, especially free food afterward” You smiled.

“I’m digging the red suit,” Anika said.

“It’s sooo cool, right!?” You cheerfully said.

“It is cool” Anika smiled.

You hug her too tight and she starts to laugh.

You and Anika went to a Spanish restaurant. You ordered a lot of food and you still have on the suit. When the food arrived, you and Anika started to eat but she stopped. She is speechless at how you are eating your food. You are taking huge bites and your suit starts to get dirty.

“Wow, you are really hungry,” Anika said

“Yeah, I'm always hungry. These taste so good!” You smiled

You kept eating more and she started to eat again. You shared your tacos with her and she shared her burrito with you. After a while of eating, you feel full that you want to take a nap. Later, You and Anika took food home but you didn't want to leave her side.

You didn't go home and you followed her inside the apartment.

“Y/n, you don't have to stay with me,” Anika said.

“Oh, I'm not leaving your side,” You said.

“But I texted Mindy and the others, they are coming,” Anika said.

“So?” You said.

“You don't have pajamas,” Anika said.

“Yes, I do,” You said.

“What?” Anika asked.

You go to the bathroom to change. You leave your boxers and tank top on but you put on her bathrobe. Mindy, Sam, and Tara arrived, and they were in shock at what you had on.

[mothiir]

sorry to be that rehash that droid de suggondeez plotline (I REFUSE TO CORRECTLY SPELL FRENCH) with big e stealing a wife but could we pretttty ppLEAAAASE get some more mothiir? i am obsessed with the eldritch inhuman but human behaviour you write him with. it makes me want to chew on him while simultaneously wanting to beat him with a brick out of hatred. i have so many ideas. but ill take anything you offer up fr ill live off the scraps like a feral dog, its just that the the whole david and goliath vibe is TASTYYYY. please dignify my complete insanity for just an intsy winsy second because all i can imagine is how utterly FUCKED the stolenwife!reader's pov is. you try fight back a little too much? oh haha, ur so cute, but keep biting or scratching him and he'll sicc one of the custodes (or a few) to really try you out. let you be so overstimulated youre begging for something in you, and oh boy big e'll sooo do that dont worry. or maybe humble you by keeping you basically half bare like yeah not so cocky now LMFAO IM SO SORRY I NEVER GIVE PROMPTS SO BRAZENLY LIKE THIS BC IM A COWARD FULL OF SHAMEEE UR SO MUCH BRAVER THAN MEEE (thank you sm if you do or dont run with anything i spat out just then)

first of all, never apologise for requesting stuff and also i totally respect your disrespect of the French language. as an englishwoman i am contractually obligated to hate those frog-eating bastards (disclaimer: this is satire pls don’t cancel me). secondly i absolutely love your description of my interpretation of big e because it is also exactly how i feel about him. beat him with brick, pat hair, back to brick. I know i have moved away from that content but I still wave my emperor fucker flag and am always taking requests for him

i promise there will be actual coherent fic soon, but for now here is a bullet pointed list of the sort of things that guilliwife experiences (if there is one in particular you want a full fix of let me know):

the Emperor steals you, and does not think to tell Guilliman — why would he? He fucks you, enjoys it tremendously, then has to go and do some important Master of Mankind warp fuckery that means you spend about a fortnight in some random rooms with no one to talk to but the Custodes. And they barely talk! You never work out if they are bodyguards or prison guards, since you can’t imagine that you are important enough to warrant guarding, but you also don’t think that there is much effort needed to stop you escaping. Where would you even go?

It would be so much easier if he was always a selfish monster in bed — but he isn’t. Worse: he eats pussy exactly how you think a man with millennia of practice would. He likes bringing you to the very edge of orgasm and just stopping, pillowing his cheek on your stomach and watching as you whine and cry, partly with guilt and partly with sheer frustration. You end up begging him to fuck you, stumbling out every title you can think of — lord, emperor, sire, master — but his patience is limitless, and he can keep going for hours, until you’re completely insensible, promising every depraved thing if he will just stop teasing and put it in you

You belong to him. No one else is allowed to touch you — apart from valdor, one of his oldest friends and dearest allies. And captain Kytan. And a few other custodes. Sometimes at the same time. They’re extensions of his most absolutely not divine will — they can partake in the same luxuries he allows himself, otherwise what kind of a leader would he be? He likes seeing his best soldiers happy, especially when it’s because valdor is balls deep in your arse, while he enjoys the sweet warm stretch of your throat. You jostle and whimper between them, so full that you can barely breathe, and afterwards the emperor watches as valdor thumbs open your cheeks, just to watch your holes struggle to close up around the shape of his cock. Still, valdor can’t linger too long - there is already a line

He will cum inside you so much you swear your stomach bulges a little from it all. You have nightmares about popping like a balloon

eventually word reaches the Emperor that Guilliman is looking to speak to him as a matter of urgency — he is currently buried deep in your throat, enjoying the cute little gluck-gluck-gluck noises your gag reflex makes as you try to fit him all the way into your tight gullet. He does not ask you to stop this before answering the vox from a distraught Roboute, who is blathering about his fiancée going missing? The Emperor chuckles a little to himself, patting your hair — ah, having a woman to be wed and a woman in his bed, Roboute is far more like his father than first thought — wait. Ah. Singular woman. Singular. Shit.

[threepandas]

Sun Burnt: Yandere Reborn

Lot of stereotypes came with having certain Flame types I mused. As bullets rammed into my back, ricocheting around me like bouncy balls of death. My feet eating up the earth as fast as I could. It was all kinds of unfair.

Like? If you were a Sun? You were expected to be gregarious. Cheerful. Some happy go lucky healer type. To hell with your ambitions, I got a paper cut! And a storm? Well OBVIOUSLY watch out! We got a HOT HEAD over here! Look out for the HOT HEAD! A TEMPERAMENTAL ASSHOLE coming through!

