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robolvrr · 1 month ago

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pop 'n lock it! *⁠.⁠✧｡⁠☆

rodimus prime x gn! flirty bounty hunter reader

sexy aliens at hotspots near you! • rodimus has learned that maybe cybertronians aren't as feared by the rest of the galaxy as he thinks.

warnings: nsfw, sexual content. (fisting, valveplay, friends with benefits.) non-cybertronian reader.

"come here often?"

your fingers rub absently on the safety lock of a battered pistol. the sizzle of raw laser still sends a wave of nausea through your system, before your internal servers have forwarded through past memories and interactions to positively identify the cocky voice rumbling through your communications system.

your lips playfully pull upwards.

"how'd you get my line, roddy? don't remember giving you this frequency babe."

the laughter that follows is painfully confident. so much so, that you can easily pick the chuckles apart and find the nervousness coursing beneath. he's about to snip back at you but that's just so predictable, especially since he's much more fun tongue-tied.

"daww, you missed me pretty thing? and here i thought you were too busy being a lil commander. if you wanted me so bad you coulda just told me the last time."

rodimus lets out the equivalent of a bark. you turn your attention to the sky, squinting in an attempt to see if he was piercing through the atmosphere or not.

"oh, you're mean! you know, sometimes i think you just like to project. i get you that riled up, sweetspark?"

that's how he wants to play tonight? cute.

you make eye-contact with a ball of flame and melted metal dancing across bright, magenta skies like a comet out of hell. humming, your pistol meets your hip, belt heavy with equpiment.

"your paint job gonna hold, hm? coming down awfully hot, needy."

"am not."

"uh-huh. sure, speedy. you want me to buff it better later?"

"just get that expression off your face. ugh."

that smile is downright cheshire. this planet's entire warmth and core couldn't force his frame any hotter than the sly smirks you design. it's your plotting grin.

the possibilities send a nice shiver down to his pedes.

"good mechs get rewards. stop playing coy and admit you're stressed and you missed me."

silence, for once, fills your comms. he can imagine you sucking your teeth with a feigned, sour pout.

"... be ready."

your head tips back when you giggle. legs drape over a slender, glossy bike before it sets to hover over rusted terrain, helmet clicking into place as your suit whirs to function.

[ welcome back, user. where to? ]

wrists twist back until the engine purrs. you wonder if rodimus will too.

"the usual. clear my night and tell trax the job is done."

your bike and you shoot through the desert in a blur, leaving the approaching prime and your disintegrated target of ash far behind.

---------

rodimus knows he shouldn't be interacting with you on any level. like, at all.

it's not as if you're a major threat. he's learned the hard way not to leap to conclusions, though you've never made a point of following through with any threats and you're cute, kind of intimidating. almost some figment of his imagination that flits in the corners of his optics.

he hasn't told anyone, anyone, on the ship about you.

for one, they just wouldn't get it.

rodimus prime, captain of the lost light, dirty pervert who enjoys interfacing outside his species every once in awhile. who is hopelessly intoxicated by a being hundreds of feet shorter and yet lets 'em run him up a wall.

for two, he's sure it isn't "ethical." magnus wouldn't look at him the same and he already was in hot water.

for three? well for three, you should be in prison. he's not sure where or which one, but from his research and your blunt pride, you're not exactly a good person.

not entirely. you've gotten rid of some awful corruption and he doesn't like how he's starting to question where his morals and your efficiency mix, because he's certain you don't fry his processors that bad to the point he's losing his sense.

you do.

rodimus lands on the planet's surface, fields buzzing too much to remember the name or care about proper docking. it's not as if he's sticking around for long, per your request.

which is cool. totally cool.

rodimus feels like shareware when he transforms into alt-mode, aware you're probably already waiting. his pistons roar and he fights the urge not to ding you again, because yeah, he's needy.

so what if he misses your mouth? missed your skin, synthetic and otherwise, missed your foreign technology analyzing his ticks and limits?

he needed this. he deserves this, that much was true.

the crackle of his comms make his wheels bite rock aggressively.

"don't make me wait."

----------

he arrives not even five minutes later. you're too static to care about or remember his measurement of time. it's quick and to your standards and that's all that matters.

his chassis is dusty. sure enough, there is visible damage upon his descent. you don't look up, or over, your shoulder until he drawls in bratty greeting.

"you know, most hosts are a little more attentive."

there he goes. classic rodimus, always misbehaving. biting what he could chew and choking instead.

you let the silence grow awkward before you give him what he wants. you can sense the way he's unsure by how his vents vary, fans slowly whirring as they lower the temperature down a degree.

"and most guests are more polite. who said i invited you?"

poor thing looks like a kicked pet. his optic ridges droop and his dermas screw up, stubborn.

"i can be good. it's just... i need you, okay? that's what you wanted to hear, right? just give me tonight. please."

he slips down the concrete wall as steps, practiced and nonchalant, drift his direction. all his insecurities and want bubble to a nasty concoction and his legs part without command.

he can feel it. your stare, right on his closed array. the visual, physical culmination of his obsession dripping and oh, primus. your mouth is opening and you're letting it fall on your tongue.

"hahhh.. frag." he stores the image in a file far away.

"like candy, roddy. i can forgive you for intruding if you haven't been touching yourself like i asked, darling."

he groans and his digits scrape the foundation. you suck your finger and he's shaking.

"sure tastes like it."

frag it all. you make him so desperate it's embarrassing.

he nods his head fast and his panels pop and lock open.

leaning forward, you make a mental note to see just when your schedule will open up again this lunar cycle. while his spike is just as pretty as he is, an curved phallic throb of silver metal with sparkling, ruby bio-lights, you dip lower instead.

rodimus didn't have time to ask, hearing the whoosh of your thrusters and suddenly tongue and spit find his node with turbokitten licks.

"ooohhhh, okay, hah! w-warn somebody before you just g— guhh..!"

you never ask him to mass displace when intimate. it's partially the reason he feels so gross. there is no reason for him to be this broken already.

he should be breaking you. you should be under him, unable to take an inch. unable to think straight, or walk straight—

you're nibbling.

the rounded knob is rubber and thick. solid. firm, but slippery. you're not worried about harming him, though you do bite harder than necessary to ensure he's getting stimulated.

transfluid starts to drench your chin as you swirl and slobber, forming a warm suction that earns you a glitched moan.

"yes, yes, yeeeeeeaaahh... j-jhust like. ah! that.."

eager fingers circle his valve. he hiccups his approval.

then, your hand. he has to focus on not crushing it but from the yelp and helm bumping the ceiling, he wasn't expecting the action at all. you dreamily continue to coat him in your saliva as your wrist slithers in.

rodimus is sure he's going to offline.

you're not big. that's been established. but he still has to ease his calipers, legs trembling as you shove more and more of your forearm in him.

"please don't stop. i-i'm sho sorry. i'll be good. i'll be so good fhoure yew."

lubricant coats his faceplate when he hears your wicked amusement murmur against his valve instead.

his processor is fuzzy. he can't grab at anything because his strength will collapse the support beams, or you'll shoot that domineering leer that makes him feel like he's tipped over a vase.

rodimus whines, bleats. after lapping and swallows, your mouth has lost patience and drifted to his pulsing shaft instead. your lips are so much softer than a cybertonian, pillowy and velvet.

meanwhile, you are lazy. still pumping up to the elbow, in and out, in, out, innnn, outttt.

"let me see you cry, honey. so cute when you do. so handsome. so pretty."

the captain ex-vents sharp. his optics are cerulean. they glow in the darkness and drink you up.

"y-yeah?"

greedy! he's too obvious.

"you're the prettiest cybertonian i have ever seen." there it is, that engine growl. it vibrates your form with a tickle.

"my little light. my perfect...", you know what you're saying is going to make him overthink. you keep going because you feel how close he is already. "perfect prime."

that does it. rodimus tries to reboot his vocalizer as he shrieks out, dopey and bursting. a large, pink pool puddles at his aft, a single servo snatching you by the waist by instinct and dragging you up, up, up, up.

his glossa shoves down your throat and you paw at his helm.

he wants this burnt into his very being. his spark is thrashing.

"give. more. c'mon."

smoothing away tears, you suckle. his glossa slithers out and spit and fluid makes spider-web bridges between your mouths.

"you know i am not that mean, right? relax your pistons."

rodimus looks at you, albeit too tenderly. you close your eyes and distract you both instead by kissing him again.

"hah. as if. you're evil."

"you seem to have a habit of letting evil people around you, roddy." clink. the suit on your body phases off. he looks like he wants to stick you in his intake, drool and all.

"... touché."

#maccadam #idw rodimus #rodimus x reader #rodimus #valveplug #/nsfw #/nsft #transformers #lost light #transformers idw #rodimus prime x reader #mtmte #transformers x reader #give me this tall red glass of water #reader loves him but is too stubborn to let it go anywhere further #the most wicked friends and benefits #mtmte x reader

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bruciemilf · 1 year ago

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I desperately want a bruharvey thing where it's established that two face and Bruce are dating, but Bruce and Harvey aren't.

Harvey suffers from a classic case of " I don't want to ruin the friendship" and Two Face, very gently, but firmly, tells him he doesn't give two fucks.

"I'm ruining him in the back of my Mercedes every week, so there's no downside for me."

"There's gotta be some rule you're violating with that."

Two-Face shrugs, carefully surveying shiny, costy jelwery they scavenged from the heist. Bruce deserves the best and only the best, after all. " Why are we going to Jason's play?"

" Because he spent a week writing it and it matters to him?"

" He's gonna be a tree!"

" He read lord of the rings. He's gotta lots of feelings about trees, that's the shit he's passionate about, pretend you understand and shut up."

I just. Adore the following image:

Just Harvey and Two Face being dads. It's just so. Like. When Dick updates his costume from Robin, they think, well, at least he was convinced to wear actual PANTS.

But then. The Nightwing suit is... Is something.

"It's MY body, MY choice, "

" Of course it is, birdie, I don't mean to come off as sexualising and denying your autonomy, but,--"

Two Face swiftly cuts him off, held back only by Bruce's smaller hand on his chest, " Put on some goddam pants, you loser!"

Dick, with all the hatred safely kept in his soul, " You're BALDING,"

"...You fucking take that back--"

Bruce is mom coded in the way that he's effortlessly intimidating when he chooses to be and Harvey's dad coded in the sense that everyone is scared of him BUT his kids.

Also, Two-Face simply refuses to discipline Jason. Why would he? He's the best, most behaved, sweet boy there ever roamed this filthy earth.

Bruce pinches the space between his eyebrows. " Why did you let my four year old touch your gun?"

" He said 'please' like we thought him to, didn't he?"

" Is the safety on?"

" OH SHI-- no, yeah, doll, I didn't put the safety on before letting my toddler play with a pistol. Of course the safety's on, who do you take me for."

Jason shoots a hole right through Alfred's tea, and the wall, bubbly giggle soaked in sunshine.

"Hn."

#bruce wayne #harvey dent #two face #dc two face #dc comics #dc #text #batman #batdad #batfamily #bruharvey #dick grayson #jason todd

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fireya-x · 4 months ago

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AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

Your husband, Captain John Price, insists on teaching you how to shoot at the range. But you soon realize that his instructions involve a lot more than just handling a gun.

[4k+ words]

cw: piv sex, spanking, light dom/sub

“Remember what I just told you,” John said, and your grip around the cool material of the gun you held grew tighter. It was a foreign object in your hands, and even though you’d just received detailed instructions on how to hold and handle it, it didn’t feel right. You’d hesitantly taken it from his hands, and felt something unexpected, as if accepting a dangerous secret from him. It felt intimate, like a shared moment of vulnerability. He entrusted you with this part of himself, this dangerous expertise, never doubting for a second that you would accept it.

Then there you were, in the middle of a shooting range, and John was moving through the facility as comfortable as he was moving through your own living room. You’d been to the base a few times, of course, meeting teammates and other partners, but never with the intention to hold a weapon.

You’d told him, more than once, that you wanted no part in this side of his life. That ignorance was your safe haven, your way of pretending that the man you loved could leave the battlefield behind. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. John Price, for all his tenderness, for all the quiet moments of domesticity you’d built a life around, was a soldier to his very core. He breathed and lived it as long as his heart pumped blood through his veins.

It was in the way he moved, precise and controlled, and it was in the way he touched you – possessive, protective, as if you were the most precious weapon in his arsenal.

He insisted it was for your own safety. “You need to be able to protect yourself, love,” he’d said. But you saw right through it. This wasn't about you. It was about him. About the nightmares that lingered in his eyes, the enemies he'd made in a life you couldn't begin to comprehend. This was his way of ensuring that no matter what happened, no matter how far apart duty tore you, he could rest easy knowing you had a fighting chance. It bordered on paranoid, the lengths he’d go to protect you – the home security systems, the calls to his former teammates, the subtle checks whenever you were out alone. But beneath all that, you saw the love, and you wouldn’t deny him this. You’d never shied away from his darkness, the stories he’d told that both terrified and fascinated you.

It was all part of the complex man that was John Price: both a trained, lethal weapon and a caring, loving husband.

Gentle but ruthless. Controlled, but capable of destruction. Dangerous in ways you probably never could even begin to understand, but you felt safer with him than you ever had alone.

He was a walking oxymoron.

“I’ve never even held a gun before, John.” You admitted, your words echoing through the vastness of the range, uncertain how to explain the weird mix of emotions you were feeling.

“I know,” he said, his lips curving into that half-smile. “And I can see you hesitating, and that’s the correct first step, love. Respect is most important.”

