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andypantsx3 · 1 month ago

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DEVIL IN THE DARK : TODOROKI TOUYA x READER

SUMMARY: There is no price you will not pay for revenge—and a demon comes to collect. NOTES: First Prince of Hell Touya, gender neutral Reader, revenge, blood, slight body horror, SFW, 1.9k. I did not actually plan a proper Halloween fic this year so here you go!

It's cold on the crossroads, an icy wind whipping along the pavement, rustling in the trees. It sounds like hundreds of whispers in the dark, though you know the stretch of road around you is empty for miles.

That's the only way to summon the demon you're looking for—the only way they say he will answer. He is too clever to appear where he may be at a disadvantage.

Against one lone human, demon hunter though you may be, he stands every chance. Against you in particular, he fares even better. You are not the strongest in the League, were never the best in your class at the academy. You were more a strategist than a warrior, better with a pen than your regulation silver knife.

Your only certain way out is if the demon you're looking for chooses not to appear—or if his interest is adequately piqued by the deal you're offering. You do not know enough to be certain his attention will be assured.

Despite yourself, you take a breath and scratch his sigil in the dirt at the side of the road. It had taken you years to find, hidden by the Council after losing too many hunters eager to prove themselves against this specific demon.

But you are out for a very particular revenge. You would have searched your whole life if that is what it would have taken.

Nothing happens at first, as the final stroke of his sigil settles into the dirt. You wonder if he's chosen not to come.

But then, slowly, the wind dies down. The rustle of the trees grows softer, then still. The scant slivers of moonlight pool strangely in the road, like liquid silver dripping along the grooves of pavement. The wind trails off into a breeze, then the softest, sweetest hint of feeling, like the touch of a breath at your shoulder.

—A breath at your shoulder.

You jump, reeling sideways at the exhale across your skin. You barely choke down a scream when you catch sight of the man waiting behind you.

He's taller than you expected, long and lean. His looks are also surprisingly human, save for the twisting horns curling out of the inky black of his hair, and the patchwork of purpling burns over his skin, left by a magic you don't even want to contemplate.

He's shockingly handsome, though, under the burns, his features perfect, careful, delicate—almost angelic. His mouth is a soft, sensuous curl, at odds with the hard, exacting blue of his gaze. He is watching you like a cat tracking a bug skittering across the floor, and every particle in your body screams with the desire to flee.

You plant your feet firmly in the dirt instead, trying to steel your nerves. But the First Prince of Hell's mouth lifts, a derisive twist of amusement.

"Your kind might be fooled," he says, his voice a low drawl. "But I can hear your heartbeat, human."

As if on cue, you can feel your heartbeat stutter and skip. But still you still your shaking fingers against your thigh. This is what you have worked for; you have come with a plan.

"Prince Touya," you acknowledge him, willing yourself to sound calm. "I am here to make a deal."

A sardonic eyebrow lifts as his eyes flick meaningfully to the knife at your hip, then back up to your face. "A hunter looking to bargain with a demon?"

You force yourself to look into the burning cerulean of his eyes, twin points of eerie blue in the dim. "Yes."

Touya does not look even mildly interested. "Let me guess, you want me to hold still while you stab."

You certainly do, and Touya smirks when your expression gives you away. But there is one thing you want more than to prove your worth upon a demon prince. One thing you are certain you can only get from him.

"I want you to lure your father out," you grit your teeth, spitting the words out quickly before you lose your nerve.

Prince Touya visibly pauses, expression icing over. The shadows around you seem to deepen, and a cloud draws across the moon, casting you into an even deeper dark. A shiver crawls down your spine.

"My father," he spits out, his tone blacker than the night.

You force yourself to nod. All the legends say there is no love lost between the First Prince and the King of Hell, detailing their many clashes across the eons, and the destruction that followed in their wake. You only hope that they have not found it within themselves to make amends in the five hundred or so years since the most recent accounts were written.

"And what would a little nothing demon hunter do with the King of Hell?" Prince Touya demands, taking a step closer. He moves sinuously, like a curl of mist. "Your blade bears not even a drop of demon's blood—I can smell it."

It is true, you have never killed a demon. "It would not be me. I need you to lure him into the League's trap. And there will be others, many hunters equal to the task."

Prince Touya studies you for a long moment, those eyes glimmering in the dark. "The League's gotten more underhanded since I encountered you last. And what would I get out of this deal?"

"The throne of Hell," you say. "The death of your enemy."

Touya steps closer, near enough that you can feel the heat of him, smell the magic of Hell on him. He smells heady and dark, rich like cinnamon and smoke. His proximity makes your blood race.

"And this trap that's going spring closed will exclude me, will it?" he asks. There's a little rasp on the edge of his voice, you notice.

It wouldn't, and you had hoped the prince would not think to ask it. But he has not survived millennia being stupid.

Your non-answer is enough for him, and he snorts as he walks a wide circle around you. In the silence of the night you can clearly hear the crunch of his boots in the dirt. You stand stock-still and pretend you are not unnerved by his attention, by the way he paces with the slow, unhurried gait of a predator.

"This trap of yours," he says finally, "Who's devised it?"

You feel him pass behind your back. "I did."

"You who have never killed a demon," he says drily.

You try to quell your temper, knowing you would not survive it were you to raise his. "Not directly."

Prince Touya's grin is a wicked thing as he stops in front of you, catching your eye. It is a touch too wide, a touch too pleased. His teeth are too white, canines too sharp.

"I thought hunters were supposed to be honorable," he says, tone gloating.

Many things were supposed to be that weren't. Your family was supposed to be alive, for one. But the King of Hell had seen to that, and now nothing was as it should have been.

"I thought demons were supposed to crave deals," you reply. A non answer.

Touya circles behind you again, passing close enough that your skin prickles.

"I want something else," he says finally, clearly enjoying the way it makes you stiffen. "The death of my father is something I can do myself. I'll need more if I'm to change my mind."

"What else do you want?" you ask.

Prince Touya stops in front of you again, too close for comfort. He is warm, too warm. His handsome face twists in another grin.

"A blood oath," he says, leaning down to catch your gaze.

A streak of fear tears down your gut. A blood oath would bind you to him, something he could easily leverage to escape what you had planned. It would ensure you could never raise a hand against him, would be compelled to obey him were he to come calling.

And demons always, always came calling.

Good sense told you to refuse, but of course good sense had told you never to come here in the first place. The First Prince's demise was a hoped-for bonus, but the King of Hell was who you were really after. You had all but already made up your mind.

In the end, there is only one choice to be made.

"Fine," you accept, letting a slow breath out. Your hand falls to your belt for your silver knife, unstrapping it and drawing it across your palm before you can talk yourself out of it.

Touya's eyes track the well of blood, glinting, a twinge of delight passing across his beautiful features. He raises a black claw and pricks his own palm open, pressing his hand to yours, fingers closing over you.

You nearly startle out of your skin at the feeling of those long fingers on your skin, the careful rasp of his claws over your wrist. His hold on you helps steady you when you realize his blood is not pooling the same way as yours—it’s moving, sliding as if of its own volition into the cut on your palm, seeping inside you as your own continues to pour out.

You have to close your eyes to keep from feeling sick.

There's a sweep of heat through your veins as he settles deeper into your bloodstream, warming you like a shot of whiskey. It settles into something almost pleasant, then disappears, as if growing dormant within you. And then it’s over.

And then it’s done.

Your eyes blink back open when you feel Touya’s hand shift yours in his grip, and then he raises your hand to his mouth, licking across your palm. It’s another shock of warmth, his mouth surprisingly soft, gentle against your injury. His long eyelashes flutter shut as he tastes you, and it's all you can do to hold still again, not to curl away in disgust or embarrassment—or anything else.

Touya's eyes glow brighter when he raises them to your face again, and a pleased smile curls his mouth.

"Just as sweet as you look," he purrs, and you prickle. But disturbingly, he genuinely seems to mean it, tongue passing across his bottom lip to sweep up more of the taste of you.

Something unsettled churns in your gut.

You wonder if you haven’t gotten yourself into something deeper than you’d understood.

But Touya is already moving, pressing a wry kiss to your palm in a horrible mockery of intimacy. Then he steps away, leaving you feeling strangely cold.

"A pleasure doing business with you, little hunter," he tells you, as a scant breeze begins to pick up at your feet again. A few leaves skitter across the pavement, almost deafening against the prior silence.

The first glimmer of moonlight almost blinds you as the clouds move again, the wind starting back up. The dim pools and gathers around Prince Touya as he melds back into the dark, stepping back as if into a patch of shadow.

"I'll be seeing you very soon," he promises, his voice growing soft and low.

You don’t doubt it, and another shiver creeps down your spine. But it’s too late to go back now, and Touya knows it too.

The last thing you see before he disappears is that white smile in the dark—before you're left alone with the weight of the decision you've just made. And the cost of your revenge.