I mean? Maybe they're pissed cause you keep POKING at them, huh? Wouldn't anybody?

I dodge down an alley. Jumping trash cans. Throwing them down behind me. Hearing curses and howls of outrage. Man, they are persistent. And! And like? Being a LIGHTNING?! God, being a LIGHTNING can SUCK sometimes! Sure, I get to be a Tank. And yeah. Human tazer. Pretty neat. But the ASSHOLES!

It's all "ooooh~! You're nothing but a DUMB MEAT SHEILD! Come be my DUMB MEAT SHEILD and lick my BOOTS, meat sheild! That's all you're good for! Because you're so DUMB! Impulsive! We wanna use you to solve our stupid ass turf disputes and lead you ooooon~!" Like? Fuckin REALLY?!

Is it MY fault your brains move so slow? That you're so SQUISHY? I'm not fucking IMPULSIVE! I think things through! I just do it FASTER then you jack asses! Granted... never said I do it BETTER. I may, in fact, be a dumbass. Probably am. All signs point to "maybe"...

......ARE THEY SERIOUSLY STILL CHASING ME!?

It was MY haul!!!

Steal your own SHIT!!!

And yeah, was it WISE to flip the table, punch the Don, and jump out a window with the fugly ass statue they planned to stiff me on? No. No it was not. But I REFUSE to not get paid! Try to steal from ME will you?! I'ma toss this fucker into the SEA!!! Swim for it BITCHES!

I skid onto the main road of Mafia Island. Knocking over somebody's fancy ass mistress. Probably gonna pay for THAT too. Fuck it! Yolo! I am pouring on the Lightning flames at this point. COATED. The metaphorical bull in this, the mafia land China shop. Pulling shooting. Amused and playing bets. Flames rising up to brush against me.

I am a fuckin circus act on display and I HATE it.

But by all that is holy! Those bastards ARE NOT getting their stupid statue back!

To the SEA with it! I shall cast it to the briny BLUE!

FUCK THOSE GUYS!

The crowd is parting like the red fucking sea. Except... except?! Oh shit! Pretty guy on a suit! Move pretty guy! MOVE!! Aaaaah!

I barely... BARELY!! Manage to stop myself from running into Pretty? Hiiitman? Hitman. Got a gun. Very calm. Yep, hitman. Barely! Dodge! By forward flipping OVER the guy and Superhero sticking the landing. Dropping the statue but... meh. Don't care. I still plan to...

Are. You. FUCKING SERIOUS!?

Drugs!?

That FUGLY STATUE WAS HOLLOW! No WONDER they were so desperate to get it! They were BREAKING Vongola's BAN!!! Ooooooh! I'm TELLING! You FUCKERS USED ME!!! Jail! Ten thousand years JAIL! Kill um, Mr. Hitman! They're dirty, non-thief paying, DRUG MAKERS!

Am I pointing accusingly? Yes. Hanging over the hitmans shoulder like the tattling tattle that I am? Absolutely. Jail for them! Get um! Boooooo! My flames still coat every part of me. Which is why I can FEEL when the hitman decides... "fuck it. Why not?"

I can TELL? Because it's like feeling the mountain you're standing on suddenly deciding to move. Like a giant, blinking their eyes open and beginning to stand. Rising up and up and UP. So great it feels impossible. The Sun flames infront of me? Go beyond the concept of "powerful".

It's like standing in front of a star up close.

So bright and burning fury, it consumes all other light.

I can't even FEEL the other Flames around us anymore. Almost can't HEAR what's going on. He... he has a low, purring voice. Like espresso. Smooth. The smell of gunpowder and decadent things... CLINGS to him like a lover. The suit under my carelessly grabbing hands... f... feels EXPENSIVE.

Bad. T... this is BAD. D..Don't panic. Just. Just let go! Yeah? Let go, be polite, and apologize. Y... you'll be okay. Oh god. What did I DO?! L... LET GO. Move! W.. why can't I MOVE?!

I feel more then hear the shots. The slight recoil. Utterly effortless, he ends their lives. An amused lilt to whatever he's saying. His head tilts so he can view me from the corner of his eye. A mean smirk on his beautiful face. I amuse him. My FEAR amuses him.

His Flames reach out like a crushing fist... I... I can not move...

The world seems to STOP.

As two notes of the same song find each other. Flitting and high to some great and terrible low. The two farthest ends of a Set, still empty, with no sky to hold it in balance. Yet? Resonance none the less.

"Oh~?"

The flat disinterest of those abyssal eyes changes. Like a damning light flickering on in the dark. Leading something terrifying straight towards me. No longer just background noise. I was interesting. I... I didn't WANT to be interesting! No, no, NO!

He turned towards me.

And my stomach plummets straight through the earth. Oh god. Please God, no.

Before me stand a terrifying legend. Living infamy itself. THE World's Greatest Hitman, it's greatest killer, Reborn. Who's eyes were locked on my face with a terrible interest. Who's Flames, vast and hungry, tugged and prowled at the edge of my own. His mean little smirk had turned into something that could pass for charming... if I didn't know who he was.

If I wasn't probably going to die.

He casually tucked his gun away. Pulled his other hand from his pocket. And then... oh god. Then two burning weights clamped down on my shoulders. No where to run. No chance of escape. He leaned forward, towering over me.

"You know, I didn't catch your name, bella. Who do you work for again? We have so much to LEARN about each other, don't you think? All the time in the world. Now... give me your phone."

I whimpered. His hands were almost burning with Sun flames. They washed over me in a greedy search for ties that bind and cracks in my defenses. Pushing and pushing. Trying to get IN. Covetous.

"After all~ It's not like you could possibly escape me."