He’d guided you to a secluded booth, the table stocked with more ammunition than you’d ever expected to see outside a warzone. He’d shown you how to hold the pistol, how to check the chamber, reload the magazine and how to disable security. He’d shown you the stance, the subtle shift of weight so that the recoil wouldn’t punch you in the gut, and told you that it’s best to use both hands to aim, to steady yourself.

“Finger off the trigger, sweetheart,” he suddenly instructed, his tone serious. You hadn’t even realized you’d moved it, your finger was hovering over the trigger with reckless curiosity, and you couldn't quite explain why. "Only put it on there if you really mean to take a shot.”

He put his hands above yours on the grip of the pistol, then chuckled lightly. “Loosen up a little. Don’t make that a habit.” He then grabbed your elbow and lifted it up a little, so gentle, it was a weird contradiction to how controlled he moved around the shooting range like he was never meant to be anywhere else.

He stepped back, giving you just enough space to breathe, to remember you weren’t his soldier to command. But he could tell you still weren’t sure about your stance.

“Want me to show you?” He gestured to the target at the end of the range – a silhouette that seemed eerily human-shaped in the dim light.

You nodded, surrendering the weapon and retreating to a safe distance as John stepped forward, his movements fluid, almost graceful, belying the lethality he embodied.

He pushed the safety lever off with a sharp click. You could almost feel the energy in the air shift. You saw his hand gripping the weapon as it became more serious and alive, like not just a tool, but an extension of him.

John raised the gun. You were captivated, your gaze tracing the line of his arm, the flex of his bicep beneath the fabric of his shirt. It shouldn’t have been so mesmerizing, watching him handle a weapon clearly meant to kill, and yet, you couldn't tear your eyes away.

His stance was relaxed, almost casual. He didn't even flinch as he pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed in the silence, sharp and startling. You flinched involuntarily at the sound. It wasn’t that you weren’t expecting it – but there was something different, something almost intimate, about watching him handle a weapon with such lethal grace, such unflinching control.

There was no time to feel anything but awe as John lowered the weapon, his eyes fixed on you. The air was thick, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Now you,” he said as he clicked the safety back on and stepped aside. He didn’t need to say anything more. You were ready, he had made sure of that, and he was waiting to see if you would rise to the challenge.

“Downrange, safety off,” you muttered to yourself, remembering his words. Your finger found the safety, disengaging it with a soft click that felt overly loud in the quiet space. You tried to replicate the stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, a slight bend in your knees that made your thighs ache. Taking a deep breath, you raised the pistol, lined the sights up on the target at the far end of the range, ignoring the tremor in your arms, and squeezed the trigger.

The shot caught you completely off guard. The recoil was sharper, more violent than you'd expected. It jolted your entire body, throwing you off balance. You stumbled back, a startled yelp escaping your throat before you could help yourself, the heavy weight of the gun almost slipping from your grasp.

You missed the target entirely.

“Easy, love, easy,” John's voice, calm and steady, was right beside your ear. You hadn’t even registered his approach, your senses still reeling from the gunshot, the adrenaline that spiked through you sharp and bitter on your tongue.

You hadn't realized you'd stopped breathing until his hand settled on your waist, his touch firm yet reassuring through the fabric of your shirt, steadying you. Your body leaned into his warmth, seeking comfort, and found it in the solid presence that had always been your haven in the storm.

“Don't fight it,” he murmured. “It’s not about forcing the shot. You need to work with it. Let it flow.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, but you didn’t try to pull away. His closeness was more reassuring than you wanted to admit, the solid weight of him a stark contrast to the unexpected power of the gun. You’d felt this way before, countless times: small beside his strength, intimidated but inexplicably drawn to the same danger that made you feel so vulnerable.

“Again,” he commanded softly, ignoring your remark, as his hand tightened momentarily on your hip. You couldn’t disobey, even if you’d wanted to. His other hand covered yours on the gun.

You tried to recall the stance he’d demonstrated, to feel more confident, but it felt awkward. Your body was tense, and you cursed the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

“You have to relax, darling,” John murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

He leaned closer, his chest a wall of heat at your back as his hand moved from your hip to settle on the small of your back. “Don't let that little gun take all the control,” he whispered, his fingers splaying against your spine as he adjusted your posture, holding you steady. “It's not about brute strength. Lean into it, find the balance.”

His heat seeped into you, chasing away the chill of the shooting range and replacing it with a heat that centred between your legs, a yearning you hadn't anticipated. His touch was doing things to your senses, sending a jolt of something hot and reckless straight through you.

You could feel his fingers, calloused and rough, brushing against yours as he made you hold the gun right.

“See, like that – now, the grip –” You could hear the amusement in his voice, the way he seemed to savour your discomfort. He wasn’t going to make this easy for you, and something in you – something wild and hungry – revelled in the challenge. His fingers traced a searing path down your arm, his touch lingering for a heartbeat on your wrist as he guided your hand.

“Use your wrist – just like that –” You shivered as his breath ghosted across your ear. “That’s it. That’s how you hold it. It's all about control.” He pressed closer, your bodies moulding together.

His hand covered yours on the gun again, overlapping it as you held the weapon together. This different kind of intimacy touch sent a spark down your spine, scorching away every last thought, as you tried to focus on the instructions. “Now pull the trigger.”

You did. And this time, you hit the target. The bullet tore through the paper silhouette, a testament to his guidance, his control.

It was impossible to ignore how close he was. His fingers grazed your back, sending a shiver through you, and then – oh, God – you felt it, the insistent pressure of his knee between your thighs, adjusting your stance, bracing you.

“Feet apart, love,” he murmured, his voice husky as his knee nudged you wider, his hand a steady pressure on the small of your back. You felt like a toy in his hands.

You fired again. This time, it was a little closer to the target, but still far away from the bullseye.

“That’s better,” he murmured, but there was an edge to his amusement now, something heated. You tried to ignore the pressure of him against you.

“Look at that target, focus on the sights, love.” He shifted, his lips finding the delicate skin beneath your ear, and you sucked in a breath. He was doing this deliberately now, pushing your buttons, testing your limits, and the worst part was that he knew you were powerless to resist.

You fired again. Same corner.

“That’s not good enough.” His lips hovered over your pulse. “Hit the target and you’ll be rewarded. Hmm? How’s that sound?”

A familiar heat built in your belly. The knee that was still holding your stance steady felt way too prominent. This position did nothing to hide his arousal, either.

You focused on the sights, tried lining it up with the middle of the target. The shockwave was not completely absorbed by John’s strength as he held you, and you were shoved back against his chest. You hit the target's neck.

“Good girl,” he said. “You’re a fast learner.”

Every time he’d utter that phrase, every time he brushed his fingers against your hand as he guided you, it was like a surge of heat coursing through your veins. You were flustered, struggling to keeop your focus.

“Stop it,” you pleaded. “You’re distracting me.”

You aimed again, after he’d adjusted your stance, his breath ghosting over your neck as he leaned close to make a correction. “Yes, just like that.”

That was your undoing, each word he said was laced with a playful, knowing intent. His hands guided you, but it wasn’t about the gun, or the lessons, it was all about the feel of him close to you.

You fumbled, almost dropping the gun.

“What’s wrong?” He laughed.

Your cheeks burned. “I –I can’t concentrate.”

You were so lost in showing him that you could do this, you didn’t realize what he started to do. Lips on your neck, and his hand suddenly slowly snaked below the waistband of your gym shorts.

You froze. “John! Isn’t this place covered in cameras?”

“Made sure they’re out of order tonight.” He leans in a little closer as if to whisper it in your ear, his breath warmer than the summer air. “It would take so much paperwork to have you here otherwise. Besides, my wife deserves a private lesson from her husband.”

You shuddered at the words, at the implied claim in them. You aimed again, but missed.

A sharp sting on your backside made you gasp, a sound that morphed into a startled moan as you registered what had just happened. He'd spanked you. It shouldn't have been arousing, not here, not now, yet a thrill shot through you as much at the audacity of it as the sensation itself.

“Do I have to punish you for missing shots?” He sounded so deceptively soft, sending a shiver down to the place where his knee still pressed insistent between your thighs. He was fully aroused, you realized, a thrill shooting through you at the knowledge, the feeling of it a branding iron against your overheated skin.

“Wasting ammo like that?” He punctuated the question with another swat, harder this time, his hand lingering on your ass, his fingers flexing as though torn between wanting to punish you further and pulling you impossibly closer.

It was impossible to think straight, let alone concentrate on lining up the damn shot.

“J-John,” you stammered, hating the way your voice sounded – breathless, needy – even as you pressed back against him, seeking out the heat that radiated off him in waves, making your head spin. You were caught in a delicious, dangerous game, and the only way to win was to surrender completely.

But you weren’t quite there yet. You needed to hit this damn shot. Pride warred with something hotter, wilder, as you struggled to ignore the insistent pressure of his erection against your backside.

Just as you thought you could regain some semblance of focus, his other hand, the one that had rested so innocently below the waistband of your shorts, began to descend further. It was a slow, deliberate movement, and then you felt it – a finger, rough-tipped and insistent, slipping between your folds.

Pleasure shot through you like a bullet, so unexpected and potent that your entire body went rigid. You bit back a moan, the sound dying in your throat as you clenched around his intruding digit, the ache that bloomed low in your belly a thousand times more distracting than any recoil.

“Again,” he commanded, his voice low and hot against your ear, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening, as if his fingers weren’t actively attacking your most sensitive flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. He held all the cards in this game he'd initiated. And you were a willing participant, your body already betraying you, arching unconsciously against his touch, seeking out the friction he so expertly offered even as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

You lined up the sights again, his scent filling your senses, so distracting and so dangerously addictive that it had you clinging to him, desperate for something you couldn't quite name. The barrel wavered as a tremor ran through you, and you swore you heard his breath hitch as your hips moved against him.

“Close,” John breathed, and you felt as his fingers snaked further along your folds. You gasped as a finger slowly pushed into you. “Good girl.” His other hand had a tight grip on your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh as though he’d hold you there forever, trapped between pleasure and denial. “But not there yet, love. Again.”

The shot, when it came, was pathetic. The recoil almost knocked the gun from your grasp. The bullet ricocheted off somewhere, you weren't even sure where it landed. It hardly mattered.

Another sharp swat of John’s hand against your ass. It should’ve stung, but all you felt was the heat of him, the pressure of his body against yours. His other hand, the one driving you wild with each deliberate stroke, didn't stop even as you whimpered, your hips rocking back instinctively against his touch, seeking relief, release.

“Concentrate, love,” he growled.

But how could you? How could you possibly focus on anything but the insistent ache that throbbed between your legs?

“John, please,” you breathed, arching against his touch, shamelessly seeking more. “Just – just let me –” The words dissolved into a whimper as his fingers found that sensitive bud of flesh and squeezed, not cruelly, not yet, but with enough force to make you gasp, your inner thighs clenching involuntarily.

“Then hit the bloody mark, love,” he commanded, his voice rough with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, a tremor running through his words as though he were fighting for control just as hard as you were.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the wave of frustration – no, need – that pulsed low in your belly. The pressure of his erection against your backside was a constant torment, a promise of a release he seemed determined to deny you.

“Again,” John barked, his control finally snapping as his hips twitched against you. His touch, the way he moved against you, fuelled a fire in your veins hotter than anything you'd ever experienced. It was intoxicating, terrifying, and utterly addictive.

You were a moth drawn to his flame, even knowing you were destined to be burned.

You squeezed your eyes shut as his touch sent another jolt through you. “Please, just –”

“Hit. The. Mark.” He growled, teeth clenched, while moving his hips against you, seeking friction for his own arousal.

You wanted to scream, to sob, to demand he touch you properly, to take what you were aching for. But some primal instinct – some deep-seated need to please him – had you straightening, lifting the pistol with shaking hands.

You tried to concentrate, blocking out the burning heat of his hands, the feel of his erection hard and demanding against your backside, the way his every ragged breath whispered against your ear, fuelling the fire he'd ignited within you. Your mind was a fog of need, your senses overloaded, but the promise of release, that sweet reward only he held the power to give - it was a drug more potent than anything you'd ever imagined.

Lining up the pistol again, you forced your vision to clear, found the target through the haze of arousal, and squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot, the feel of the recoil, your own ragged gasp of surprise - it all blended into one overwhelming sensation as time slowed, distorted. And then strong hands were on you, urging you forward with a force that stole your breath, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when the need to be touched, to feel him everywhere, was an inferno consuming every other thought.

You hadn’t even registered what had happened until you caught a glimpse of the target -

Headshot.

You'd hit the mark.

You barely had time to process your victory before the gun was taken from your hands and safely put away - then you were tumbling forward, the world tilting, the cool surface of the table a shock against your heated skin as John's weight pressed you down, his chest a solid wall at your back.

The clatter of the spare ammo as it scattered across the floor was the only warning you got before he moved. You gasped, the sound muffled against the cold metal, your senses reeling as he yanked your shorts and panties down in one swift, brutal motion, baring you to the cool air, to his gaze, which you could feel burning into you.

He didn't waste his breath on anything but a low growl as he shifted, the sudden sound of a belt buckle ringing in your ears. His weight was pressing you deeper into the table, his erection, hard and insistent, nudging at your entrance. And then, in one swift, possessive thrust, he filled you, the force of it stealing what was left of your sanity, chasing away everything but the all-consuming need to feel him move, to feel him claim you as his.

The world shrunk to the feel of him: him anchoring you to the table, the possessive grip of his hand on your hip, holding you still as he moved within you. His thrusts were deep, powerful, each one a delicious torment that had you arching into him, crying out his name against the cold metal of the table.

“That's it, love,” he growled, his voice thick and primal, something that went far beyond the controlled man you thought you knew.