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya x reader #todoroki toya x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #bnha x reader

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meowpupp · 9 months ago

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I can’t stop thinking about pup-soap getting muzzled for his play date with puppy-girl reader because he was to rough with her last time :(( he would be so whiny and sad but at this point he’d be lucky to be let off his leash

GAGGED

price who's so mean to johnny. he can't stand how teary you are after each session with the hybrid, poor body covered in dark hickies and bites. after all, you're his. even gaz isn't allowed to mark the soft fat of your body, so why would johnny?

so the next time johnny comes over, he's muzzled. a large, steel cage securely fastened to his face, jutting out almost two inches. he cant even kiss you! poor boy whining clawing at your plush body, desperate to have you close. his ears are all droopy, pouting as he tries to nuzzle your neck.

even when he's deep inside your little cunt, he's barely given any freedom. two of simon's thick fingers looping under his collar, ready to pull him away from you at a moment's notice.

the cold metal of johnny's muzzle nudges against your cheek, desperate to get close, arms wrapping around you, pulling your body as close as possible, lifting your hips to meet his. he's lost in your sweet cunt, body shuddering at the feeling of your walls hugging him. his hips slam against yours, claws digging into the fat of your hips, denying you even an inch of space.

his eyes are trained on your tits, watching them bounce with each harsh thrust. the poor pup is practically salivating, teeth gritting as he presses the muzzle against your sternum. he's almost tearing up, so desperate to be able to sink his teeth into your soft body, drooling against you.

but simon and price are so mean, the moment you finish cumming on his cock, simon yanks him back. his owner shushes him, his hand wrapping around johnny's cock, grip too tight and fast. his cock throbs, twitching as he cums all over your pudgy tummy, almost crying as he's denied your sweet little cunt, again.

#its so yummy #poor johnny goes through it HAHAHA #dw he'll get mercy soon #but image his jealousy when he sees all the marks gaz left on you :(#ARGH I LOVE THEM ALL #simons so fuckin mean to him though #price x chubby!puppygirl #puppygirl x goap #pupjohnny x pupreader #pupsoap x pupreader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny x reader smut #johnny x reader #johnny mctavish x reader smut #johnny mctavish x reader #soap x reader smut #soap x reader

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last-starry-sky · 7 months ago

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Simon constantly teases you about how short/small you are. It upsets you, makes you feel singled out, weak, incompetent. Turns out he’s just dying to know how well you can fit him, how big his cock would look next to your hands and feet. Won’t shut up about it during sex either. A dash of mean Simon + his untapped size kink

eeeeee im gonnafuckining explode OKAY FOR REAL I WAS DYING WHEN I SAW THIS. thank u, beautiful, patient anon, for blessing me with this prompt!! I hope I did it justice!

ghost x petite!f!military!reader

(MDNI - NSFW uhhhh grossly inaccurate military stuff, creeper, bully simon :), i’m using “petite” as in “shorter and smaller than the average woman” trying to keep everything as open and vague as possible, oral, deep throating, ghost has a raging size kink, unprotected piv, also this is LONG (5.6k) 💀 i'm sorry!!! skip to the end for smut if that's all you want!❤️)

It’s been the same fucking comments from your lieutenant all week. Day in, day out and it’s starting to wear a sore spot into your hardened skin.

“Muzzle up. Arms tired already? ‘s a big rifle for someone your size to carry.”

“Keep pace with the group. Your short legs aren’t their problem.”

“Shoulders back! Chest out! Some’ve y’ need all the height you can get!”

All you can do is grit out a “yes, sir” or “no, sir” and push yourself even harder to keep up with the taller and stronger men and women around you. The massive Brit in charge is running your training group. While you expected this to be hard (your CO hadn’t been mincing words when he pitched it as “advanced”) but you never expected this.

First of all, from the very beginning, he seemed to have a problem with you. Only you. There were a handful of women in the group, but you were unfortunately the shortest and smallest. Not that it bothered you. You’d spent your whole life this size. You were used to it. It was everyone else, especially the wanna-be, alpha males that flocked to the military like flies, that gave you grief over it.

The second you all lined up off the transport, you could feel his eyes on you. You tried not to stare back while the other Brit, Captain Price, gave a short introductory talk. You hadn’t heard a word of it. He stood there, flanking the captain, in a black, skin tight t shirt, with his obscenely muscled arms crossed over his ridiculously broad chest. A buzzing filled your ears as his black eyes bored into you. His stare so hot and heavy it made you sweat. His eyes were all of his face that he left uncovered, the rest was hidden by a skull mask and balaclava. You tried to ignore him, but you swore you saw the ink on his arm flexing as the captain introduced him: Lt. Ghost.

From the first training exercise, a simple one on one spar, he pulled you of all people from the women’s group to demonstrate on. What could you do? Refuse? He had at least a foot and close to one hundred pounds of muscle on you. You tried not to shake as you squared up at the opposite end of the mat.

He told you to rush him, to “show him what you got”. Well, you tried. Once he gave signal to start, all you could do was try to fake him out. You ran at him before quickly darting to the side, trying to get behind him using your short stature to your advantage. Unfortunately for you, he was crazy agile for a large guy. He pivoted on his foot, watching you as you tried to fade to his left. You steeled yourself when he caged you in his arms, sweeping your feet off the mat. Your world was a blur until he slammed you roughly down onto the mat. Your breath was knocked from you, your vision spinning. You heard the crowd around you let out a collective “OH”. It took you a moment to realize he had you pinned. Your legs and hands held painfully down with his own.

“‘sat all y’ got? Givin’ up already?” he grunted out with a gravely laugh while he stared down at you. He leaned down until his chest was pressed to yours, that stupid mask just grazing your face. “Or y’ got some fight left in y’?

Hell yeah you still had some fight in you. You managed to slip out one leg from under him, jamming your knee quickly into his side. A kidney hit was dirty, you knew that. You wouldn’t dream of doing it in a normal spar, against an evenly matched partner, but he deserved it for picking on you; for picking a woman when he could have easily dominated any of the men in the room. He reacted exactly as you expected: crumpling forward in pain. You didn’t waste a second pulling your hands and legs from his grip. Another cry rang out from the crowd when you rolled out from under him, ready to jump on his back and make the pin.

“Olright, olright,” he said rubbing at his side, sitting up with a grunt before you could pin him. “I yield, y’ cheatin’ lil’ git. Next up.”

He pointed at one of the other soldiers to come forward and take your place. The man gave you a fist bump as you left the mat and you told him “good luck”. You knew he would need it. When you turned around you saw that Ghost’s gaze had never left you.

You walked back to base on Friday with your blood boiling, failure weighing heavy on your psyche after a long, hot afternoon of sniper training. You had given all you could; had put up with extra hard, extra long training, with comment after comment about your size and strength.

Shorty. Shrimp. Rifle looks like it weights more than you. Gonna manage that?

Up early, in late everyday, almost too tired to eat and shower by the end. You had a mind to march right into Price’s office and tell him you were leaving that night. You’d made it a week, that was good enough for you. You would rather face hell from your CO back home than endure another hour of this. The second you sat down on your bunk, however, you passed out.

The exhaustion must have snapped something in your brain. You woke up a few hours later groggy and sweaty, your bunk mate snoring away. You were half on your bed with your feet still in your boots. You rolled onto your back with a groan, wiping the dried tears and dust from your cheeks.

You let your weak arms fall over your face. You felt pathetic. You honestly wanted to just lay on your thin mattress and cry in the dark until the day started. Another day of enduring that British cunt with a superiority complex calling you short and weak, of singling you out in front of your peers, of making you question your career up to this point. He was eroding the very core of your person at this point, and you didn’t know how much long you could take it.

You let out a sigh and, with more than a little effort, pull your sore, battered body out of bed. What you really needed was to shower, to think this out, and then find Captain Price to talk. No good would come from rushing into a decision in this state.

You enjoyed your shower. It was nice to have all of the hot water and the whole communal space to yourself. You took your time getting dressed back into your rumbled clothes in the empty locker room. Nothing but the sound of dripping water echoing off the tile around you.

Leaving the showers, you looked up and down the bare corridors, only enough of the overhead fluorescents left on to avoid a safety hazard. Your hair dripped onto your shoulders while you stood in the center of the hall. Price’s office had to be somewhere around here.

You wandered out of the barracks, down hall after hall of the same, painted block walls and plain tile floors, until you started seeing name plates posted haphazardly on the wooden doors. Your eyes wandered from door to door until you found what you were looking for: a sheet of 8.5x11 paper taped crookedly outside an office with Cpt. Price scrawled across the middle.

You let out a sigh of relief as you brought up your hand to knock on the door. It was almost over. The captain seemed like a reasonable man. He would surely be willing to listen to you, maybe give you some sound advice on whether you were actually cut out for this level of training. Before your hand could land on the door, a gloved hand came out from the shadows of the hall in front of you to rest above yours.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he whispered harshly.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. You closed your eyes in annoyance, balling your hands at your sides. Of fucking course he was here. Right at the last hurdle. Right before you could seek relief from a superior, his superior too. You let out a long breath through your nose before you opened your eyes to face him.

“I came to talk to Captain-” you started speaking with a wavering voice before he cut you off.

“Not in. Not yet, at least. Had a long night.”

He leaned against the door, starting down at you again. God, he fucking annoyed you. You’d never had a CO that frayed at your nerves like he did. How dare he come off so cool, gripping his oversized biceps with his stupid skeleton gloves.

You stepped back from the door. “I’ll come back when he’s in then. Sorry-”

“Can help you if you need somethin’” he interrupted you again, casually canting his hips forward, moving his hand to the door handle.

You shook you head. While you really wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you would prefer not ending this with a disciplinary, so you bit your tongue.

“I don’t need anything from you,” you answered with just a bit of venom.

He heard it, you were sure of it. He clicked the door open, letting it fall open to reveal the dark room inside.

“No. I think you do, small-stuff.” When you didn’t make a move, just let another angry breath out your nose and furrow your brow deeper, he shifted to the side and pointed inside the room. “In. Now. That’s an order.”

You clenched your teeth and did as you were told. Not that you had an option now.

You walked up to the desk at the back of the room. Price sure did keep his office in a state. Papers and folders were piled across his desk. A landline phone and old desktop computer were shoved to either corner of the desk. More folders and binders piled over the keyboard and hid the keypad of the phone. You heard Ghost’s boots squeak lightly on the tile behind you, then the door shut with a click. Another, soft click followed. He flipped the light switch, illuminating the spot right above you with hazy, yellow light.

You turned to face the man who’d gone out of his way to made himself your nemesis for the past week. He silently sauntered up to you, stopping behind one of the chairs in front of the desk. You crossed your arms defensively over your chest and tried to make your face placid while he pulled the chair out. He took a seat, well, he tried too. He could barely fit his massive fame in the little chair. It groaned underneath him as he mirrored your pose, arms crossed and legs spread.

You sat silently staring at each other before he asked, “Well?” with a roll of his shoulders.

You picked over your words, trying to detangle everything you had thought up in the shower. Ghost bouncing his knee pulled you back to reality. It was like the threatening hiss of a rattlesnake's tail. Better to just get it out than keep him waiting.

“Do you have a problem with me?” you squeaked out, eyes on you boots. The direct route it was, then.

“What?” he asked, confused.

You looked up at him, exhausted, eyes pleading. “Look, I know I’m short and not as strong as the other guys . . . especially the guys, but the way you talk to me-”

“Don’t have a problem with y’,” he said throwing his arm across the back of the chair, readjusting while he raked his eyes up and down your frumpy form. Probably looking for something to complain about. “If’m bein’ honest-” he started before cutting himself off and turning his head.

You uncrossed your arms, letting them fall to your sides. “What . . .” you questioned, gesturing with your hands in front of you. “Then why do you-”

He jiggled his knee a few more times before turning back to face you. “Little thing like you,” he said darkly, so deep and low you almost didn’t hear it. He clenched his fingers on his pants as he cleared his throat. “You keep up with the rest’ve ‘em well enough. Ain’t got a problem.”

“Little thing,” you whispered, repeating him sarcastically.

Ghost groaned at that. Honest to god groaned in front of you, sending a shiver up your spine. You froze as his heavy eyes found their way back to you.

“Yeah. You sure are,” he said scraping his fingers down his pants. “Spunky, too. Used t’ fightin’ for your place. Like that. Makes me wonder-” he trailed off as his large eyes wandered down from your face to your chest.

You were shocked. No way. You had to be misinterpreting this. Maybe you were still sunstroked from yesterday, because there was no way you were reading him correctly.

“Wonder what?” you piped, blush pinching at your cheeks.

“Wonder . . .” he said rocking his head back and forth, trying to tie a sentence together. “Wonder if y’ can be sweet, too.” He let you stew in wide-eyed disbelief for a moment as he gestured at you. “Wonder what you look like underneath all that.” Your stomach clenched as he tilted his hips forward, spreading his legs wider, to palm is cock through his pants. “Wonder if it matches what I’ve imagined.”

You would be lying if it was just your stomach clenching after that shameless display.

It was crazy how it all made sense now. The constant attention. The names. You thought he was being overly hard on you, picking at you, trying to get you to drop out. You rubbed a hand over your heated face. He was a grown man (a large one, too) that was acting like a little boy with a worm on a stick, chasing the girl he liked around the playground. You thought he hated you and all this time he was actually getting off to you. You felt like an absolute moron.

“Doesn’t have t’ leave this room. If you’re interested,” he said in that deep gravel, still trying to keep himself together.

You let him sit in silence for a long, tortuous, moment.

“And if I’m not?” you finally asked.

He nodded to the door behind him with his head. “Then leave. Talk t’ Price in the morning. No harm.”

“No foul,” you finished his phrase, running your fingers over your bottom lip.

Silence hung between you for a hot moment in the cold, stale air of the office. You had a hard time believing he would just let you go at this point. Not that you planned to, the danger intrigued you too much to walk away. This line of work had made you a wholly different animal, it’s why you were here. You ran into war zones, battlefields, hostage negotiations, the places others couldn’t run out of fast enough. You’d been dealing with the people that most couldn’t stomach, the ones that couldn’t function in civilian society, for so long that they had worn a place under your skin. This lieutenant, Ghost, he had been in this just as long, if not longer, than you. He had to feel the same. Fuck, he had be worse.

“What . . . what do you want?” you finally managed to ramble out.

He let out a rough hum of satisfaction. You hated how you responded to it. You rolled your thighs together and, fuck, you were wet. You let out a small, shuddering breath. You’d gone a week with no praise, no kindness, and now here he was, the big, bully Brit who’d made your life hell practically purring over you.

He trained his hungry eyes on you and motioned up with a flick of his fingers. “Wanna see ‘em. Don’t even have’t take your shirt off.”

A part of you wondered if this was all a trick as you slowly rucked your t shirt up to expose your stomach. That would track with how your week had gone so far. He was so blatant and open though, gripping the chair beneath him like he was about to launch out of it at a moment’s notice. He groaned as you pulled your shirt up to reveal your plain black sports bra. It was nothing special, standard issue, but it kept you strapped down. Not that you really had all that much to contain.

He ran his hand over (what you assumed) was his mouth under the balaclava. He waited a moment for you to continue before urging you forward.

“Come on, love. Don’t get shy. Wanna see ‘em.”

You slipped your fingers underneath the wide band at the bottom, hesitating only a moment before you pulled everything, shirt included, up over your head. You stared down at your chest while you balled your clothes in your hands.

“Not much to see,” you whispered, watching your nipples perk and skin pucker under the AC.

“Fuckin’ hell” was all he said. You dared to look up. “Fuck,” he continued, “Fuckin’ . . . get over’ere. Just fuckin’ dyin’ t’ get my hands on you.”

You dropped your clothes on the floor, closing the few steps between you quickly before falling forward into his grasp. You weren’t sure if you were ready for what this desperate, mountain of a man was about to unleash on you, but fuck did it excite you. Once he had you between his legs, gloved hands scraping up your back and around your waist, testing his fingers as he held you, but he didn’t do anything but look. He stared at you like you were made of glass.

You stared at him, too. You hadn’t been this close since he’d pinned you on the first day, and you were pretty sure you’d been half-concussed then. You could see where he had eye black painted carefully around his eyes to fill the holes in his mask. You could see his long eyelashes, clumped together with that same oily black paint. It made the whites of his eyes stand out vibrantly. His large dark irises darted back and forth over your chest. You wondered what he was planning, what he was thinking.

He didn’t leave you wondering for long. He pressed you forward, mouthing at your nipple through the mask. You let out a short whine, pussy clenching as his large hands kneaded at your waist. The feeling was like nothing you’d felt before. The fabric between you muted the translation between his actions and your pleasure. You could feel how eagerly he bit and sucked at you, but you were denied half of it. It made you dig your fingers into his shoulders in frustration.

“Want more?” he said haggardly, pulling off of you. He tugged at your belt, not waiting for an answer. “Then get these off.”

You did your best to undo your belt and pants despite your shaking and moaning while he dove back in, working harder at your other nipple. Once you’d dropped your pants down to your ankles he pulled you forward to step out of them, wedging you into the spread of his legs. You toed out of your shoes and then he kicked everything behind you, your boots banging loudly against the steel desk. You heard papers shift and fall, but couldn’t find a reason to care. He held you, running his gloved hands over your exposed skin while you shivered in font of him in nothing but your panties.

He palmed his cock again before fumbling around to find his belt. You heard him click it open, the metal jangling as it went slack.

“On your knees,” he ordered breathlessly. “Wan’ see what that little mouth can do with this.”

You complied immediately, viciously curious as to what he was packing. If the tent in his pants was any indication, you had your work cut out for you. He popped open the button of his fly and then slowly unzipped. You couldn’t see anymore through his briefs than you had in his pants, but still, you leaned forward. You curled your hands on your knees, biting your lip, willing him to give you permission.

“Go ahead,” he said giving himself one lazy, squeezing pump.

You put your hands on his inner thighs, right above his knees, testing the waters. When he didn’t say anything, you slid your hands up his legs, a soft, swishing sound following. You stopped at his crotch, pulling yourself forward before tentatively, gently, smoothing up his clothed cock.

He groaned, covering your hand with his, forcing you to grip his girth. Your thumb just barely met your ring finger.

“Fuckin’-” was all he could get out before pulling your hand off.

He used his other hand to pull his dick out before pressing your hand to his hard, burning length. You gave him another pump, feeling how the skin stretched beneath your hand, then squeezing to feel how goddamn rigid he was. The tip of his cock made your mouth water.

It was crazy. On you knees in front of him like this, you weren’t a competent soldier, a woman who held herself with poise and respect in front of her colleagues. He wasn’t an expertly trained, battle-hardened, special operative of the British Army. You were both human. Both hungry.

You tipped his cock toward you to lap at the underside of the head. You met his eyes just as you closed your mouth around him, sucking the salt from his slit. He shut his eyes with a groan, letting his head fall back for a moment as he reached his hand up to grip at your skull. He opened his eyes to watch as he slowly bobbed your head down his cock.

He gripped himself at the base, forcing your mouth to take him until you met his fingers. You did. Just barely, gagging as his head slid against the roof of your mouth to the soft palate at the back of your throat. He didn’t let you pull back. Instead, he traced the inside of your lips with his thumb, drool coating his black gloves.

“Lookit’ that,” he groaned as your throat pulsed and burned around him. “Little thing takes it all s’fuckin’ well.”