You suddenly felt his entire weight hovering above your back, slowing pressing your full body into the table. The angle changed, and his movements became more intense. You felt his teeth graze your earlobe, and then he murmured against your skin. “You’re mine. All mine. Say it .”

“Yours,” you gasped, the word a broken plea. The hand on your hip felt like a hot brand against your skin, as if it was marking you, claiming you in a way that went far beyond reason. “Please, John –”

“Please what, darling?” He chuckled, a low, rough sound against your ear, but his hips never stuttered, never slowed their relentless rhythm. “Tell me. What do you need?”

“You ,” you sobbed, the need, raw and desperate, clawing its way out of you with every thrust.

As if he sensed you nearing the precipice, the edge of control he’d deliberately pushed you towards, John shifted. The pressure of his chest eased, but before you could mourn the loss of his warmth, his free hand shot out, fingers closing around the back of your neck, not cruelly, but with an unquestionable force that demanded obedience.

He lifted you from the table, and then his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not with your bodies angled as they were, but it was possessive, desperate. The scrape of his beard against your cheek was a delicious torment, and you couldn't help but press closer, seeking more, needing to be closer still.

“I’m yours, my love,” he rasped, his breath hot and uneven against your cheek. “You have me.”

You met his gaze, those ice-blue eyes were smoldering with a need that mirrored your own, and something reckless, almost feral, took hold of you.

“Then fuck me like you own me,” you breathed.

The effect was instantaneous. He didn't just snap, he shattered. The control that was as much a part of him as his own skin, gone. Vaporized. The growl that ripped from his throat had no semblance of human restraint left in it, the sound raw, feral, echoing dangerously in the silence of the range. You might have been his wife, but at that moment, you were something far more elemental: his to claim, his to conquer, his to brand so deeply with pleasure and pain that you'd never forget who you belonged to.

And he moved like it too: a rough shove pressed you back against the table, his hands grabbed yours, pulling them back, restraining you.

Your whole body trembled as his cock thrust so deep, so utterly possessing, that you cried out.

“John!” – a plea, a prayer, you weren’t sure.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” The words were a gasped groan, torn from him as his hips moved against yours, stroking a spot deep inside you that throbbed with desperate need. You whimpered, and your hands clenched into fists against your back as pleasure shot through you.

You instinctively began to meet his thrusts, your hips rocking back against him, seeking out the friction that sent sparks of need through your overloaded senses. It earned you a growl of approval.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, the words a litany against your ear. He sounded like a man possessed.

“Please, John,” you whimpered, grinding your hips against him, desperate for that friction, that release. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. You needed more, needed his hands, needed him. “Touch me, I –”

You didn’t need to finish the plea. He heard it. He felt it, the tremor in your voice, the way your slick heat tightened around him, urging him closer to the edge.

His fingers were tracing the curve of your waist, reaching around below your belly and slowly started to pry apart your folds. His fingers were on your clit again, and a sound that was both a cry and a sigh left your lips. You were drowning in sensation, and it was glorious.

“Mmm, that’s it, love,” he rasped, the words a broken groan as his fingers stroked, circled, teased. “Come on my cock. For me.”

You felt it then, with the help of his touch – that sweet, white-hot bliss that washed over you, causing your legs to tremble and your cunt to contract around his cock. He groaned, so deep and primal it shook you to your core. Your orgasm shattered every last bit of control in him, the feeling of you losing yourself pushed him over the edge, too. You felt that familiar throb in your pussy, the way he painted your walls with his come, hot and thick. His fingers dug so deep into your skin you were sure they'd leave marks.

And you wouldn’t mind. You were his, after all.

He finally released you, his hands leaving yours. “Nice shot, love. You just needed the right motivation.” He chuckled, and you felt as he pulled up your panties and put your pants back into their place. His hand ghost over your pussy through the fabric. “Keep me in there,” he whispered. “Consider it your reward.”

You slowly straightened your back as you stood, your gaze meeting his, and you shook your head in disbelief, a smirk playing on your lips. “Is that an order from a captain? Or a request from my husband?”

“Both.” He grunted, as he finished buckling his belt.

You tilted your head slightly, stepping closer to him. “Well, then. If this is shooting training, we need to do that more often.”

He froze, his eyes shooting to meet yours. “Don't make me have to explain why so much footage from the security feed is missing.” His expression sobered, that playful glint fading as he added, voice low and serious, “But seriously, love, you did good. We'll keep practising, alright?”

You nodded, and then he closed the distance between you. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away some smudged lipstick at the corner of your mouth. “I'm proud of you, you know,” he whispered, and before you could reply, he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was surprisingly tender. There was no demanding heat this time, no desperate urgency - just the taste of him, and the lingering warmth where his come pooled between your thighs, a silent, undeniable reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 months ago

Note

Pressure reader finding a gun and now can and will defend themself from monster or execute other people for doing something dumb

I'm sorry but I saw this and decided to run with how finding a gun might actually go for a Prisoner!Reader /lh

..................

"Wow...guess somebody forgot to pick this up. Or maybe Sebastian got tired of me dying to those monsters all the time.."

Staring down at the weapon that was just laying on the floor, you looked around to see if any cameras were currently watching you. Of course, there was a singular one with a red light in the corner above the next door, aimed directly at your position.

They were always watching.

From the comfort and safety of their headquarters, they watched you get maimed by the creatures here over and over again. Whether it's a Wall Dweller sneaking up on you or Pandemonium ramming into the locker you're hiding in nonstop....they've seen it all.

So at this point, you didn't care that they could see your clear interest in the object on the ground.

One you were forbidden to take.

But to hell with them and their rules.

After all you've suffered through down here, you deserved to have some kind of self-defense tool that wasn't just a light source you had to conserve.

Why shouldn't you be allowed to protect yourself? They were going to kill all the creatures who escaped containment, anyways, so if you could kill them now, why not?

Unfortunately, HQ begged to differ, as the moment you crouched down to pick up the pistol, a familiar voice came onto the intercom:

"Do not touch the weapon. Leave it alone and it will be collected by authorized personnel later."

"...figures." You glared at the camera, standing up. "Why don't you tell your "authorized personnel" to put down those sea monsters instead?! I think I'm allowed to defend myself if-"

*pop*

"Back here again, are we?"

"Yeah..I guess.." Grumbling, you rubbed your neck as you looked up at the familiar trio of glowing blue eyes and angler lure. Even now, you still had a killer headache from the PDG detonation.

Then again, that was your own fault.

You didn't need to read the same document twice.

"I don't recommend defying them again. At least..not until you find a way to scramble their connection." Sebastian advised, sighing as he shook his head. "You gotta remember you have no rights down here. Neither of us do. It sucks but, we gotta deal with it."

"The IDS has gone haywire..but they're worried about me shooting through a glass window.." You huffed. "What if it wasn't even loaded?"

"Well I'm not sure if you know this, but prisoners and guns don't exactly go together. Just use what you've learned in the past to avoid the threats. It doesn't matter to them how "badly" you think you needed a firearm. You'll never get your hands on one, and I'm certainly not gonna sell any to you. Period."

"....I guess that pistol would've been useless if it didn't any rounds..."

"Anyway, here's what your overseer had to say on the matter. It's..kinda funny." Sebastian showed you another file, documenting your time and cause of death, along with a comment.

"The EXR-P stumbled across a small firearm that was left behind during the lockdown and defied direct orders to drop it, thinking they were an exception to the rule. This cannot happen again."

"Okay, that's bullshit. They're making it sound like I was an entitled asshole." You pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I can see why. Backtalking them is funny and all until your head pops. If you want them to take you seriously, you'll have to reach that crystal."

"Fine. I'll be a good little expendable and just focus on that." Putting a ferryman token on the table, you looked up at Sebastian. "Tell the guy downstairs I wanna continue where I was."

"Alright. Better not waste it." He swiped the coin, fading back into the darkness.

In the blink of an eye, you returned to the Blacksite, in the same room that you died in. It was clear of any blood that was left behind after your PDG went off, and of course..the pistol wasn't anywhere to be found.

It would have been useless anyways.

On the bright side, you did find a blacklight and some batteries in the drawers that you didn't check before, and you realized it's wiser to just use them to protect yourself.

'Okay. Let's just play it safe and keep going.'

#ideally they'd be badass #realistically urbanshade wouldn't let that slide #clanask #anonymous #roblox x reader #roblox pressure x reader #pressure x reader #sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader

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missaengg · 2 months ago

Text

Tantalizing the Great Sylus

Day 17 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore found here

Featuring: Love and Deepspace | Sylus x f!reader Tags: mdni, smut, pwp, gun kink, teasing, manhandling Prompts: Gun Play ao3 link here.

“Is the gun loaded?”

Sylus looks up from where he’s sitting polishing the steel surface of a pistol with a soft cloth. A faint expression of surprise crosses his face when he notices your skimpy attire, though he won’t ever object to your wearing of lingerie. “Of course not, kitten. Who do you take me for?”

You grin, a mischievous twinkle glinting in your eye. “Good,” you purr, and before Sylus can react, you kneel between his knees, guiding the gun in his hand slowly into your pouting mouth.

Sylus freezes, his eyes widening at the way your tongue swirls around the barrel while your eyes stay locked onto his.

“Kitten…”

You coquettishly lower the gun to his lap until it rests above the outline of his impressive cock. Holding it there, you bob your head down the barrel until your nose is tickling the growing bulge underneath.

“Kitten, that’s not safe.”

You pop off the gun, a string of saliva stretching from your lip to the metal tip, which Sylus notes, shuddering when it disconnects with a snap. “You’re certain it’s unloaded?”

“Yes, but–”

“--and you finished cleaning off the gunpowder?”

“Yes, but–”

You hum. “Then I don’t see the problem.” You lower yourself between his legs again with a smirk, and still maintaining eye contact, you agonizingly slowly sink your lips down the barrel.

Sylus can’t help, but shiver at the sultry look you’re giving him, feeling aroused at the way your lush pursed lips envelop the cold steel.

“Or… should I just fuck this instead?” You stand, positioning yourself so that you’re straddling his lap and the weapon is pointed between your legs.

A strangled groan from the reluctant crime boss answers you. Pleased, you lift up your semi-sheer nightie revealing that you’re bare from the waist down, and batting your round, innocent eyes, you lower yourself onto the metal tip. The normally self-assured Onychinus leader’s eyes bulge at the sight of your cunt greedily enveloping the weapon into your folds.

“Should I continue?

Sylus tears his eyes away from your cunt, a tense, heat evident in his eyes. You smile, delighted at how he faltered, his strict policy on weapons safety wrestling with his carnal desire.

“Kitten,” he warns, but his affectionate name for you comes out in a breathless choke.

He’s wavering, and you shiver, basking in the thrill that you’re the one bringing the great Sylus to his metaphorical knees. You place your arms around his neck and sink down until the gun barrel has all, but disappeared into your weeping cunt.

Sylus sharply inhales, his intake of air catching in his throat. You moan, a sultry, filthy sound intended to fluster the informidable crime lord to all, but you, his only weakness. Gasping into his ear, you gyrate your hips, the handle of the gun pressing into his now prominent erection.

“Sy, that feels so… ngh… good.”

Sylus lets out a long, pained groan. “Kitten, don’t tempt me.”

You deliberately moan even louder, relishing the way Sylus is unraveling at your taunting. You move your hips even faster, the combination of his futile attempt at holding onto his composure, his suppressed groans, and the way the metal drags inside sending electric tingles up and down your spine.

“Would you like for me to cum on this gun for you?”

Sylus loses it when you ask. He agitatedly palms the back of your head, dragging you down to capture your lips. His lips are rough and demanding, pressing against yours with a burning ferocity as if he wants to devour you whole.

With a growl, he finally pulls away. “Kitten, I warned you.” He rises from the chair in one swift motion, lifting you up along with him easily, ignoring the gun that clatters to the ground.

You yelp as he hauls you over his shoulder, a velvety delectation fluttering in your belly at how easily he can handle your body.

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that when I’m done with you.”

Grinning wickedly, you feel a shiver of anticipation, knowing you still had the upper hand.

You weren’t going to regret a single thing.

#missaengg writes #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #visions of temptation 2024 #sylus smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #lnds smut #sylus x you #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #love and deepspace #lads #lnds

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igotanidea · 10 months ago

Text

Shunning: Jason Todd x reader

request: Jason comforting reader cause her friends ostracised her.

A/N: hopefully this will put a smile on the face of everyone who felt back for being rejected in any form it may come.

***

They were madly in love, there was no denying that.

But not in a lovey-dovey kind of way that was reserved only for the time they were alone and felt safe enough with the other to let that side out. It was rather mercilessly-teasing-not-really-meaning-all-those-mean-words-coming-out-of-my-mouth-cause-only-I-can-do-that manner.

However, there are boundaries to every relationship.

Especially when one of the parts in couple is a infamous vigilante/antihero.

And ever since the beginning Jason made it very clear that Y/N was not supposed to visit his apartment when he was not there. It was his duty to keep her safe. At all costs. And since sometimes it happened that due to lack of strength after patrol he just crashed his regular flat instead of safe house, no one, no one, was allowed to connect Y/N Y/L/N to Red Hood.

No fucking one.

Even if it meant giving her the spare key as a sign of commitment (but only because Jason tended to lost his own too often), but also simultaneously pushing her away by making the hereinabove mentioned rule.

Yeah… it hurt.

But she understood.

She understood all the rules and boundaries and safety precautions coming from being with him and if that’s what it took to call him hers – so be it.

So normally she stuck to the principles.

But—

***

8 a.m.