He let go of your head, letting you pull off of his cock. You stared at it with heavy eyes as your head spun from lack of oxygen, it glistened with your spit in the harsh light. He gave himself another languid stroke, watching you force air into your lungs while you sat practically naked on the floor between his knees.

“Think you can take it in that little cunt a’yours like that?” he asked, stopping his stroke at the head.

You bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him. You gave him a slow nod. Any fear or paranoia you had before was long evaporated. You were wet, horny, needy. You needed him to give you something, and if he was going to give you a choice, you could do worse than getting railed until you couldn’t remember your name. You clenched, hands clawing at your thighs, as you watched him pump another stroke up that monster cock of his in front of your face before grunting out his order.

“Get up then. Against the desk.”

You scrambled up to your feet. He followed you, rising quickly from his chair to tower over you, pressing you backwards into the steel desk. Your hands reached out for purchase as he roughly gripped your thighs, throwing you on top of Price’s paper-laden desk. Folders and binders clattered to the floor, papers swirling across the tile as he shoved you down, ass right on the edge.

He stood between your legs, hips flush to yours, his cock laying across your standard issue panties like a weapon. He pressed the weight of it against your skin with a groan, head spreading precum into your stomach. Quicker than you realized, he reached behind his back, coming back with a knife. It was almost invisible palmed in his large hand, only the tip of the blade winked from the tip of his thumb. With two quick flicks, he cut up the side of your underwear. He slid the knife back to wherever he had taken it from, like it was the most normal thing in the world, before pulling the now useless scrap of fabric from between the press of your bodies.

He held the scrap of fabric in his hand for a minute, investigating it under the light before tossing it to the floor.

“Really are beggin’ for it, eh?” He said sliding his cock up the seam of your pussy. His easy, fluid movements as he rocked against you answered for you. “Fuckin’ wet just from that?”

You nodded, lacing your legs around his hips, trying to pull him closer. He pressed his hand into your stomach in response, squishing you against the desk hard enough to make you squirm. He pulled away enough to notch the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Needy little fuckin’ thing,” he said with a punch of his hips, nails biting into the soft skin of your stomach as his tip danced perilously on the edge of holding inside you. “Want it so fuckin’ bad? Want this inside y’?”

He took himself in hand and watched as he pushed inside. You both groaned. You let your head fall against the desk with a dull thunk, eyes shut and legs shaking as he pushed deeper and deeper inside your slick hole.

“Fuck.” He was breathless for the first time since you had met him. “Fuck are y’ tight. So fuckin’ small. Even gonna fit it all?” He rambled to himself as he took hold of your hips and watched himself fuck slowly in and out of you; hypnotized by the clutch of your greedy pussy pulling him in, resisting as he pulled out.

You let out a small cry of frustration, tears pricking around your eyes. He was big, but that wasn’t the problem. You had taken your share of dick, you could take him. It was killing you how slow he was. He was lost in his own world, watching his cock slid in and out of you as you lay there silently begging for him to just fuck you already.

“Quiet,” he whispered with a half-hearted harshness, hand trailing down to your pussy.

You almost jumped as he began to rub a wide circle around your clit. Your slick barely dulled the rough texture of his glove. You shuddered, clenching around him, whining as he found a rhythm with his thumb and cock. Your clench punched the breath out of him. He fell over you, bracing himself with his arm. You could hear the hollow sound of his breaths behind his mask as he gave up trying to pump into your vice of a pussy.

He nuzzled the cold plastic of his mask against your ear. “Not gonna’ last long doin’ shit like that,” he grumbled. He held himself up, pulling your face to look at him with a hand under your jaw. “Wha’d’y want?”

You stared back at him with confusion.

“Where d’y want it?” he clarified.

If you had a brain cell still functioning, you would have told him to pull out. It was the safer of the options he was giving you.

But you didn’t. You moaned out, “Fuck. Inside me. Please,” like the absolute whore you had become once he’d whipped his cock out.

Not one to question, apparently, Ghost was back in position the moment he heard you. He pulled your hips back to meet his, cock punching all the way in until you winced as the head hit your cervix. He took hold of one of your legs, hand running up the length of it, positioning it until it lay unfolded up his chest. He gripped his fingers around your ankle, starting at it as his other hand squeezed your waist.

“Lookit, fuck. Lookit that,” he said as he pistoned into you. You cut off the loud moan that he punched out of you. The change in angle was . . god it was like nothing you’d had before.

“Like that?” he said, letting your foot dangle on his shoulder while he held your waist with both hands, driving into you mercilessly.

If you could have answered, you would have spoke truthfully. You were sure. You would have moaned about how good it was, how he was so big and filled you so well. As it was, his powerful thrusts jarred you against the cool metal of the desk too much to do anything more than moan and hold on as more papers flooded the floor.

“Got y’self off at all this week?” he asked, panting breathlessly.

You shook your head, a small whine of anticipation falling form your lips at the thought.

“Gonna nut just thinkin’ about you cummin’ on my cock,” he mumbled, trailing his hand back to your clit.

You let out a sad whine, bucking into his thrust as he touched you. You were close. So fucking close.

He began to circle your clit like before, finding that delicious rhythm with the pound of his hips that pulled you higher and higher, tighter and tighter, until dazzling sparks lit up your core. You reeled back with a cry, clenching his cock, arching as he worked you through your peak.

His hand ripped away from you sooner than you’d like. He fell over you, both hands biting into the skin of your hips as he pounded into you as your pussy pulsed, any semblance of cadence or love-making gone as he chased his own high. You dug your fingers into his t shirt. The sweat drenched fabric was almost too slippery to hold on to.

“Fuck! Too fuckin’ hot ‘n, fuck, tight. Fuck, ‘m gonna-” His weak series of sighs and groans, followed by the distinct feeling of his cock flaring inside you told you what he couldn’t.

He lay over you for a moment, panting as you both caught your breaths. You wondered if he was also stewing in the monumental realization of what the fuck you had both just done. You’d just broken so many rules. So much was at stake. He’d just cum inside a subordinate on his bosses desk, and you didn’t work for the same country. This was going to be a mess. You were sure of it.

He pulled away from you, pulling himself out with a smothered whine. You crossed your hands over your middle as you watch him zip back up and adjust his mask. It was wild how he was back to normal within seconds. You half expected him to walk out the door and just leave you here like this. At least all of your clothes were here, save your sliced up panties.

But he didn’t leave. He held out a hand to you, only letting you stare at it dumbly for a minute before he flicked his fingers toward himself, urging you to act. You took his hand and he pulled you up easily. He even let you slump against him after you sat up. You’d forgotten how tired a good lay made you.

Again, you expected him to leave you now that you were conscious and able to dress yourself, maybe leave you with a heavy warning (read: threat) to not talk about this. As you tried to shuffle to the side to try and get off the desk, he stopped you. His hands gripped both of your shoulders suddenly.

“The fuck y’ doin’?” he said, forcing you back in front of him.

“Getting . . . dressed?” you answered with unease.

“Funny,” he said with a single, dry, laugh. “You’re a funny lil’ thing, too.”

His hands skimmed down your sides before quickly seizing you by the hips, throwing you over his shoulder like a backpack. You gasped as your stomach landed on his solid shoulder, punching the air from your lungs.

“Think we’re done already?” he said, turning around.

You watched as the desk, and the messy you had made on and around it, including your scattered clothing, circled back into view, then slipped away. He palmed a whole cheek of your ass in one hand, spreading you open enough for cold air to chill your leaking core, as he stalked toward the door. He probed a finger into your pussy, swirling the cum you felt leaking out across your folds.

“Got a whole day off, y’know,” he said matter-of-factly as he opened the door. Completely ignoring that he had a naked woman slung over his shoulder like a caveman. “Think we should go back to mine. Relax. See what else that little cunt’ve yours can take.”

#mw2 #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #starry writes #asks #anon #now to move on to ch 4 of the graves thing woooo

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syoddeye · 25 days ago

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kinktober - day 30 - sex pollen

nikolai x f!reader | 1.3k words cw: dubcon because sex pollen, mean nikolai, that line is the only line featuring ‘daddy’ apologies, we love italics, dirty talk, piv a/n: he makes me unwell. russian language bits are stylized with italics and strike-through: example summary: nik is so selfless. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

“Come on then, princess. Show Daddy how much you need this."

“Do not call yourself that, do not call me that.”

“Apologies, it’s the compound—“

“It is not. You’re fucking fine.”

Straddling Nikolai, you shudder, feeling yourself dripping onto him. The product of a manufactured and unnatural surge of arousal seeping into his thatch of dark hair. Grasping his cock with one hand and planting the other on his chest, you bite your lip hard as it slips through your folds.

“Christ,“ he chokes. “On with it already.”

“I can’t—My hands are shaking.”

Fucking bastard.

You grit your teeth, finally notching the tip to your hole. It’s a tight fit, practically a negotiation with your sopping albeit neglected cunt. Of course, it’s just your luck that some mysterious glitter bomb-esque chemical cloud is the thing to end your months-long dry spell.

The sensation is overwhelming—tight, hot, and unbelievably wet—and you hiss a string of curses, watching Nik’s jaw clench so hard you think he might crack a tooth.

The vein at his temple pulses and color fills his cheeks. His eyes narrow to slits the further you sink down, and his mouth, which never smiles for you, curls in a mean smirk.

When Price paired you with Nikolai for this op, you wanted to protest. To tell him you barely stomach Nik’s company on a good day. The man hates you, and lets you know it every chance he gets. He’s never uttered a word of thanks or praise in your direction. All you are is the weak link, the rookie, and a pain in his ass.

An unprepared one, too. You’re still kicking yourself for forgetting your gas mask while gearing up. You could’ve sworn you had it. Price shouldn’t have allowed you to board without it. Nikolai chewed you out as you fumbled your scarf over your nose and mouth, his deep voice booming from the cockpit as the exposed chemical billowed into your face. He used his native tongue, but you didn’t need a translator to get the gist. In the end, the fabric hadn’t been enough, it burrowed into your mouth and sinuses, absorbing quickly through the sensitive membranes. Nik was forced to ground thirty minutes outside your rendezvous point to prevent further exposure, and due to the interesting effects of the powder. The onset of which was rapid.

As to what you inhaled, the compound is a mystery for the moment. One second, you were a little dizzy but fine, the next, yowling like a cat in heat. You writhed in your jumpseat, clawing at the steel wall, trying to catch the seatbelt strap just right against your clit. You listened to Nikolai barking at someone over comms, another burst of expletives, and the resigned sigh as he unbuckled and hauled you to the floor.

Which led you here, poised to ride him to hell and back. You, naked as the day you were born, thanking the powers at be for your IUD, and Nik, fully clothed with his gas mask discarded beside his head.

“Your cunt’s like a tap. Might need to secure some of this for future use with prettier women.”

“Shut up!”

On the heels of your anger, raw, visceral need scrapes your throat in a whine. Rocking your hips, you take him as deep as you can, struggling with the loss of finesse you normally pride yourself on. Nikolai mutters, his hands sliding from your thighs to your hips, bringing you down to meet a buck. You groan, wincing as his cock rams in the rest of the way. Glaring, you rake your nails uselessly over his shirt, hoping the pressure conveys your distaste. Bad enough he’s the man ‘taking one for the team’—he doesn’t need to assume charge.

“It’s either we fuck, or your fever worsens, you go crazy, organs fail…”

“You? Me fuck you?”

“Oh, your brain must be going already. Come on. Would you really rather die than fuck me, darling?”

Heat and synthetic lust propel your movements after that, driving you to ride him at as frenzied a pace as your body allows. You think it must be part adrenaline, from booking it out of the lab to the helicopter, and partly your internal systems fighting the chem-based intruders. You’re not a doctor, not a medic—you simply choose to believe the comfort your brain extends. Lay the blame at the feet of an unnamed psycho of a scientist who clearly needed to get laid.

Sweat gathers at your forehead, and streams down your back and limbs in sheets. A sheen coats your exposed skin, heat hugging you from the inside out.

Your eyes flutter open at the removal of one of Nikolai’s hands. He rips the velcro of a glove with his teeth, then pries it off his hand by a fingertip. He flings it away, then reaches, taking a greedy handful of a tit.

“Yes, yes.”

Nik squeezes and hums, brows knitting as you slow to grind, bending to push further into his palm. “I suppose these are decent.” He grunts as you wind up again.

“Better than decent. You g-got lucky.”

He pinches your nipple before groping its twin. “That so?”

“Wouldn’t be on top of you, ah, if it wasn’t for some, f-fuck, fucking aphrodisiac shit. I hate you.”

You can tell he wants to flip you the moment you utter the words. His mouth twitches like it does on poker night. Mind scrambled and syrupy, your hand swiftly finds his neck with a flash of clarity, cupping his jaw and forcing his head up. A flicker of surprise passes over his features, and sweat sticks your fingers in place.

He snarls, a filthy laugh rasping from his throat. “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be on top at all. I’d take you on your hands and knees, darling. Fuck you like the bitch you are.”

Nik drops his hands from your chest, slotting it over the bend of your thigh to stretch a rough thumb to your clit. He digs his fingers in hard enough to bruise and yanks you down to meet his sudden, annoyingly precise thrusts.

“You’d like that, yes? Ah, I think you would.” He pants, his snide facade giving way to something raw and unbridled. “Come on, you crazy bitch. Take your medicine.”

If your life didn’t seem dependent on coming, you’d knock his teeth out.

Sparks shoot down your spine to join the heat coiling in your gut, narrowing your focus to his playing with your clit and the battering of his cock. The remaining clarity you possess chases off unhelpful questions as to how long the compound lasts or how much of this is you and not it.

“Fuck, Nik, fuckfuckfuck—”

Your body joins your voice in its stutters, jolting over him as your orgasm rips through. Your hands fist his shirt, holding on for dear life as he continues, uncaring about your sensitivity, and the little yips his cock punches from your mouth. He comes with a curse, his face screwed up in an almost angry expression. When his eyes eventually open, he stares, chest heaving. The gold in his chain glints in the dimming light from outside.

He swallows, and you watch his throat bob. There’s a question in the notch of his neck.

Instead of prompting him, you pull off with a wince and shakily rise with your fever and artificial lust abated.

“This never happened.”

“You’re welcome for saving your life.”

“Yeah, you’re a real martyr.”

Nik just breathily chuckles. By the time he shuffles to the cockpit, you’re dressed and checking the shipment’s containers a third time.

As he passes, you ask over your shoulder, “Did you mean it? The, ah, hands and knees...Have you…thought about this before?”

He drops into his seat and reaches for his headset in the copilot’s seat. He shoots you a smug smile. “Why? You want to bark for me, darling?”

Fucking bastard.

#sy kinktober #nikolai x reader #nikolai x f!reader #nikolai cod #kinktober 2024 #my last kinktober fill you can all breathe a sigh of relief now

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smutstationchoochoo · 5 months ago

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A little John Price x FemReader drabble because I think about John Price far too often for it to be considered healthy and my mind always comes back to this: he always seems so in control. Not just of his people, or whatever environment he is in, but of himself. He’s cool calm and collected and honestly?- I don’t think that aspect of Price would shift too much during sex. Actually, I think it would kick into overdrive. I think that cool calm collectedness would shift into a calculating tenderness.

You see, he knows you. Knows how you take your coffee in the morning, knows what makes you laugh, knows your favorite movie, he even knows what kind of toothpaste you prefer. And he knows what makes you shake and cry and beg and plead beneath him.

John Price has had you pressed into his bed for what feels like an eternity now, one of his strong arms holding your hips down as the other is busy working two thick fingers in and out of you as he eats you out not like a man starved but like one who knows how to savor a good meal, how to taste a fine whiskey, how to suck in the smoke from a cigar and discern every single note.

Your legs are trembling, your hands grip onto the back on his head and you try to grind your hips against his molten tongue, chasing the release he has denied you since kissing his way down your body and planting himself between your legs. He of course pulls away, as he has done every single time you finally got close to falling over that edge. Price prides himself on his patience.

Your throat is raw from the sounds he has been wrenching from you and your mind struggles to catch up from another stolen orgasm yet you still try to form his name though it comes out slightly slurred as you lift your head to look down at him.

He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh, running his rough bearded cheek against the soft skin before glancing up at you. His hair stands up at all angles from your hands desperately clutching at it. His eyes glint like sharpened steel but crinkle beneath a lazy warm smile spread out over reddened cheeks. He blinks at you, your hair wild, a sheen of sweat glistening across your body, and offers a low rumbling hum as if deep in thought.

“What’s that, love? You need to speak up.”

His eyes never leave yours, your gaze just as locked beneath him as your body in his arms. You drag in a breath, trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as you can muster and you begin to beg.

He patiently listens to your pleading, nodding his head with your every demand, that grin on his face never wavering, until you are finished.

He shakes his head and sighs, “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

And god bless him, he lets go of his hold on your hips and moves his looming frame until he is kneeling on the bed just below you.

His huge thighs shuffle until they are flush with the backs of your own. His cock is flushed a vicious red, precum glistening from the tip, as he takes it in hand and rubs himself against your clit. You shake, your body body a live wire of pleasure beneath him, and your fingernails dig into his thighs.

“Look at you,” he huffs with a smile.

When he finally lines himself up with your entrance, you can feel your arousal dripping down between your cheeks and creating a small wet spot on the sheets but you don’t have time to care as John’s huge rough hands grip onto your waist and pull you onto the hardened length of himself as he pushes in. You’ll never get used to it, you think for a split second, before the stretch of him inside of you catches up to your brain making your back arch off the bed so harshly that you grit your teeth in pain.

Those hands of his soothingly rub your hips and one slides up to cradle the small of your back.

“There we go,” he praises, his voice low and sticky in your mind, “Such a good girl for me.”

This has you clenching around him so hard that your vision nearly whites out, and even gets you a little huff from John as he closes his eyes and relishes in the feeling of you around him. Then he begins to move.

John’s thrusts are not fast but they are not gentle either. He grinds into you, cock hitting a spot that has you gasping, clawing at his arms as he watches you. He watches as you fall apart beneath him, that smile still there, though his mouth now hangs slightly open in awe. His eyes are hard and focused as he completely gives himself over to the task at hand. Tears begin to gather in your lashes, slipping down your temples, as you blink up at the man breaking you apart. It’s only when his hand shifts to where the two of you meet, and his thumb begins an onslaught of circles against your clit do you begin to grasp the enormity of the cliff you are about to fall over. You sob out his name, the sound of it wretched from your chest, and you shake your head as your hands try to push him away, or drag him closer you have no idea which at this point.

“C’mon, just let go for me,” he urges, “I want to see it.”