It was one of the hardest patrol he had ever had, but some kind of crazy instincts made him push forward and patch himself up at the nearest lair. Which wasn’t even his in the first place, but that was something Grayson would never know. And also- besides the point.

The fact was, though, that he came back to his official address (official for someone who was still legally dead, of course), dressed in regular clothes and without blood stains with plasters all over his face.

Planning to maybe call his girlfriend so they can spend the nice day together.

Hoping to see her teasing smirk and eyes rolling, knowing she was the one to match his sarcasm, give him hard time making this relationship a challenge for him, which was exactly why she fell for her in the first place. Or maybe it was the fact that underneath all that rough-around-the-edges surface they were so similarly sensitive on the inside it made it easier to connect on so many levels.

Lost in his thoughts he opened the door and immediately knew something was wrong.

Energetic music coming from the kitchen.

Some crazy (DELICIOUS!) smell.

And the opened curtains that make the dim Gotham light permeate the room.

The hell?

Jason grabbed his pistol from the shoe (regular clothes or not, forewarned is forearmed) and busted into kitchen, grabbing the intruder by the arm, pointing the gun to their head.

“Auch! Fuck! Jay!”

“Y/N!” the gun landed on the floor and she immediately kicked it away, so it wouldn’t fire on her leg or foot.

‘Well morning to you to!”

“The hell you doing here?!”

“fucking breakfast!”

“What?!”

The scene was truly grotesque.

Boyfriend and girlfriend, who were, may I remind you, madly in love, standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, one of them clearly in need of some loving and rest, the other offering exactly that and yet they settled on yelling their surprise out at one another.

“I’m gonna ask you again- what are you doing here?” Jason almost hissed, his own protective and possessive instincts kicking in in a Red Hood style.

“I told you-“ she became a little defensive, but sure as hell not submissive or humble.

“Y/N!”

“Stop yelling at me Jason!”

The way she accentuated the last word, his name, made him stop for a moment, groan in frustration and run hand over his face, almost poking his eyes out. Right. He was Jason now. Her Jason. And she didn’t deserve the aggression and violence (she had her fair share of that coming from men).

“Okay, fine. I won’t yell. But explain to me.”

“I needed you—” she finally whispered.

Any other guy would just melt at such sweet confession coming from the loved woman, but Jason? Nah. He was way more perceiving and knowledgeable about her quirks.

So he noticed.

Her sad eyes.

Her nervous energy.

Her feigned smile.

And the fact that she not only just made him his favorite breakfast but also was currently keeping an eye on the blueberry muffins in the oven.

“Y/N….” he said calmly to get her attention.

“Yeah, huh, what’s wrong?”

“I should be asking you that question…”

“What you mean?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t trick me honey.” He warned with a grin and before she realized what was happening around her he grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the living room, ready to coax, force or hug the truth out of her. No holds barred.

“My muffins!” she yelled struggling against his grip.

“Yeah, whatever, as long as we don’t need firefighters here I don’t care.”

He threw her on the couch sitting beside her.

“Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing really I –“

“you know I’d hate to be the therapist in this relation and steal the job you do for me, but for Christ’s sake Y/N, let it out.”

Okay, so he clearly did not think those words out.

And it was not his intention to make her cry.

Even if her snuggling into his chest made him feel like she actually needed him. Like she wasn’t always the tough, self-made, self-sufficient girl.

“Oh…” he gasped wrapping arms around her. “Shh… sh… it’s okay. I got you. I got you, you can tell me.” The mindless words were just coming out his mouth when he pulled her closer not caring about black mascara smudges on his favorite shirt. (which was old either way, so no shame in ruining it).

“Do you think I’m pathetic for being an introvert?”

“What?” he blinked a couple times, frowning and searching her face to make sure she was serious with that question “Since when you’re an introvert?”

“Jason…”

“Ok, princess listen to me. I have no idea from where that idea got into your pretty little head but-“

“My friends.” She stuttered wiping her eyes smudging makeup even more looking like a cute little panda and despite all the seriousness from her part Jason smiled for a moment considering the view adorable.

“come again? Your friends?”

“Yeah…” she sniffled “my friends. We were supposed to hang out last night, but when I reached out, cause I was feeling a tad lonely” she send him a look “they all respectively said that they are busy and tired and maybe another time.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded “I got a feeling I know where this is going-“

“Believe me, you have no idea.” She rolled her eyes, sadness slowly making way to annoyance and frustration “not only they went partying, which I found out via Instagram, hashtag somuchfun, hashtag hotgirlsparty, but also figured it was Allison’s bachelorette party!”

“That Alison?! The friendship bracelet Allison?!”

“yes! Can you imagine the audacity!? And she’s been engaged for months and everyone knew!”

“No way!” Jason gasped while they both acted at least like Hollywood wives gossiping about first world problems.

“Also, I have to say how much I appreciate you actually listening to all my silly girly ranting.”

“Of course baby” he kissed her forehead rubbing her back affectionately “but don’t tell it to anyone. Now seriously, all jokes aside, are you all right? I mean – not that I have much experience with friendship-“

“Roy.” She cuts him off with a firm voice.

“Ok, fine, fine! I’ll make peace with him!” he raised his hands in surrender “that’s not the point. You were straight forward casted out! Ostra-fucking-cised! And the fuck why??” now he was becoming a little angry.

“Cause clearly I’m a mood killer, no fun, tense, embarrassing, don’t know how to party-“

“WHAT?!”

“Jason?” she looked at him briefly “Jason! JASON! HELL! Put that gun down and get back here!” she yanked the back of his shirt pulling him back to the couch before he could something reckless and irreversible.

“Let go off me princess I have to-“

She started crying again.

“Oh god! Oh baby please don’t cry, I’m sorry-“ he cupped both her cheeks falling to his knees and wiping the tears away “Y/N, love, please I didn’t mean to –“

“There’s only one thing you have to do now.” She calmed down at once, revealing that her tears were just another trick.

“Bloodbath?”

“What?! NO! You stay here and pamper me! Comfort me!” she smacked him on the head, soft enough to not make any damage. “Jeez! How many times will I have to teach you!? A girl, your girl is crying. What do we do then?” her voice was reminiscent of that of a primary school teacher

“We hug. We say nice words. We don’t let go until she feels better. We let her do all she wants cause she’s sad.” He answered mechanically.

“Very good, Jason” Y/N teased “gold star for theory, now can you please make it into practice?”

Ten seconds later she was wrapped up in his strong arms, with one of his hand cradling her head and brushing the strands of her hair, the other on the small of her back.

“For the record, I think introverts are cool. Seriously, the hell is wrong with the world making a false impression that you need to crash everyone just to get somewhere in life? Like I don’t know, make a name for yourself by being loud and show-offish.

“Jason…” she laughed and it made his chest reverberate

“What--? Oh! Hey! That’s not what I meant! We were talking about you,, not me!”

“Well you made me laugh, so good job on that!”

“You know what on the other hand, introverts are assholes. They are always quiet and listen and remember everything you say only to use it against you later on. Like little rat searching for the hole in everything.”

“Hey!” she poked his ribs

“Oh no, princess, that’s out the line!” he laughed rolling on top of her, tickling her. “You’re the most amazing introvert I have ever met, you hear me? Life is a constant party with you and your beautiful mind, ok? So what if they didn’t tell you about the bachelorette? I mean, sure it sucks, but I bet her fiancé is an ugly ork.”

“And how is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Cause baby believe me, once you get thrown a bachelorette I’ll make sure that not only Instagram but also all the magazines will be racing to get photos of that party. How could they not? The prettiest, most amazing girl in Gotham not being available anymore! Damn, Kardashians will get jealous of you!"”

“Are you asking me something here Jason Peter Todd.”

“You and your admirable fantasy.” He smirked kissing her forehead “I’ll leave you hanging, but tell me one thing. Do you really need fake friends? You already have a zombie boyfriend, isn’t that enough for you? Starring in a “Walking Dead”, now you also want “Mean Girls?” he faked indignation “so greedy!”

“Your impossible you know that?” she smiled at him, the first genuine smile since she came to his apartment.

“Hell no, I’m way more handsome than Tom Cruise!”

“Jason!”

“What? You wanted to be comforted, you can only get it done my style.”

“Hey. Hey look at me” she cupped his cheek so their gazes could meet.

“Yeah? What is it my sunshine and rainbows?”

“Don’t stop, okay?”

“Never.” He grinned. “You’re stuck with the tacky humor and dry jokes.”

***

And with a burning blueberry muffins

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff

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princessbrunette · 1 year ago

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Foaming at the mouth for jealous controlling “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that” Rafe but something about “Wear whatever you want I can fight (and im strapped)” Rafe… 🥵

ok esp for girly reader who lives and breathes mini skirts and tiny tops (def not self serving… not at all…)

because you really expect rafe to be the first type. and to a degree, he is— if you’re going out alone that is. usually, you bow your head to it, because really — you tell yourself — he’s just concerned about your safety. there are some real creeps out there, and going out alone in a mini skirt is a sure recipe for disaster, right?

he’s bringing you to a party on the beach. you didn’t usually go partying with rafe, and he liked it that way — because that’s where he did the most business, cashing out on rich coke heads. you knew he wouldn’t be selling at a beach party, purely because anyone stupid enough to try and snort anything would end up ingesting a fuck-tonne of sand, and it’s just not the kinda complaint he’s in the mood to hear. you actually just get to hang out with him and his friends, and this excites you.

you test the waters, stepping out of your room when he waits in the living room leant against the shelf scrolling on his phone. you know it’s likely he’ll turn you right back around and send you changing due to the little pink co-ord clinging to your every curve. it’s cupping your tits and hugging your waist and leaving all but nothing to the imagination, but it’s been a while since you’ve worn something fun like that — so you try your luck anyway.

“m’ready!” you grin, sticking your arms out by your side all cute. he looks up from his phone, eyes all wide and vacant for a second, lips pouted in thought and briefly drops his eyes up and down your body.

“yeah, looks good kid.” he drawls, flipping his phone deftly between his fingers and stuffing it into his pocket. his eyes linger around your tits again before meeting your eye, walking towards you with a happy and simple smile, one that says ‘can we go now?’

your brows raise and you look down at yourself in surprise. “i’m surprised. you’re letting me wear this out?” you gaze up at him, lips twitching up. you think he’s making an active decision to be less controlling for a moment. he shrugs lazily, eyes flickering around the room as if to say ‘so?’ and with that he lifts the end of his button-up, revealing a glock tucked into his waistband.

oh.

“yeah i don’t think anyone’s gonna have the nerve to step out of line, a’ight? ‘look after my girl.” he steps closer to you, hand coming up to scratch affectionately behind your ears like you’re a dog. you don’t mind.

you stare up at him, all doe eyed and shocked. he thinks it’s adorable honestly, all scared over a little pistol. hell, you’d probably never even seen one in real life before, let alone this close.

“rafe…” you start unsurely, breathily, but he cuts you off, hand caressing your cheek, tilting his head down and raising his eyebrows.

“hey. you wear what you want with me, yeah? m’protected. strapped. it’s okay.” he enunciates, and well— you’re not really in the place to argue. you nod, still wide eyed and he gives your cheek an affectionate tap, squinting his eyes with a satisfied smile.

as imagined, rafes temper rears it’s ugly head one beer down, catching a poor boy a year or two his junior, eyes fixated on the way your ass was moving when you walked along the sand, unbeknownst to wandering eyes. of course, the boy ended up backed up against the pier with the cool end of the gun pressed into his jaw, terrified whimpers ripped from his throat.

“wanna look at my girl, huh? think i’m gonna let that shit run?” rafe is gripping the smaller boy by the collar, teeth grit, animalistic. your breath hitches, you think he may actually shoot this kid.

“rafe…” you call out urgently, not wanting to get too close.

“no! i—” the boy tries to argue, and you really feel for him, because rafe only presses the gun harder against his chin.

“no? better keep your eyes to yourself or i’m gonna be the last thing you fuckin’ see is that understood? is that understood asshole?” he grits out, eyes wet and watery from adrenaline.

“rafe! stop!” you call out, brows furrowed and tears brimming. he sighs, finally hearing you and steps back, not taking his eyes off the mortified boy infront of him. he stares until the kid grows the balls to run off, tripping and kicking up sand as he disappears to the other side of the pier where the rest of the party goers were. it’s only then he looks back at you.

“shit.” he sighs out, shaking his head, shaking himself off completely as he stares out at the moons reflection on the ocean.

you hug yourself, watching him mellow out a little. he tucks the glock back into his waistband, yanking his shirt out again to cover it.

“you’re not bringing that thing out again.” you accuse, pointing to his gun shape tucked into his pants. he blows you off, lifting a hand and walking the other way before turning back suddenly.

“i have to protect you, you understand? if i can’t bring this out with me you— you can’t bring that.” he lifts an arm, gesturing to your lower body. you stare at him in confusion before looking down. your… ass? was he talking about your ass?

“how am i supposed to leave my ass at home, rafe?” you argue, and as soon as the words leave your mouth— you can’t help but let out a giggle. you’re mad at him, yes — but the demand was funny, you couldn’t deny.

you think he’s gonna get mad, maybe wipe the smile off your face, but his sigh turns into a giggle too, looking away from you. the irritation from his face melts into something more boyish and young, his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he lets out a low chuckle. this only makes you chortle more, and he shakes his head, trying to hide his amusement as he waddles toward you on the uneven sand, holding out his arm and reaching you, bringing you beneath it into his side.

“alright, come on trouble.” he smirks, leading you back to the party. “y’still in a partying mood?”

#rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron prompt #rafe obx drabble #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x reader

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ivymarquis · 6 months ago

Text

Say You Won't Let Go

Last House on the Right

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 1.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, mentions of pregnancy related eating issues + vomiting, Reader's got some separation issues. Fair warning this is so half baked I haven't even decided what kind of apocalypse it is, but somehow Ive got a whole plotline regardless.Same pairing as my fic Blind Date

Next Chapter

You can’t believe your luck.

You’re not sure what exactly it was about this house in the dead of night that had you so transfixed, but your intuition has paid off in spades.

The area’s been abandoned, to your knowledge leaving you the sole inhabitant meandering around.

Or maybe waddling would be a more apt description.

Fear and uncertainty of the outside hurry you along into the house. Most everyone- the survivors- has splintered off into groups. There’s no evidence of anyone still living here (admittedly it’s not like you’ve taken the time to check every room, but there are signs when a house is inhabited), but you luck out that the cabinets haven’t been picked over.

It’s been entirely too long since your last meal, and it takes a good amount of restraint to not devour the can of ravioli too quickly.

As much as you’re tempted, you know there’s a fine line between what will and won’t have you immediately throwing up in the sink- grazing seems to keep the worst of the upset down.

There’s no hospitals to jaunt off to if you end up dehydrated. Excessive vomiting is not ideal post end of days.

If you were in your right mind- not frightened, isolated, starving, cold- and not focusing on how the unheated chef boyardee might as well be a five star michelin meal for all you can think right now, you might have been paying more attention.

The sound of a safety clicking off behind you freezes your blood far more than the cold. That sound is deliberate. Whoever’s behind you- gun pointed at you- wants you to know they got the jump on you.

“Hands where I can see them,” the order is gruffly barked at you.

You feel stupid. Of course all of this was too convenient for you to simply be catching a break. It wasn’t exactly well lit and designed to draw you in- but you’re an animal caught in a trap regardless.

The fork clatters against the counter next to the can as you go to comply.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

You’re not much of a threat in your current condition. That much is obvious.

Time stopped having any sort of tangible meaning a while ago. You should know how many weeks you are, but the days run together fending for yourself and you just know that you’re close. There’s no hiding the swell of your belly.

The man at the doorway looks as gruff as he sounds. Your mind spins like a tire in mud to process everything in front of you in the poor moonlight. Military, that much is obvious. You’re not actually sure if that’s a good thing. Handsome from what you can see, though historically your type has been men who don’t have a weapon leveled at you.

The taciturn expression on his face falters when he spots your bump, but you’ve learned by now to not expect any sort of special treatment.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately. “I-I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll leave, I swear.”

He looks at you another moment before a look of resignation washes over him.

“Turn back around. Keep your hands up.” Oh God. Your mind immediately goes to the worst- That this man, for whatever reason, has decided that your infraction has signed your death warrant. That he can’t quite bring himself to fire on a pregnant woman staring him in the eyes, so the last thing you’re ever going to see is some tacky wallpaper and ugly cabinets.

You yelp when one of his hands finds the pistol on your hip. Holy shit you didn’t even hear him cross the room.

“Easy, love,” he soothes as he starts to frisk you for more weapons. “Not gonna hurt you. You have anything else on you?”

“A knife in my back pocket.” It doesn’t even occur to you to lie; putting yourself in his good graces is your only option and you can’t do that by lying.

His hands slip under your jacket, the hem oversized and hanging even with your arms up, making a wrong guess at the first pocket he checks before grabbing the knife out of the second one.

“Anyone going to come sniffing around looking for you?” A fair question, but one that sticks like a knife between your ribs.

The “No,” that escapes you is softer than you meant it to be, voice warbling as you try not to cry.

Hormones would have had you on the verge of tears at any given point, and that would have been before the end of the world and before your group abandoned you. You’re well entitled to your tears, you think, but try to stuff them back down anyway.

“You’re out here alone,” he grouses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you. The like this? is implied.

Your arms are still up, and they’re getting tired. Everything tires you out these days.

Like he can read your mind, he releases you with a “you can set your arms down now, love.”

“Thank you,” you’re in full fawn mode, turning to face him. While he’s clearly decided against killing you, you’ve been scared and alone for the past few days and you really don’t want to be separated from the only person who will give you the time of day right now.

“Is there anyone else here? Other soldiers?” Your fate is sealed and lies in the soldier’s hands regardless of his answer.

Nothing with change, no matter what he says, but you think you’re less intimidated if it’s just the two of you.

The world’s gone to hell in a handbasket, and yet you’ll never forget watching 28 days later when the line I promised them women was dropped.

“Got separated from my team.”

He turns away from you, gesturing to follow him out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

He’s limping.

You haven’t seen him move until now. You’re more an expert on busted hardware than busted body parts, you can’t tell if it’s a fresh injury that’s still healing, or an old one that’s set in place.

“They left you.” They left me, too.

“They didn’t leave me for dead, they think I am dead. Gonna take a bit more than that to get the job done, though.”

You have no reason not to believe him. Despite having just met him, the man is like a living manifestation of everything masculinity is supposed to be- down to the surly attitude despite him herding you further into the house. It doesn’t take much to figure out that he’s tough as nails and sure why not flirt in death’s face that her last attempt wasn’t good enough?

You sit on the couch he points to, as he settles into the leather chair across from you.

“Christ what’d I’d do for a fucking smoke right now,” he mumbles, pawing at his chest absent mindedly on reflex.

You mean to sit stiff as a board, but your body is tired and the couch is surprisingly comfortable.

The soldier, however, sits like he owns the house. “And now for the question of what to do with you.”

#john price x reader #price x you #captain john price #apocalypse #pregnant reader #x single mom reader #my writing

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urhoneycombwitch · 5 months ago

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howdy, honey!

part I

older!cowboy!Eddie x honey!reader

foreword: idk what this is. other than the start of a new series I may or may not have time for lmao. just… love the idea of honey!Reader and wanted to show the origins of cowboy!Eddie into their life <3 honey!Reader is a bit of an abrasive spitfire but I heart complicated women and Eddie is the right amount of gruff to put up w/ that bratty ass <3 I’m sorry if any truck stuff is wrong I swear I researched a bit but dear god I am not a car girly plz forgive me

cw: Appalachian no magic AU, cowboy!Eddie, older!Eddie, age gap (Eddie is at least 40, R implied as younger), R is on the run from a Troubled Past ™, R has breasts (non-sexual mention) and a tattoo (no skin tone/color mentioned), smut planned for following chapters, as always +18 mdni!

wc: 5.3k

The last thing you want to hear behind you approaches: a vehicle slowing down, tires crunching to crawl at your walking pace in the gravel ditch of the road.

Maybe it’s just a concerned citizen. You soothe yourself internally, even as your guard surges up to take stock of the environment, to calculate the quickest route to safety.

To your left- a rusting red pickup, its unknown driver, the flat expanse of tarmac and heat lines rising blearily for miles on end.

To your right, just a sprint away- the line of a lush, thick forest, unfamiliar birds calling amidst the Appalachian wilderness.

Then, an even worse sound of the truck's window being rolled down.

“Not interested, pal,” you call out, in a tone you hope is commanding. “My thumb ain’t out. Keep driving.”

“I just-” it’s a man’s voice, because of course it is, who else would stop in the middle of an abandoned road to harass a young thing like you- “It’s about a hundred degrees out. Hotter than a two-buck pistol and you’re hiking in it.”

“Mind your damn business.” You don’t know this guy’s angle, but you don’t really care- if there’s anything you’ve learned from the past two weeks on the road, it’s Don’t trust strange men and keep your wits.

Heart thumping an unsteady rhythm, you swallow the fear and hike your duffle bag higher onto your aching shoulder, resolute, even as the guy sighs. As if he has the right to sound weary. “Darlin’. I don’t wanna see you die of dehydration, is all. Got some water in the back, ‘least let me offload some onto you.”

The offer is tempting enough to still your steps- your canteen is empty, ran out about an hour after being filled at the last town’s hostel. Constant thirst has been an unfortunate side effect of this journey; so far it seems you've been the only one desperate enough to actually be outside in this unrelenting heat.

The man must take your pause for acceptance because he rolls to a stop just ahead of you, brake lights giving one quick flash before the engine cuts out. Both boots hit pavement at the same time, revealing a tall, lanky figure in dark denim and a cut-off tee.

As he rounds to the trailer bed, you notice a smattering of tattoos- bats flying up one arm, a lariat and a floral piece on the other, some sort of mythological creature sitting over his heart (only spotted as he bends to unhook his truck bed’s latch, shirt shifting forward to reveal a pale expanse of skin beneath).

He’s a confusing, delightful mix of punk and cowboy- jeans just a touch too tight for working, silver hoops lining the shell of his right ear. You’d probably get a better sense of his age if his hair wasn’t hiding in a bun too shadowy to see properly, nestled under the brim of his black cowboy hat.

Eyes dark as bittersweet chocolate but kind and calm turn towards you, observing silently with crossed arms in the ditch a yard away. He closes the gap, wiping his palm on the black bandanna lining his pocket before stretching an appeasing hand towards you. “Waterin’ time.”

A laugh would signal comfortability, and you prefer to keep your cards as close to your own chest as possible, so you smother the noise, turn it into a disapproving twist of your mouth before taking his proffered hand.

He’s stronger than he looks, pulling you up to the road with an easy flex of his forearm; his other hand automatically fits to your low back to steady you as your pack shifts with the climb, but he drops all points of contact as soon as you’re stabilized.

There’s a thunk from the nearby truck, the sound of something dull hitting into the metal. On instinct, your hand snaps to the butterfly knife tucked into the front of your bra band, hidden by the extra padding but close enough to whip out at a moment's notice.

A dog sits eager and obedient in the truck bed, black and leggy and long-snouted- some type of Shepherd, if you had to guess. His long feathered tail hits the wheel with each enthusiastic wag, oversized ears perked forward.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Adrenaline leaves you feeling sticky and strung-out, even more than the heat. Between your breasts, the knife sits waiting, metal cool to the touch and reassuring through the fabric of your tanktop. You hope it just looks like you scare easily, hand over your heart with nerves and jumpiness instead of trained defense mode- cards to chest, and all that.

Safer for you, to be underestimated. Always harder to see a hit coming from someone unexpected.

This time, though, you aren’t fixing to hit. The back of your hand, like some gravitational force, draws you to the mouth of the truck bed.

A slash of pink tongue splits the all-black dog’s mouth when he licks you, thumping tailbeat picking up speed.

The man who owns both truck and dog leans a hip against the wheel, watching as you smooth your palm over the silky head of his companion. “Name’s Goblin.”

“So, your parents were hippies, I gather?” A joke slips out before you can catch and wrestle it back to be the most unassuming version of yourself.

The man laughs- full and rich, crow’s feet bursting like sunbeams, dimples springing into his cheeks- the action knocks a decade off his face.

You’re transfixed, unable to look away, Goblin nudging your hand for more pets while you memorize the way this stranger looks, laughing on the side of the road in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

“The dog is Goblin,” the man says, humor twitching at the corners of his plush lips. He takes off his hat to rest against his chest, chocolate eyes still twinkling. “I’m Eddie.”

In the truck bed next to Goblin, there’s a bulky case laying sideways, a handle on one end for carrying. It’s the last push you need, apparently, as the logic part of your mind speaks with finality: Ted Bundy never played guitar.

So you give Eddie your name. Your real one. You haven’t used it in weeks, opting for anonymity and the comfort of a pseudonym at the seedy spots you’ve been staying.

As soon as you say it, something loosens in your chest, flutters free into the bright blue sky as Eddie repeats it like something precious- like he’s known you for ages.

“Well.” As if a matter has been settled, Eddie puts his hat back on (you weren’t quite done memorizing the long pattern of his curls, shot through with grey, pulled taut against his skull to settle in a bun at the nape of his neck). “More’n welcome to take the water and send me packin’, but now that we all know each other’s names, how about a lift to town?”

Eddie scratches Goblin behind the ear, absentminded as he adds, “Could even sit in the back, ‘f you wanted. That way you could just jump on out if you think I’m tryna pull something.”

Your shoulder suddenly aches with the weight of your duffel; you let the straps slide to the crook of your elbow, then set it next to Goblin who seems happy for something new to sniff.

Unfortunately for Eddie, you’re starting to like him, which means the filter for your sarcasm and teasing has completely eroded. “Ri-ight. Like I’m gonna just sit in the back of your truck when you could floor it and fling me over the side like a ragdoll.”

Those big, doey eyes of Eddie’s roll skyward. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only on days that end in Y.”

“All right.” There’s something in his tone that makes your spine straighten- not from fear, just… something else that you’re trying hard not to analyze right now. “So sit in the damn front and put a seatbelt on, since you’re so worried ‘bout my driving.”

Eddie shuts the pickup’s gate and mutters all the way to the driver’s side door, some comparison being drawn between you and one of his cows that gets herself stuck in the fenceline, refusing sesnsible help.

The air in the cab is stale and still, warmth from the cracked leather seats soaking into the back of your shorts and bare thighs as you get in and buckle up. You’re suddenly aware of how desperately you need a shower, being in an enclosed space and next to someone with (presumably) a working sense of smell, but luckily Eddie’s already rolling down the windows.

“Air’s broke,” he says by way of apology, waving in the general direction of the AC vents before reaching to open the sliding rear window.

Something cold and wet presses against your ear- Goblin, saying hello. By the time your giggle is over, the grumble of the engine has kicked on, and the dog has found a headrest in the form of your pack, his tongue lolling into the fabric with rhythmic panting.

“Radio?” You ask, already reaching to twist at the knob on the dash- a crackle of static, and then, bliss. Johnny Cash croons from the speakers.