And you do. You immediately fall over that cliff and you let go. You can’t even cry out his name, the ability to form any words seemingly lost as you grind yourself into his thrusts and brokenly sob incoherent nonsense as pleasure ricochets through your body electrifying every nerve in your system.

“There it is,” his voice comes to you amongst the waves of your orgasm, proud and praising, as he continues to grind into you, carving himself into your pleasure until he finally gives one last thrust, burying himself deep, before emptying inside you.

You stay there like that, him inside of you, as you try to will yourself back into your own body, listening to the sound of his breathing.

The feeling of those hands softly rubbing against your thighs helps bring you back, eyes blinking up at him. He grins back at you, all tousled hair and flushed faced, before leaning down to kiss you. You sigh into his mouth, but then you feel him twitch inside of you.

“Now give me one more.”

#john price smut #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #fem reader #call of duty smut #cod mw smut

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gothamite-rambler · 14 days ago

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Kate Kane getting some juicy black mail material. This is based on a true story... Mine. Yeah I wore that cast for a month.

Kate Kane was busy painting in her apartment when her concentration was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. Seeing Bruce’s name pop up piqued her curiosity, and she answered, expecting news of a mission.

Kate (answering her phone): Hey, cuzzo, what’s up?

Bruce (his voice low and urgent): I’m at the hospital near my office. I need you to pick me up… Hurry. I need a place to hide.

Kate: Um, I can come, but what about your adult kids or Alfred? Aren’t they closer to the hospital?

Bruce (hastily): I’d rather they not see me until I’ve sorted things out.

Kate set her paintbrush aside, intrigued by the urgency in his tone.

Kate: All right, that response needs some clarification. If you’re about to say no, I’ll call them to meet you there.

Bruce let out a sigh that only fueled her curiosity, prompting her to grab a notepad and pen to jot down whatever details he was about to share.

Bruce (embarrassment creeping into his voice): So, I was searching for my wallet in my office at Wayne Enterprises… couldn’t find it, and I got so frustrated that I slammed my fist on the back of my chair. The back of those chairs is… way harder than I thought, and I ended up breaking my writing hand. Like, really badly. I can’t fix it myself… Kate?

Kate had muted her phone and burst into hoarse laughter, scribbling down this potential blackmail material on her notepad. The image of her cousin, the caped crusader—tough as metaphorical steel—breaking his hand in a rage over a lost wallet sent her into a fit of cackles.

Bruce (exasperated): Kate, did you seriously mute me to laugh at my pain?

Kate: No, no! I’m just suppressing my urge to cry—this is incredibly sad. Definitely not a hilarious situation at all! I’ll be there in a few minutes; I can cut through traffic from where I am. Quick question though, how did you sneak out of the building?

Bruce (rushing his words): I’d rather not discuss that. All I know is I’m definitely not taking a taxi back.

Kate (snickering): Got it. So, you’ll hide out at my place, come up with a good hero-related excuse, and return home without your family knowing you broke your hand because you couldn’t find your wallet?

Bruce (through gritted teeth): I’m so glad you find this amusing.

Kate (with a sarcastic tone): Yeah, I’m helping you cope through humor, but laughing at your misfortune. So, did you ever find the wallet?

Bruce (sheepishly): It was in… my jacket pocket.

Kate promptly wrote that down and underlined it with a wide smile.

Kate: You realize there will be a little bribery involved for my silence, right?

Bruce (sighing in resignation): Yep, yep, yep. That’s why I called you—you can keep a secret for the right price.

Kate (nodding, acknowledging the truth): We can negotiate the amount when you get back to my place. I’m never going to let you live this down, Mr. Calm and Collected.

Bruce (frustrated): Would you JUST PICK ME UP?!

With her keys and wallet tucked into her pocket, Kate left her apartment, already brainstorming a list of playful insults to throw at Bruce and devising the perfect amount to extort from him.

Kate: I’d be glad to, cuzzo.

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notesapp-unreleased · 21 days ago

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Strip Poker - a Hannigram drabble

Will has always been able to read or, perhaps, feel his way past any poker face. That, coupled with his time as a cop in New Orleans, and finding creative ways to help Beau Graham keep food on the table, has lent Will Graham a distinct advantage in navigating the cards tables.

Perhaps it is this (and an Old Fashioned) that find Will inexplicably agreeing to strip poker at the annual BAU holiday party.

He folds early on into the first round, taking the opportunity to shed his tweed suit jacket - it’s stuffy and the whiskey from the open bar is warming him from the inside out.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, inexplicably, is sitting at the table. Will watches him, swirling inadequate wine and looking all too delighted to have been roped into strip-poker by consequence of attending a holiday party with his not-patient. (Will insisted that he shouldn’t feel the need to join the absurd game; he could mingle or even leave and Will would get a taxi. Hannibal told him it would be rude to decline.)

Beverly (eternally wise) opts to be the dealer and maintain her dignity. By the time Zeller is down to his briefs, he accepts his defeat and Jimmy offers him another drink as consolation.

Unsurprisingly, Hannibal is good at poker. Is there anything he isn’t good at? Will muses, missing his tie, belt, both shoes, and his left sock. Will, however, has spent enough time analyzing Hannibal’s micro-expressions to spare himself from the same indignities Brian Zeller is recovering from with an alarming number of shots.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is not more skilled at poker than Will. No. The only reason Will is wearing significantly less clothing than Hannibal is that Hannibal wears so many fucking clothes.

Will grits his teeth and examines his cards as Beverly places the flop. He is wearing his undershirt and slacks. Hannibal is sitting across from him, flush high on his cheeks from several glasses of wine, and to an unpracticed eye, appears to be fully dressed. Thus far, Hannibal has divested himself of his pocket square, his tie, his suit jacket, his watch, two leather brogues, and the cuff links from his right sleeve.

Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller have returned, looking rather flushed and disheveled, Will notes, to bear witness.

Will is in his boxers. Hannibal is in the process of removing his last sock garter. Will is fuming. He wants to launch over the table and rip that stupid silk shirt off of Hannibal’s torso. Huh. Where did That come from?

Beverly is placing the river and Will Graham glares mournfully at his pile of shed clothing.

“I raise you 500.”

Hannibal’s eyes briefly cast downward, to his cards and the garishly colored chips they’ve been playing with. His golden eyes hold a predatory glint. Will steels himself and prepares to don his birthday suit. Hannibal, uncharacteristically, chooses to take mercy on Will.

“Alas, I’m afraid I must fold.” Hannibal’s face pinches theatrically as he sighs. His cards are placed neatly on the table in front of him, face down.

“That’s it folks! Graham is keeping his pants tonight!!” Beverly announces. Something like disappointment flashes in Hannibal’s eyes. Surely regret at throwing the game - nothing more. Off comes the silk shirt, one mother of pearl button at a time.

Warmth pools in Will’s gut. Embarrassment, probably. And perhaps his fourth (?) drink of the evening. His skin prickles with gooseflesh as he collects his winnings (the privilege of putting his clothes back on). He glances up. Hannibal is still staring at him. Will is suddenly distinctly aware that his mouth is dry as sandpaper and shirt buttons are a touch too challenging for whiskey-addled senses.

When Will nearly keels over trying to shove his shoes back on Hannibal takes mercy on him for the second time that evening. He gestures for Will to sit and sinks to one knee. Gingerly, he places Will’s worn dress shoe on his foot. Like Cinderella, Will’s brain supplies unhelpfully. “Perhaps we should get you home,” Hannibal says, his low timbre cutting through Will’s musings on the Brothers Grimm and the tips of his feet staying intact in this version of the fairy tale.

“Take me home then.” Will quips, then immediately regrets his choice of words. Looking down reminds him that Hannibal is on his knees in front of him and Will hasn’t bothered to properly zip up his pants yet. He thinks he hears someone wolf whistle. Probably Zeller.

The attention doesn’t seem to bother the doctor. Hannibal just smiles a private, toothy grin. For some killers biting may be a fighting pattern, as much as sexual behavior. Will shakes his head, attempting to dispel the thought. Definitely too much whiskey for one night.

#hannigram #hannigram fic #drabble #hannibal lecter #will graham #nbc hannibal #this has been sitting in my notes app for two years #my writing

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

Text

vampire!soap conclusion :) 👍

(part 3)

Soap hates that Price is right. Hates that he almost always is, about these kinds of things.

He hates that Price won’t just accept his request to transfer and let him move on from this, and never have to think about what he did ever again.

(Though, who is Soap kidding? He’ll feel guilt for the remainder of his immortal existence for what he’d done.)

But unfortunately, as it stands, he has no choice but to confront the elephant in the room.

For Soap, it’s easy to find Ghost. He knows of the lieutenant’s favourite haunts, knows where he goes to be alone.

And it had never been thanks to the vampirism that he knew of them.

This time, Ghost has chosen to have himself a cigarette in a hidden area on the roof, a place completely out of sight unless one knew where to look for the thin wisp of smoke unfurling into the air. Soap moves silently toward him, slow and hesitant and almost entirely unwilling until they’re standing side by side, suffocating in the thick weight of everything to be said. To be discussed.

Ghost never startles, whenever Soap appears beside him. Hardly ever acknowledges him first, either. It’s the vague sense of a familiar routine that lends Soap just enough confidence to speak.

“I…” Soap takes a deep breath, steeling himself in place. He spares Ghost a bare enough glance to see the way his eyes are blank, distant, glazed over. “I wanted to… apologize.”

Ghost takes a slow, considerate drag, breathing out as he flicks what remains of the cigarette on the ground, stamping it beneath his boot. He doesn’t say anything for a long time.