In trying to keep your delight casual, you slip up, telling Eddie as he straightens out the wheel to pick up speed- “God, I haven’t heard music this good in months, not since-”

Fortunately, whatever system in your brain still holding on to good sense chops the sentence in half. To cover, you clear your throat, cross your arms, and keep your eyes fixed forward when you change the subject. “So, you play guitar?”

If Eddie notices your lapse he doesn’t comment on it, picking up conversation with an easy charm. “Nah. That’s just a cover for if Sheriff Hop gets me for speedin’. That case is filled with coke and guns and all sorts’a contraband.”

You fix the side of his head with a glare, and even without seeing it full-on Eddie sputters a chuckle and admits, “Fine. I play guitar, sometimes.”

While Eddie’s eyes stay on on the road ahead, you let your own gaze linger on his face in profile: the slope of his nose, the freckles that scatter across the apple of his cheeks and neck, the tail end of another tattoo winding up his collarbone.

Eddie catches you staring, this time, jolt like an electric shock coursing through your whole body when you lock eyes for a moment, before he flicks back to the road. “Looks like you got some ink, yourself.”

He must be doing his best to remain respectful, because he doesn’t ask what the J stands for, even as your other hand jumps instinctually to cover the breadth of your wrist, hiding the little inked letter from view. “Yeah. I get one every time I kill a man. In remembrance.”

Amusement twitches at the corner of Eddie’s mouth when he asks, “Yeah? Only one so far? Would’a thought you’d be racking up your letters by now. Fierce as you are.”

“Well, we’re in public. I can’t very well take off my shirt to show you all the rest.”

This earns you another laugh, and even with the wind whipping through the cab, it fills every inch of the space. Rattles into you like a thunderstorm, knocks dust off some deep part of you kept dormant ‘til now.

You like that he called you that. Fierce. You’re loath to admit it, but you also like the pet names. Most boys are condescending or double-edged with their diminutives, but when Eddie calls you darlin’ with that Southern drawl, it feels… endearing.

Equal parts terrifyingly disarming and captivatingly charming. That’s how you’d categorize Eddie, so far, though you’re not sure what to file away about his arms- stretched out at ten and two on the Ford’s big wheel, soft white underbelly of his forearms fading into a natural freckled tan, smattering of dark hair over both.

For now, you file it under Trouble and focus on the upcoming road sign.

It looks like someone stripped a big tree and cut out a thick middle piece just to drive it at a slant into the ground. The hand-carved words appear to have been painted over many times, discolored and weathered, obscuring some of the letters.

WELC ME TO C LINE

”It’s a nice town, Celine,” Eddie says conversationally as the sign gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “Small, but good community. Lots of farming folks, like me, some strays and stragglers, like you.”

Johnny Cash gives way to an unfamiliar folksy number; you drink in the ramshackle buildings that make up the heart of the town. It’s reminiscent of old cowboy movies you grew up watching with your brothers- flat roofs, red brick, clapboard. A hitching post outside of a General Store, a group of kids tearing around on bikes in the empty lot of the movie theater.

All that’s missing is a lone tumbleweed flipping lazily end over end across the road.

Eddie pulls his truck parallel with a stretch of curb outside a long building, another handmade sign that reads Celine Public Library. He leaves the engine running but shifts the gear to park, pointing to the phone booth just beyond your window.

“Phone’s just there, if you got someone to call. Figure’d here’s as good a place as any, if you wanna part ways now.”

Oh, right. Eddie offered you a ride to town, and he made good on it. Now is the part where you get out, collect your duffel, and wave while pretending to make a phone call until his truck has disappeared.

But you don’t. There’s lively guitar plucking over the speakers, twining with the purr of the engine. Eddie’s hands flex and unflex on the wheel, horseshoe tattoo on the first segment of his middle finger rippling with the movement like he’s working up the courage to say something,

You’d better not stick around to hear it. Fighting the thing that’s sticking you to the seat, you reach for the door handle. “Well, thanks, Eddie. ‘Preciate the lift.”

Your fingers are just grazing the handle when Eddie speaks again. “Wait-”

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t-

His eyes are just as beautiful as before, when he’d laughed- and now they’re on you, longing and hopeful and a little unsure as he speaks, gaining speed as if from nerves- “I’ve got a spare room. Spare shack, technically- it’s not much, but I used to live in there real comfortably ‘til my uncle moved and I got the house. Please come stay, at least for the night. Please?”

With a hand still on the door to your other, safer option, you pause; though the main emotion that washes through you is one of relief and gratitude, you sink your teeth into the little flare of irritation, pulling it up to the surface like one last play. “I don’t want charity.”

”Do I look like the church-goin’ type?” A bright flash of Eddie’s teeth as he grins (he knows he’s got you, goddammit). “And the shack door locks from the inside. Deadbolt. In case you’re worried about… I’m not askin’ anything from you. Just- please.”

Your hand drops from the door, falls limply into your lap as you breathe out. “And you’re not in some… weird, cowpoke-Satanic cult where you’re gonna use me as human sacrifice?”

“What part of deadbolt do you not get,” Eddie retorts, pleased, hand at the gear shift. “And my cult only meets on the full moon, so. You’ve got a few weeks of safety, at least.”

A genuine laugh bubbles up out of you, and the smile that Eddie fixes you with would’ve knocked you sideways had you been standing.

You’re both relishing in the moment too deeply to notice the bicycles approaching from behind; Goblin gives an excited yip, front paws planted on the lip of the truck, wagging up a storm as the group squeals to a halt, surrounding you and Eddie on all sides.

One of the kids, a boy with a curly mop of hair who looks on the young end of 15, slams a hand down on Eddie’s open window. “Hey!”

Eddie is the one to nearly jump out of his skin this time, hand flying to the top of his hat and cursing. “Fuck. Christ, Henderson. Whaddya want?”

“Do you require our assistance at the market this weekend?” The kid speaks in a funny, oddly formal tone as Eddie sighs and sets his hat on the seat between the two of you.

“Unfortunately so.”

“C’mon, Eddie, don’t be like that.” The boy is practically leaning through the window at this point with eagerness, one foot on the ground to keep his bike from tipping. You smother a giggle at the way Eddie’s jaw ticks. “School’s out, we’re bored as hell, and-”

He stops mid sentence when he spies you in the passenger seat, eyebrows jumping up to the curls covering his forehead. “And who might this be?”

“None of your damn business,” Eddie grits out, but you ignore the all-bark-no-bite tone to stretch across and offer your hand in introduction.

“I’m Dustin,” the boy says, in answer to your own name, and rapid-fire points at the various figures loitering around the truck, naming his friends too quickly for you to store them long-term. “Now, Edward, about our payment…”

There’s a girl with red braids near your window, the only one not on a bike. When you give her a friendly smile, she glowers and plants a sneakered foot on her skateboard, rocking it aimlessly up and down the asphalt.

In the back, Goblin is basking in the attention of the rest of the group; another boy with a close-cropped Afro rubs the dog’s head lovingly, while a girl with serious brown eyes and shoulder-length curls (Eddie’s relative, maybe?) makes tentative strokes down Goblin’s side.

There are two other kids- boys, you think- near the back of the trailer, but their backs are to the group, close as two people can be while still on their own bikes. Dustin’s conversation floats back into your comprehension- he’s making a valiant attempt at twisting Eddie’s arm where ‘payment’ is concerned.

Untwistable, Eddie shakes his head. A few strands of hair have come loose from his bun, curling around his jaw with the overdramatic move he makes to throw the gear shift into drive. “All right, enough, ya scoundrel. Round up your crew and go be a pain in someone else’s ass.”

Unperturbed, Dustin straightens, grasping his bike’s handlebars with one hand and wrapping a tight fist around the metal of the truck’s side mirror.

This seems to be some sort of signal, because the rest of the group latches on like some choreographed play- hands, one from each kid, coming up to grip at any free space left on the truck, shoulders hunching forward as if preparing to be shot forth like a rubber band.

“Damn kids,” Eddie grumbles, but you can hear the fondness in his voice as he lifts his foot from the brake.

The truck lurches forward, and with it, the extra wheels; Goblin’s revved-up barking joins the excited chatter and whooping of the kids hanging on, a joyous cacophony of sound as you all head further down the empty street together.

Eddie picks up speed; there’s a twinge of fear as you watch the speedometer tick up to 10- and then he honks, once, and in perfect synchronicity all the kids let go. Some of them pedal furiously to keep up the momentum, others- like the girl on the skateboard- take advantage of the added speed to simply coast.

Soon enough, their cheerful waves and laughter recede into the distance along with the rest of the town as Eddie keeps his boot on the gas.

The heat in town was dizzying, so you’re relieved when the road dips and bends into the comfort of shade- courtesy of the wild forest flanking either side.

It’s about a ten minute drive to Munson Farms, and on the way, Eddie tells you all about it. You learn that his Uncle Wayne raised him, taught him how to work and live off the land- when Wayne retired and moved a few miles down the road, Eddie took over.

“Not really a lucrative venture, farming,” he says, trees passing in a blur as he navigates the road curves with ease. “But the end of summer Town Fair pays well, ‘specially for sheep penning demonstrations. Got a couple of dairy cows, chickens that won’t stop laying- between that ‘n Wayne’s orchards, we got more than enough to get us through the winter months.

And then there’s the hives-”

“Bees?” Unable to help the interruption, your head whips in his direction, interest piqued.

“Yup. Got about six hives right now in the southern pasture. Don’t know much about ‘em, truthfully- got a friend named Chrissy, comes once a week or so to make sure they stay maintained. I mostly just help come harvesting time, and try to stay out of her way for the rest.”

There are about a thousand other questions you want to ask- what kind of bees? Are they near your garden plot to promote pollination? Any bears in the area?- but you tamp down your excitement, settling on a neutral, “Cool,” before looking out the window again.

The sign for Munson Farms is handmade, too, but upkept much better than the one in town- it swings gently in the breeze on metal links as Eddie turns down the adjoining dirt road. About a quarter mile in, you start to see signs of life- fence lines running through the trees and the shush of a nearby water source- and then, a house.

It’s small, probably no more than a bed, bath, and kitchen inside. There’s a red brick chimney separating the straight lines of the blue-painted wood planks, ivy crawling up one side to frame the eastern-facing window.

On the covered porch, a big, long-haired white dog lifts its head at the sound of the truck pulling in. Goblin gives a greeting bark, practically tripping over his oversized paws to launch out of the truck even as Eddie gripes at him to “Be careful, dammit!”

As you follow Eddie out of the truck and to the porch, the white dog shambles over on a stiff back leg, ignoring the playful jumping and licking Goblin gives in favor of coming up to sniff you.

“This is Rosie,” Eddie says, patting her greying muzzle with a gentleness that twists something in your stomach. “She’s near older than me, was a great livestock guardian ‘til her age caught up. Been trying to train up Goblin to take her place but between you ‘n me I think his head might be full of rocks.”

As if he’s aware of the insult, Goblin gives an indignant yip and paws at Eddie’s knee; he gets laughed off by the two of you, zipping away with a deep sense of importance into the nearby forest while Rosie shambles back to her cozy porch spot.

It smells incredible, here, surrounded by so many trees- you take a deep breath, inhaling the rich pines, the verdant underbrush. Just past the house, there’s a fenced-in area with various plants spilling out of raised garden beds. You can almost smell the summer strawberries and crisp veggies.

On the other side of the fence is a plastic-sheeted greenhouse, LED lights inside making the whole thing glow artificial purple. Eddie catches you staring, then gives a wink, laying one long finger to the side of his nose. “Don’t go tellin’ the Sheriff on me and I’ll give you a joint for your troubles.”

“Deal.” Wasn’t a hard sell at all- at the rate this is going, you’re dying to get high with this man.

Eddie grabs your pack out of the truck bed and leads you across the dirt road, pointing out the fence lines in the distance, and a barn that you can just make out through a gap in the trees.

“Sheep, cows, horses, all that way. This way-” his hand rests between your shoulder blades, steering you towards a boot-worn path, “-is the guest shack. Beehives’ll be just down the hill from where you’re stayin’.”

He pauses, looking back over his shoulder at you- “I’ll take you to see ‘em tomorrow. Promise. I just don’t want you goin’ by yourself and getting stung to death, y’hear?”

Not for the first time today, you wish, desperately, to tell him things you shouldn’t. I was actually an apprentice beekeeper for a year, I know my way around a hive. Studied entomology and agriculture in college before I lost myself in the worst mistake of my life. You know that pesky little J I’ve got on my wrist…?

But if you start talking, you won’t stop. And besides, you’re not planning to stay here long enough for your secrets to matter.

So instead, you press your lips into a line, looking solemn, nodding in agreement until he’s satisfied and continues on.

The dirt path leads right to the shack, and Eddie opens the door to let you in. It’s about the size of a studio apartment- wood stove and sink next to the bathroom door, twin bed draped with a thick quilt budged up under the single window. Small, but homey and clean.

As you take it in, spinning in a slow circle, Eddie sets your duffel next to the bed and runs a hand over the top of his head, haloed frizz of his hair springing back into place. “Ain’t much, I know- usually just host the town rascals; they bring their sleeping bags and fight over who gets the mattress. But the sheets are washed, and-”

“Eddie.” You stop his rambling with a hand to his arm. “Seriously, it’s great. Better than great. I was probably gonna end up sleeping on the streets tonight, and you saved me from that. So… thank you. I mean it.”

The vulnerability in your own voice catches you off guard, but you decide to lean in to it. Eddie’s been nice for no reason- or, rather, because he seems to be a kind person- and you want to make sure he hears how grateful you are for a place to stay.