Soap shifts anxiously between his feet.

“Don’t,” Ghost finally says, voice flat. “An apology isn’t getting anyone anywhere.”

Soap wants to huff. Wants to tell Ghost to not make this any more difficult than it already has been, wants to tell him not to make Soap feel any more shame than he can bear.

Instead, he rakes a nervous hand over his scalp.

“Then what—“ Soap wets his lips, exhaling shakily. He makes the mistake of looking at Ghost again, only to spot the violent marks left behind in his neck from fangs that couldn’t tell enemy from ally. “Then what will fix this? I… I want to fix this. Fix… us.”

Ghost’s gaze shifts to his, then. His eyes, darker than ever, burn with an intensity that Soap has never seen anyone else able to muster.

“There’s nothing to fix, Soap,” Ghost says through grit teeth. “You weren’t—I know you never meant to.”

“But I still did.”

Ghost stares at him. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and some distant voice in Soap’s head wonders if he’s forgotten his balaclava is rolled up past his nose.

“Doesn’t matter whether you did or didn’t, Johnny.” His eyes are piercing, penetrating even the deepest parts of Soap’s soul. His voice is low, gravelly—borderline broken. “Still here, ain’t I?”

Soap looks to the ground, suddenly finding more interest in scuffing his boot against the concrete. “I’m putting in for a transfer,” he confesses quietly.

Ghost doesn’t need to know that he’s already tried.

Soap can sense his frown, his disbelief, even before hearing it in his pained, breathless, “What?”

Soap curls his hands into tight fists, digging crescents into the flesh of his palms. He glares intently at the ground like it could offer him up some kind of answers.

“Well, obviously, I—“ Soap pauses, shakes his head, and wills himself to start again. “I dinnae want to force you to have to work with someone you cannae even trust not to kill you.”

In his periphery, Soap sees Ghost’s frown deepen. “What are you on about, Soap?”

Soap feels pathetic. Incapable. He feels like a horrible person. “If Price and Gaz weren’t there—“

“Well, they were,” Ghost argues. “There’s no time for ifs in our line of work, Johnny. You were hung out to dry, and I never thought for a second to be more careful when I finally found you because I was too caught up in the fact that you were still alive.”

The admission hangs heavy between them. Everything unsaid but still there makes it all the more terrifying.

“You could have died, Simon,” Soap whispers. He doesn’t trust his voice not to waver, speaking any louder.

Ghost’s hands are suddenly on Soap’s face, human warmth bleeding into the cold of the undead. Soap’s are are wide with shock. Ghost’s are glassy with the threat of frustrated tears.

“But I didn’t,” he murmurs. Soap can’t help but lean into the roughness of calloused fingers pressing into his skin. “I didn’t. And I’d have found a way to forgive you even if I had.”

Ghost’s chin quivers. Soap isn’t sure he’s ever seen him so… so—

“I’ll admit, I—“ Ghost’s voice has grown raspier, exhausted by emotion, “I was afraid of you, for a long while. Of what you are.”

Soap does his best to offer a smile, however watery. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Ghost says nothing, only massaging careful circles into the high points of Soap’s cheeks.

Soap sighs, finally tearing his gaze away from Ghost.

“Price wasn’t going to let me transfer, anyway,” Soap admits. “Not without talking to you, first.”

Ghost’s lips quirk upward, his grin endearingly crooked.

“Someone has to be your impulse control.”

“Yeah, well.” Soap rolls his eyes. “Old man’s gonna be all smug, now.”

Ghost laughs quietly, a huff of air through his nose more than anything. “Better than losing you,” he says. “Gaz would miss you.”

Soap tilts his head, his own smile growing wider. “No one else?”

Ghost shakes his head mock-solemnly, playfully patting Soap’s face for good measure. “No one else, Johnny.”

The weight on Soap’s shoulders finally feels lighter, after days of berating himself and bending to the whim of a gnawing shame. There’s still guilt, nestled in his mind, and he knows it’ll stick around for a while yet—but now again on good terms with Ghost, Soap thinks it should be easy to overcome, in time.

Soap’s hands find Ghost’s wrists, gently prying him away from his face to intertwine their fingers. He’s more than glad to finally have this.

Finally have Ghost.

His smile becomes something shyer, just for a moment, as he declares with a profound decisiveness, “I guess I’ll stick around then.”

And how he means it.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing #vampire!soap

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sixhours · 7 months ago

Text

Remnants

Everything that’s left of her broken dreams is standing at the counter, returning her smile.

Rated: PG Length: 1k

Notes: Post-episode for Per Manum

Originally posted on AO3 1/6/2016

~*~

The apartment is shrouded in gray when she returns, the last of her hopes printed on an appointment summary in her coat pocket. Upon seeing her face, he wishes he’d thought to turn on a light, so she wouldn’t have to come home to more darkness, his slumbering form on the couch not enough to fill this newfound emptiness.

“It didn’t take, did it?”

Disappointment shines in her eyes. Forehead to forehead, he waits until her breathing is calm to offer something more substantial than a promise, but the warmth of her skin under his fingers disarms him, gives him pause.

His hands cradle her face as their lips touch for only the second time, her arms wind around his neck like an anchor, pulling him down into her sorrowful sea.

~*~

Dr. Parenti’s delivery was kind, but she felt the news like a gunshot. It’s worse than Emily, this intangible loss. Failure hasn’t washed away the image of a young girl with auburn hair and almond eyes, or a boy with a shy, quirked smile.

She loves them, the ghosts of her unborn children and all they represented: The intimacy of family life, ringing laughter and a mantle lined with photographs.

A child’s cry cutting through the night, hushed lullabies and the love-drunk smell of a downy newborn head.

Saturday morning cartoons followed by pancakes and bacon, spilled milk and syrup-sticky fingers.

The stillness of reality plays a harsh contrast to her imagination as she listens to the silence of what could have been.

~*~

He wants to punch a hole through her pristine apartment wall. He wants to hunt down the faceless men who did this to her and kill them with his bare hands, until he’s bloody and sore and near death himself. He wants to run, to put miles and years between them, until his bad luck can’t touch her any more.

Sometimes he wishes he’d never followed when she tried to resign from the Bureau, that he wasn’t so chickenshit as to ask her to stay after paying the price for her loyalty several times over.

He’d signed away his rights, but the thing that makes his face burn and his stomach clench with shame, is that he’d wanted this for himself as much as her. Selfish bastard, he thinks. Still a chickenshit.

So he steels himself, grits his teeth and holds her until she pulls away. He takes her hand, leads her to the couch, offers to make tea.

He’ll stay, because he doesn’t have the courage to let her go.

He’ll stay, because he doesn't have the right to mourn what was never his to lose.

~*~

Mulder is opening cupboards, running water. Sleeves rolled to the elbows, he washes the dishes and waits for the kettle, then swipes at his forehead, leaving a trail of suds across one cheek. The sight brings an unexpected smile to her lips.

Her heart sinks with the enormity of her grief and the weight of too many unspoken words. Everything that’s left of her broken dreams is standing at the counter, returning her smile.

~*~

He settles on the opposite end of the couch, letting the mug warm his hands. She stares into hers for a few minutes before taking a slow sip, closing her eyes. When she opens them, she’s looking at him with an expression he’s seen only once before in real life, and too many times to count in recent fantasy.

“I love you.”

He blinks. His mouth must hang open, because she’s smiling at him now, a sad, tired smile.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she murmurs, hiding what’s left of her pride in her cup.

~*~

“What would you have done?” she asks. If it had worked, she doesn’t have to say.

“I’d have asked you on a date.”

She pauses to steady her cup on the coffee table, the tea sloshing in her startled hands. “A date?”

“You know—nice clothes, awkward conversation, an expensive wine list, at one of those places that mixes the salad dressing while you watch.”

“Really.”

“Really,” he returns, ducking his head.

“You’d ask your newly impregnated, platonic friend and colleague on an honest-to-goodness date.”

His smile is embarrassed enough to be convincing. “Yeah. I, uh…I thought…if I could give you…give you that…”

He stops, frowns. Her throat is tight when she finally breaks the silence. “Give me what?”

The tea goes cold before he can answer.

~*~

He wakes with a sore neck and Scully’s nose pressed into his hip, a throw tangled around her shoulders. The Late Late Show plays in the background, casting muted shadows on the walls.

She stirs when he stretches, blinking up at him from beneath sleep-addled lashes, as if seeing him for the first time. He wonders if this is what it’s like to hold a newborn; heart filled to bursting with terrifying awe.

“Mulder?”

“I’m here,” he murmurs, stroking the hair from her temple. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Mmph,” she says, her breath warming his abdomen through his t-shirt. “S’OK. I should get up, anyway.”

He nods in agreement, drawing his thumb gently along the plane of her cheek, but neither of them move for a long time.

~*~

She emerges from the bathroom just as he’s finished washing the mugs. Bare feet peek out from oversized silk pajamas, and she surprises herself, wrapping her arms around his waist before she can lose her nerve.

“I’ll stay, if you want,” he murmurs, and she loves him for offering so she doesn’t have to ask.

She loves him for so many reasons. Someday she’ll count the ways, line them up, and tuck them away; programmed, categorized, and easily referenced.

“I’d like that,” she says instead, words muffled by the thrum of his heart.

~*~

She fits perfectly in the circle of his arms, the way he always imagined she would. He times his breathing to the rise and fall of her chest and whispers a blessing into her hair.

“I wanted more for you, Scully.”