He’s staring down at your hand on his bare arm, eyes clouded with something you can’t parse out; you draw your hand back, which prompts him to speak- “Shit, darlin’. It’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You can stay as long as you like.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insist, arms crossing over your chest, rocking back on your heels. There’s a sudden swell of panic rising like bile in your throat; this morning, you were hell-bent on leaving, and now, you think it’ll kill you not to stay.

“Listen-” Eddie’s eyes snap up at the urgency in your voice, but you manage to push through- “I know I didn’t tell you much, about where I came from, or what I did to end up…”

On my own. The words stick in your throat, tears pricking threateningly at the corners of your vision. “...out here. But I grew up on a farm. I’m used to working livestock, riding horses- I can be helpful. Can earn my keep over the weekend, at least, doing whatever you need-”

Eddie interrupts with a shake of his head, your stomach plummeting until he says, “Got enough farmhands as it is, honey. Don’t need you getting your pretty hands dirty.”

“There has to be something. I can’t cook worth a damn, but I can clean-”

“Hey.” Eddie’s tone of voice slips into a low, soothing register, like you’re a spooked animal caught in a trap. He steps closer, and when you don’t flinch, he settles his big hands on the tops of your shoulders. “Shh. It’s okay. Like I said earlier- I’m not expecting nothin’ from you. Okay?”

There’s gotta be some sort of magical effect happening, an old Celtic carving under the floorboards, maybe a witch's spell braided in with the dried herbs hanging on the far wall. You’ve never felt so looked at before, like you’ve swam beyond your depth and Eddie’s hands are a life raft.

His eyes flit around your face, taking in the expressions you’re surely flickering through before he says, quietly- “If you want, how ‘bout you stay ‘til the end of summer. Help out where you can, and come Fair time, I’ll deal you in on the profits.”

You open your mouth to argue, and smooth as butter, his right hand slips up your shoulder, tattooed fingers wrapping firm around the back of your neck, thumb tapping the pulse point under your jaw, insistent- “This way, you’ll have cash enough in your pocket to go anywhere you want. It’s a good deal and you damn well better take it.”

You wonder if he can feel the jackrabbit pulse of your heartbeat under his thumb. When you nod, he gives a dimpled smile, satisfied. “Good. Now I’ll let you settle in and get washed up for supper. Come on over to the main house when you’re ready.”

Before the door shuts behind him, Eddie adds, “And don’t get too excited. I ain’t much of a cook, neither.”

After his footsteps have retreated down the path, you collapse onto the mattress, springs squeaking. You flip to stare up at the ceiling, running your fingertips over the ghost of his touch branded against your neck, almost nauseous from elation.

A whole summer. On Eddie’s farm. With Eddie.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, you get up to unpack your duffel, then fold your meager clothes supply neatly into the top drawer of an old oak dresser in the corner, still room enough for your canteen.

The last thing in your bag is a twine-wrapped leather pouch. Your butterfly knife makes quick work of the knots, and then, the last of your most precious things in the world are laid out on the bed.

A certificate of completion from Indiana U’s Beekeeping Department, folded and creased but still valid, signed by your last field mentor.

A driver’s license with your old address, square photo of a younger and more hopeful you smiling back.

And lastly, an engagement ring. Gold, with a teardrop-shaped diamond center and sparkling accent stones trailing up either side of the band.

It twinkles when you hold it up to the evening sunbeam streaming through the window; reflective pinpricks of light scatter and dance across the quilt.

In quick succession, you slide everything back into the pouch, securing it with the drawstring before burying it inside the hidden pocket of your bag.

Then, you shove the duffel under the bed until it hits the wall, and turn away to wash up for dinner.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #cowboy!eddie #cowboy!eddie x honey!reader #cowboy!eddie x reader

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yaut-jaknowit · 6 months ago

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Think of this yeah, Predators and the PURGE. The one time of the year where everyone is trying to kill one another. It'll be like a birthday party for them.

They encounter reader who is running away from a group who infiltrated her house. They kill her agressors allowing her a chance to escape.

Reader, thankful for the predators intervention saves it when it is heavily injured later on that night and helps it hide from the authorities when dawn breaks.

The Purge

Pairing: Dai'stbaen (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Warnings: Kinda gory?, decapitation, blood

Word Count: 3928

Summary: Every year, on the same day, chaos is allowed to break loose. This year, you are caught up in trouble you didn't think would happen. Let alone what you find participating in this year's hunt. No would believe.

Author Note: I love this! It's such a classic idea. They really should make a crossover movie or at least a book about this. Reminds me of Predator 2 with City Hunter in the city.

Masterlist

Ao3

Everyone knew this day was coming. A day that brought upon extreme emotions from the pit of their stomachs. Including yourself. Someone who didn’t want to be caught up into the chaos of people dying and the riots. You decided to barricade yourself in your house, armed with a few weapons. Anything to help you to survive till the next day.

When the message began to scream through the T.V about todays events, you find yourself locked away in your room. You are armed to the teeth with knives, a few guns, bats, and other weapons. Whatever you could get your hands on, you collected it. Today is not the day you die.

After the T.V went silent, you held your breath and waited for the first sign of death to pierce the tense air. You jumped at the first shot with the setting sun. This wasn’t the first purge, nor the second you’ve endured. To this day, you count your lucky stars you’ve managed to survive through each of those. Today is no different. You will survive.

Gun fire was sharp in the air outside of your house. Neighbors getting rid of disputes in the harshest of ways. Those who are dark inside of their soul, taking their anger out on anyone who dared to step foot out of the safety of their house. Not you. Yes, you had some pent up anger over life but to possibly loose your life to another, you wouldn’t chance it.

The front door groaned when a massive weight was thrown against it. Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, heartbeat beginning to quicken. This couldn’t be happening.

Your blood ran cold when another bang echoed through the hallway. Who… why? Your mind races to think who would come after you. Who have you screwed over enough to have them come kill you? Not someone you didn’t want to meet but the choice wasn’t yours to make anymore.

On the third slam, the wooden door frame gave way. The door crashed into the wall and most likely left a knob sized hole behind. You flinched and clutched your pistol tightly while watching the bedroom door. Only a simple lock stopped anyone from waltzing in. With the way this person barreled your front door down with only three tries, means this will be nothing.

One of the known creaky floorboards let you know they were entering the hallway. Of course, your bedroom was the first door down this narrow hallway. Both doors to each bedroom may be closed but…

Wood splintered from the door frame. You yelped, hands coming up to take aim. Blood splattered over the floor with an ear splintering shot. Your gun cold. The attacker fell down to his knees then dropped face first into his own blood. The body of one of your neighbors laid dead in the doorway. Your jaw slumped at the very sight in your own home.

A dark figure stepped up behind the down body. An imposing frame that squeezed its way into the hallway. You could only watch the shadow form lean down and grasp the skull of your dead neighbor. A sickening sound filled the air. Bone ripped straight out of the flesh it was once encased with.

Surviving two of these purges, you’ve seen a fair share of gore and gruesome images… but this takes the cake.

Blood forever staining your carpet as this beast clipped the skull and spine to its belt. Frozen like a prey in headlights, you watched it pick up its head and gaze directly at you.

Instantly, you felt like prey in the face of a predator. You were next. But, your hand refused to squeeze the trigger. To do anything to defend yourself in the face of death. The barrel of the gun itself shook far too much to even make a clean shot on the attacker.

Its eyes glowed a deadly red before the shadow itself was gone. A few moments passed before you stumbled back against your bed and gripped at your head.

Nothing made sense. That was no human. Nothing in mankind could rip the skull cleanly out of another mans body like that did. You shuttered and heaved with each breath, attempting to suck out all the air in the room. That still wasn’t enough.

Once the thundering in your ears finally quieted, you took a lungful of air in then slowly breathed it out. You peeked down at the lifeless body of your neighbor again and cringed deeply at the sight. Copper was heavy in the air. You gnawed on your bottom lip and mauled over all of your thoughts.

The only place that resembled safety had been broken into and marred. Now, with the front door wide open and little to block anyone from just pushing it back open, you were faced with a hard decision. Either leave the comfort of your home and wander through the darkness of the night or stay as a sitting duck. If your neighbor who had to be mad you forgot to mow your grass one time was angry enough to attempt murder, there’s no telling who else could be coming for you.

Plus… that shadow figure. Who knows if it will come back to finish the job. You didn’t want to be here to find out.

With one last glance down at Richard, you stepped over his cooling body and headed towards the door. A rifle was strapped to your back; a pistol attached to your hand; multiple knives in various areas. All different kinds of weapons. You were prepared for whatever the night entailed.

Darkness clouded the streets. Even the light from the lamp posts struggle to fight off the consuming, inky blackness that had fell upon the world. You stayed off the streets, off the sidewalks and took backways through your neighborhood. The last thing you wanted was for someone to see you stalking through the night.

Every new sharp sound piercing the tense air soon dulled your anxiety. You jumped less and less until it no longer fazed you. All it was just another sound in the night, another thing that goes bump in the night. You steeled your gaze to peer around a corner.

At the far end of the street, you spotted a group of people marching their way down. You cursed lowly, under your breath. These were the type of people who craved these twelve hours of mauling. They were heavily prepared to destroy anything in their path. Including you if they spotted you.

You instantly ducked back behind the fence and shuffled after. In your state of panic, your foot caught the edge of some pipes randomly lying there. A yelp escaped. You fell face first into the ground.

The old, brittle PVC pipe instantly shattered from underneath your weight. Many shards piercing your skin. You shouted in pain and rolled off to the side, wiggling around on the ground. The realization of the situation that just fell into your lap struck you hard. You scrambled back to your feet and made a dash for it as you heard a taunting voice call through the night.

“We got another one boys!” Terror hit you deep in the stomach. Goosebumps crawled across your skin. You made a mad dash for an escape. Blood dripped down from your flesh. The white shards of PVC stained with same liquid. You grunted and kept sprinting as fast as your legs could take you.

A tiny thought in the back of mind was almost wishful for that creature’s help this time. Richard could’ve been an easier time to defend against then a group of at least ten chasing you.

Their stomps of feet echoing throughout your small neighborhood. It nearly overpowered the thundering of your heart in your ears. You panted and kept up the same speed until your legs cried for rest. They forced you to find shelter behind a nearby shed.

Plants and shrubbery easily hid you from sight. The dark of the night perfect camouflage from the attackers. You forced your breathing to slow down which in turn made you lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. But a little loss on brain cells is far better than the loss of your life.

“I saw them go this way,” a booming voice called to the group. Far too close for comfort. You tensed up, on the verge of holding your breath but forced yourself not to. It was too dark in this area to fully see the figures that were surely marching their way to your death.

Despite the multitude of weapons adorning your frame, there wasn’t a chance you could stand against them. One or two? Possible. Anymore than that and your chances begin to heavily dwindle. Hiding is the best possible chance you had in this terrifying moment. You stayed crouched down even though your skin burned with each move of your chest. The shards making it hard to breath without making shocking its way through your system.

The group stalked closer to your hiding spot. In the most tense moment of your life, feeling worse than prey, you felt the sudden piercing gaze of someone. Instantly, you knew your cover had been blown.

Before you could spring to life to make another escape or go down in a blaze of flying bullets, lightning shot through the air. It struck a dark figure close to your hiding spot. The light just bright enough to reveal a dark figure perched on top of a roof.

All of the people who followed you shouted and began to fire off rounds of ammo. You covered your ears after the first few pops. You were in no condition to make another sprint for it. The group was distracted by… whatever had attacked them. Possibly, they would lose interest in you and go after this offender. Then, you could limp your way home after this horrible adventure outdoors. This is why you stayed home during the purge. Nothing good came from leaving the safety of your house.

A sharp whistle then a dull ‘thunk’ had you jumping in your hiding spot. A shrill scream died out with wet gargling. For the second time that night, you watched someone die right before you. You covered your mouth so no sounds to escape and alert anyone to your presence.

More gun fire ensued less than a moment after the first death. But, you knew it wouldn’t stop there.

Their direction changed to another rooftop, away from you. You glanced at the opening before your very eyes but knew it wasn’t the time. Not with the way your legs shook just barely holding some of your weight. Nor the way your body trembled with the aftershocks of a heavy adrenaline dump unfortunately wearing off.

Through the leaves of the small hideout spot, you observed in anticipation. The darkness of the night made it hard to truly see the gruesome scene unfold before your very eyes. Yet, the sounds… the sounds of dying people will forever haunt your nightmares till the day you died.

More arrows whistled through the air before hitting their mark head on. Each person dying with a terrifying screaming before their dying breath left them.

Whoever this was stragtic about the way they picked off the group members until who had to be their leader was left. He stood, knees knocking against one another, but he still held up his gun and waited for his time to come. Yet, the man wasn’t going to let this creature take him down.

A dull thump sounded to your right. With your hand still covering your mouth, the yelp that about escape was muffled. Light step waxed away from your trembling form. The form stalked towards its last prey. You watched as it pull a whip from its belt then gave a sharp crack of it.

The low light from both the moon and far away lamp posts light the metal. The whip straightened into a sword before your very eyes. Your jaw dropped to the floor. The figure expertly wielded the weapon with a cocky twirl then pointed it at the last person alive from the ground.

Said person about faced at the crack with his own weapon aimed directly at the dark figure. More shots heated the barrel of his pistol. The shadow used both their speed and sword to either block or dodge each attempt. Then, the man was out of bullets.

When he reached to reload his gun with a new magazine, the shadow was sudden in front of him. A dark hand engulfed his throat and lifted him easily off of the ground. Something low was grumbled into the air, too deep for you to understand. Then, the man was thrown onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. You were thankful whatever this thing was decided to spare you. At least for the moment.

The beast itself tossed its sword off to the side then thump a fist against its chest. A deep bellow vibrated the very air around you and caused goosebumps to run up your arms. Both of its arms were spread. A challenge. No matter who or what looked at this scene, the dark figure was issuing a challenge.

This was man was dead. You saw the way this creature had to squeeze into your hallway, even ducking down not to bang its head on your ceiling. He was going to die in even a more brutal way than his fellow companions.

“So, that’s how its going to be, huh?” the man grunted and readied his fists. “Wanna go hand to hand? Man to man? We can do that.” He cracked his neck and punched the air, warming up. “Let’s fight.”

With a car cry, he lunged forward with a mean hit. In a blink of an eye, his hand was caught mid-swing then tossed to the side. You gnawed on your bottom lip while keeping a palm there to contain any noises.

The two of them begin to circle one another. Each step carefully placed while they sized the other up. The man’s chances were slim by the hulking form. He rushed forward again with another fist aimed for the stomach. Yet, his hit never made contact. His fist was blocked. Instead, he felt the burning sensation of his skin being spilt.

Clothing ripped. A cry rolled off of the man’s tongue. He started rapid punches towards the shadow who only grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps. Each step, the man followed then smashed his foot into the side of his attacker’s knee. You heard a pop then a snarl pierce the tension.

Without much sight, you could feel the seething rolling off of the shadow in waves. Even it made you want to turn tail and run like the prey you are. But that would reveal you to the both of them. Whoever won in the end would be far too tired to come after you. The perfect chance to make a run for it and never look back.

As the towering figure returned to its full height, the man stumbled back and had to understand his mistake in the situation. “Shit,” he mumbled into the air. Well, he sure did.

In flurry of shadows and consuming darkness, you could barely keep up with the beast. It launched itself forward with great sped that your mind didn’t register that it had moved. Fury of swipes and punches sent the man flying backwards and slamming into a tree with a sickening crack. He cried out and writhed on the ground.

It’s shoulders heaved then it began to march towards the man’s doom. The way it stepped, careless but wanted to show off its prowess. Both man and beast knew who had won and who had lost. It was time to reap the rewards of its downed prey.

While in the midst of its fury, its sight was directly zoned in on the prey downed by its hand.

Creaking of metal croaked through the air before snapping shut. You gasped loudly which was drowned out by the roar of pain sounding from the shadow. It collapsed to its bad knee with another snarl of agony and stayed there, chest heaving. The bottom of your lip had started to bleed at this point.

The glint of metal through the darkness caught your eye. The once writhing man had collected himself enough to point the barrel of his gun directly at his attacker. His aim trembled as he struggled to straighten it to ensure the bullet met its target.

Your eyes darted between the injured shadow and the man ready to take back the night. The rifle on your back was suddenly heavy. Now, you were faced with a difficult decision that felt like either side wasn’t great. But… the shadow hadn’t attacked you and practically saved you against Richard. No. You had an obligation to save it and could only pray it wouldn’t kill you afterwards. Not once you would reveal your position to it.

Cool, night air entered your lungs with a deep inhale. You quietly pulled the rifle from your back and took aim. Despite the darkness sitting heavy on the air, you find your mark quickly and looked down the sight. The barrel trembled and swayed as you took an extra second to gather your bearings. Before you could overthink the situation, you pulled down on the trigger.

The rifle jerked back into your shoulder safely. You looked over the sight to see the unmoving figure on the ground, lifeless. Your ears rung with the shattering blast.

It tensed at the shot, head snapping over in your direction. It was your turn to be under the scrutiny gaze of the predator. Your spot had been compromised. You shakily stood up and stepped out of from behind the bushes expertly hiding in. Both of your legs tremble from your earily sprint through the night. But, you ignored it and moved a few timid steps closer to the beast.

Both of you gazed at the other, trying to read any intentions. Good or bad. The shadow was the first to break the stare off to reach down. With large hands, it pried off what caught its foot. A bear trap. Not one you’ve ever seen before.

In the dark of the night, neon green blood poured its new wounds created by the trap. This only strengthened the thought this wasn’t a person. Not with its size or speed, let alone what it was wearing and now the glowing blood seeping from it. But… if it can defend and attack ten people by itself, it was best to friend it until dawn rose. With this thing back your side, your chances of survive tenfolded.

You situated your rifle onto your back again. “I’d consider ourselves even but I’m not one to leave someone to be injured,” you spoke softly into the night air, encase there were others close by. You slowly toed close to it. Predator or prey, an injury will make either more desperate and wild. “You can come with me to my house. It’s just around the corner. We can camp there until morning.”

All you could do in the moment was pray it would take up your offer and allow you to shelter it. Not completely to be nice but mostly for your survival. Plus, having a friend to sit with during a time like this wasn’t bad to endure.

Only a few feet separated you and the beast. Even with it on its injured knee, it was a hulking form. Barrel chest, muscles adorning every single inch of its body. No wonder it took out those people with little trouble.

It picked up its strangely shaped head. You heard something rubbery tapping against metal. With the darkness, it was hard to tell the finer details about your newfound companion. Again, you didn’t feel like judging it when it could help you in this situation.

With the bear trap off of its foot, it returned to its full height and towered over you. You gulped and tilted your head back to look up at it. The shadow moved forward directly into your space. It was the moment it chose to either kill you or join you. You waited with bated breath.

Despite the night, you saw the way it dipped itself. You perked up and felt the corners of your mouth perking up in a miniature smile. “Okay.” You nodded your head in rapid movement to hyper yourself up. “Alrighty, let’s go then. Are you able to walk by yourself?” Not that you could carry its weight or even hold it up if it couldn’t. But it was nice to ask anyhow.

All you received was a short growl. Okay then, that was your answer. You kept your trap shut and began to lead the beast towards your home.

When you arrived home shortly after defending the beast, you dragged Richards cold body out of the house and barricaded the door to the best of your ability. You showed the figure to your bathroom while keeping the lights off. Anything to not draw attention to your house. A light would do that. You did your best to wash your hands and face then peered at your injured self in the mirror. The shards of PVC still lodged into your skin.

A hand landed on your shoulder and scared the shit out of you. It took a lot of skill to prevent yourself from screaming out in fright. You glanced behind you at the figure having to slightly hunch over in your bathroom. It motioned towards the plastic in your chest and arms.

“Ah, yeah… I fell when I was trying to run away,” you mumbled and rubbed at a spot behind your neck. The creature seemed to pause for a moment and left you standing there. You shrugged it off then bent over to grab the first aid kit from the cabinet underneath the sink.

It lumbered over to the bathtub’s edge and sat down. You ignored it for the most part to begin working on your own wounds. You could only hope that none of these would get infected or else a hospital visit tomorrow was going to suck terribly.

With no light to guide your hand, it was hard to use the tweezers to grasp all the pieces in your skin. It got to a point where you slammed your hand down on the counter with a huff. You hung your head and took a deep breath in.

A grunt sounded from your right. You glanced over to find the shadow looking at you, its hand held out. “What?” you snapped at it then glanced down at the tweezers in your hand. “Oh, you want these? Fine, not like I’m good at using the-ack!” When you reached to drop the tool into its awaiting palm, it snatched your wrist and tugged you towards it. You were pushed onto the closed toilet seat, arm forced towards the creature.

All of this happened so quickly that you barely had time to register it starting to pluck the PVC from your skin. You blinked a few times to comprehend what was happening before letting it continue. And in return, you helped set its kneecap back into place and wrap its ankle up. What quite a pair the two of you are.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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sillyandquiteawkward · 2 months ago

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im trying to figure out some bits by the end of mouthwashing so walk with me. like, ok, so when jimmy gets the gun, he opens the door to swansea running at him with the axe.

theres a cut, and jimmys in the cockpit, swansea banging the door down. after grabbing the rope and the pipe to barricade the door, swansea breaks in to pop the lock to get inside. the inventory slot thats static and that he cant keep his hands still is probably the gun, so its probably after swansea first starts chasing him.

another cut, swanseas been tied up with the rope in utility, the gun in jimmys hand, ready to execute swansea. you have to shoot to trigger the graveyard scene, you shoot him three times, which triggers swansea's speech, which then ends with jimmy holding the gun out to swansea. dead swansea also has two bullet holes, one in his eye, and one in his forehead. it maybe seems jimmy shot swansea in the eye first? and then the final blow to his forehead? but also as strong as swansea is, i dont think most ppl can survive and give a speech with a bullet in their eye.

so maybe this scene is also out of order, and swanseas speech is the first thing they do, then jimmy shoots his eye (scene before the graveyard), and then his forehead (jimmy holds out the gun, shot not shown in the game).

but that Also makes me wonder where the third shot to swansea is from the graveyard. you have to shoot him three times. his shirt is too bloody to see if theres another bullet hole somewhere, so i wonder if theres another one. if anyone knows this is one mystery i havent been able to walk and talk thru this one bit.

anyway back to the timeline. so i wonder how he gets to the cockpit from medbay. in the cockpit scene it doesnt seem like he has any bullet wounds, and jimmy doesnt seem man enough to shoot anyone yet (yet), since in the cockpit scene, he cant use the gun bc his hands are shaking too much. i understand it might be easier for jimmy to like, pistol whip swansea to knock him out while hes sticking his hand thru the door to grab the lock, his axe hand stuck on the other side of the door. but the medbay attack seems such a cornered moment.

i wonder if jimmy jumped into the vent after reclosing and locking the medbay door, which is why we get so many vent hallucination scenes (and maybe its not metaphorical when swanseas axe flies into the wall right behind him.). the door to utility is right next to the cockpit door, so that would be easy enough to get into the cockpit before swansea catches on. of course the locks that anya thought would mean safety to her ended up being safety for jimmy. uhguhgugh.

and how ironic that daisuke dies bc jimmy wont go into the vent, and when jimmy does, he avoids the dangerous section that mortally wounded daisuke. jimmy you shouldve been the first to get in the vent. boy.

anyway thank you i have worked thru some of my thoughts about these scenes i hope yall got stuff out of it.

#mouthwashing spoilers

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floralcyanide · 1 year ago

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˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

― day thirteen ⛧ gun kink

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Tommy uses his favorite gun on you.

warnings: smut, gun kink, mentions/ descriptions of a gun, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, nipple play (at the end)

word count: 713

author's note: it's the way I didn't edit the last part and didn't edit this one lol yolo just wanna get them posted ((: I appreciate feedback and I hope you all enjoy!!

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Right now, all you know is that you’re incredibly full. And it feels so wrong yet so right. The coolness of metal rests upon your warm tongue as you lick around the barrel of the gun in your mouth. Tommy was secretly loving this way more than he should. There are no bullets inside, and the safety is on, of course, but the sight of you and your pretty mouth around his favorite gun is doing something to him. Tommy has you on your hands and knees on the bed as he fucks your mouth with the gun, his cock growing harder every time the barrel disappears between your lips. As much as Tommy would like to watch you lose yourself while sucking off his weapon, he climbs behind you, moving the gun out of your mouth and to your temple. You’re already naked and spread open for him, giving him a beautiful view of your soaking cunt. Tommy pumps his length a few times as you curve your spine for him, lifting your ass further into the air. He grabs your hip with his free hand, pressing his tip to your wet entrance, sliding it up and down to gather your arousal before pushing in slowly. Spreading your asscheeks to get a better look, Tommy admires how his cock slides into your pussy so perfectly. It’s like you were made for him and him only. The gun is still against your temple as Tommy sheaths himself fully inside you.

“Love my gun pressed to your head, huh?” Tommy leans in your ear, nibbling at the skin there, “Wan’ me to fuck ye with a fuckin pistol to your skull?”

“Yes sir,” you purr, pushing your ass flush against his pelvis.

Tommy groans before removing himself from you, much to your disappointment. But then he slams back into you, causing you to lurch forward as you feel him buried in your stomach. Tommy slides the tip of the gun to the back of your head as he yanks a fistful of hair back, making your face turn upward to his.

“Such a good girl for me,” Tommy pants as he gains a steady pace as he fucks you, the gun almost painfully shoving into your head as he speeds up.

“Uh-huh,” you moan, the curve of his cock rubbing inside you deliciously, “Just like that, Tommy.”

“Just like that?” Tommy starts to quickly slam into your squelching cunt, your arousal seeping out around him as he watches with delight, “My big cock feel good in that cunt of yours?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimper as he hits a particularly soft spot inside you, “Feels s’ good.”

Tommy grunts as he fucks you as hard as he can, aiming the gun at the base of your skull. He groans and mumbles about how good your pussy is and how perfect it is for him, ushering your stomach to curl into a warm ball. Tommy tosses the gun to the end of the bed and begins to swipe his fingers over your clit, his other hand still pressing bruises into the flesh of your hips.

“Cum for me, darling,” Tommy says, his fingertips adding slight pressure to your bundle of nerves as he rubs it into tight circles, “‘Wanna feel that sweet pussy clench around my cock.”

With one particular flick of your clit, your orgasm washes over you, the intense feeling causing you to convulse around Tommy’s length as he continues to thrust inside you. The sensation of you pulsating around him makes him cum next, filling you to the brim with his warm release. Pulling out of you, Tommy slaps your cunt, causing you to yelp. He chuckles as he climbs to the top of the bed, admiring your puffy and used pussy that was still spread open. He lays down and licks his lips as he watches it clench around nothing. You finally catch your breath and crawl over to Tommy, curling up beside him. He massages your breasts as he often does, enjoying how you shiver as he pinches your sensitive nipples.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Tommy whispers, “You make me feral, I tell you.”

You shake your head, removing his hands from your breasts as the stimulation becomes too much.

“I can tell.”

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