Her arms tighten around him, but she doesn't answer.

He holds what little hope is shared between them, and prays that it's enough.

~*~

cc @today-in-fic

#the x-files #mulder x scully #fanfic #per manum

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rodolfoparras · 1 year ago

Note

Thinking about...

Alex Keller, anyone? This Price Jr golden fox has me in chokehold but there's little to no mlm content with him.

Just wanna kiss and worship this sweetheart with his golden heart and steel ba— ahem, leg.

My boy deserves it >:<

Let’s make one thing clear, you didn’t mind Alex and Farah’s friendship, in fact you were more than glad that he had someone this close to him.

However sometimes it was hard not to let the green monster show its face especially when they seemed to work so well together not just on the field but off the field as well and it didn’t make it any better hearing the way your squad mates would talk about them like they were an old married couple

You know your squad mates didn’t mean any harm, they didn’t even know that the two of you were dating, seeing as Alex and you had chosen to keep your relationship private and you know Alex and Farah were just friends and that he wouldn’t do anything to ruin your relationship.

But the green monster didn’t really care about the logistics of things as it pushed you into taking a few more drinks and being touchy feely with another soldier from your team in hopes of coaxing Alex’s green monster out of its hiding place.

It doesn’t take much for it to come out, as Alex spots you and the soldier getting chummy with each other, an indecipherable look painting his face as he grabs ahold of your arm while pulling you away from the party.

You might’ve had a couple of drinks but you were coherent enough to see the surprised look on everyone’s face, coherent enough to feel the blood pooling to the lower half of your body, and coherent enough to willingly follow him to his room knowing what’s about to happen.

It’s very rare for Alex to take control but you might’ve just pushed your luck enough to get what you want.

He quickly pulls you into his room, pushes you onto to bed, clothes are being discarded in a flurry mess along with his prostate leg, with Alex swiftling prepping himself before he’s perching himself onto your lap.

It’s rare to see Alex take control, so you indulge in it, even going as far as fueling the fire when you go to speak.

“You sure you don’t want Farah in my place?” you say, lazily smiling up at the man, while keeping a hand on his hip for balance as he lines your cockhead up with his puckered rim.

“Shut up” he says through gritted teeth before he sinks down on your length with a determined look on his face.

You barely have the time to adjust yourself before he sets a steady pace, your head lolls back onto the bed board as gasps escape your lips.

Let’s just say that after that, everyone on base knew that the two of you are dating.

Spitball w/ me?

#scribbles #alec answers #Alex Keller #alex Keller x reader #Alex Keller x male reader #dom male character #sub male reader #top male reader #bottom male character #call of duty #I wasn’t planning on writing this this just happened Istg

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flowerbetweenfangs · 5 months ago

Text

Love Bite

6.2k words.

CW: Dead lover (although not seen dead), general zombie/undead activities. While the ghouls are sapient/pass the harkness test, they are made up of an amalgamation of human bodies. If that disturbs you, I would skip this one.

Disclaimer: I haven't seen/played or consumed any Fallout media, these ghouls aren't like those (at least not intentionally). They're more like Frankenstein's monsters,/the ghouls from Tokyo Ghoul with a more spiritual connection.

Summary: A woman goes to the undead base on feeding night to get some answers... And maybe more from their leader.

This was originally written as a script, and I've repurposed it as a short story. I hope the switch works.

The radio had been blaring for hours, warning that it was feeding night. While most of the undead would be confined to hallowed ground, a few stragglers had been spotted roaming the streets. It wasn’t unheard of for a living human to be on the receiving end of a life changing, or ending, bite. The only people out were the Cleaners, driving slowly in armored vehicles, coming out in special suits that, supposedly, a ghoul couldn’t bite through.

You had managed to avoid being seen by both, ducking around corners and sprinting past streetlights. The belt around your waist was heavy, but filled with the items needed to fend off an undead that ventured too close. They had formed a shaky peace with the humans who occupied the town, offering their services as both mediums and mercenaries. Tougher than the average human, with a connection to the veil between life and death. Their prices were never cheap, of course, but it seemed to be something people would pay for.

In return, they were allowed free run once a night to feast. Although if the rumors were true, then the ghouls would also pay for access to fresh meat outside of the allotted date. The same thing that brought them to life wouldn’t last forever, and there were whispers of the undead showing up with fresher body parts than they had previously.

Nothing official, of course. But rumors, like hordes, spread fast and couldn’t be contained for long.

You weren’t sure if them eating the living or using their bodies for… Bodies was worse.

As you passed another armored truck, two Suits scraped up a mishmash of ghoul and its victim. Both had lost the fight.

Pushing it out of your mind, you swallowed and steeled yourself for what was to come.

The moon had reached its high point when you arrived at the cathedral. Iron gates surrounded it on all sides. You could see Roamers out front, moaning in their own language with an occasional bit of the local tongue slipped in. Judging by how human their bodies still looked, they must have been recently turned.

Walking around, you found a hole in the fence and wriggled under it. Your belt caught, stopping you against where sidewalk met grass. Pulling a baton free, you clutched it one hand, and unclipped the belt with the other.

As fast as you could, you crawled under the pickets, wincing as your shirt snagged on one and ripped. With the moaning and groaning in the background, you hoped the sound was masked. Sucking in your stomach, you wriggled under and quickly yanked the belt after you, quickly putting it back on before standing.

A paper fell out of your unbuttoned pouch, and you snatched it up, trying to shove the contents back inside while keeping your head on a swivel.

Keeping the baton out, you stared at the stained glass windows. Once upon a time, they had shown images of doves, holy books, and saints. Now, they showed the undead, brought to life by a mixture of science and a bit of magic. Some said they were the second coming, but you didn’t believe it.

Gritting your teeth, you made a beeline for the side door. The front was filled with the roamers. A few were passed out on the ground, chests rising and falling with the memory of breathing.

It took all your self-control not to turn around and go through the hole you came through.

It was all going well, until you felt a wet spot on the back of your shirt. Pausing, you put a hand to the spot, and pulled away your fingers, heart leaping in your throat when you saw they came away red.

Blood.

A warm summer breeze hit you, and the creaking of ancient bones filled the air as the roamers turned in your direction. Cloudy eyes squinted as nostrils flared. Clutching the baton, you ran to the side door.

The handle felt slick in your grasp as you fumbled with it. As you tugged, the sound of metal scraping on metal seemed so loud, no doubt alerting the hoard of your presence if your blood already hadn’t.

Some shuffled toward you, heads tilted to the side as they seemed to take you in, But before you could get a better look, you yanked the door open and ran inside, slamming it behind you.

A few candles lit up the hallway as florescent lights flickered above enough to give you pause. Panting, you clutched the weapon tighter as you waited for something to burst from the darkness.

Something instead hit the door behind you, spurring you forward. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you saw a few staring at you through the glass. Sweaty palm prints pressed against the pane as they leaned against it. Black fluid seeped from lips as they sniffed.

Backing away, you had barely turned around when you nearly slammed into a figure in the dark. You took a swing, feeling it connect. A grunt told you it made an impact. The scent of posies and peppermint filled your nose, making your hair stand on end.

Then, a large hand wrapped around your arm, twisting it to make you drop the weapon, Your body turned with it, dumping a few of your belt’s contents onto the floor. Before your arm snapped, you saw the amber eyes, a signature of the resurrected dead.

He sniffed, the ichor seeping from his lips. Unlike the Roamers outside, it was less viscous and more of a dark grey as opposed to pure black.

You brought your hand back to strike him, but he let go, sending you to the floor in a heap. Before you could get your bearings, he reached down and picked up the paper.

“You’re here to see Romero?” His teeth looked like they had been filed to a point. His grey tongue stewed in more drool.

The raspy voice sent another chill up your spine. Sure, ghouls could speak, but it was one thing to hear it over a radio or television, another thing to hear it in person.

“Y-yeah.” You managed to say, eyeing your weapon. As you inched toward it, you felt your stomach drop as the creature’s hand grabbed your shoulder, then slid down to your bicep.

Unceremoniously hauled to your feet, you winced and waited for the bite….

But it never came.

“Very well….” He started to walk, all but pulling down the hallway. To keep yourself from being dragged, you regained your footing and did your best to match the much larger man’s pace.

When you both came to double doors leading the auditorium, you saw the name plate.

Romero.

The ghoul knocked on the door, his meaty fist making it echo in the empty hall. You squinted, half expecting more undead to come scrambling out of the dark and to devour you.

“Enter.” A voice called from on the other side of the door. It was muffled, but your heart still skipped a beat at how… Familiar it sounded.

Your escort opened the door. The creaking drug out, and your heart skipped a beat to see…

A man you’d never seen before. The scarred, mismatched skin of a ghoul covered his body, along with the split coloring of black and white on his scalp, one half straight, the other curly. His attire was a suit, pressed, with a bright red tie.

He was sat at a desk next to the pulpit, flipping through a file. Classical music softly played on a record player, not audible beyond the room.

“Leave us, please.” He didn’t look up from his file.

The escort’s grip on your arm loosened. Hot breath stirred at your neck, and you turned at the last second, seeing his opened mouth mere inches from your shoulder.

“Get your mouth away from her.” The file hit the desk, scattering a few loose pieces of paper. Romero finally looked up, eyes shimmering in the candlelight.

Your escort stepped away, wiping his mouth and slurping down the drool.

“How would you like it if someone gave you a plate of food they’d taken a bite out of?” Romero’s eyes narrowed, and he snapped his fingers, pointing to the door.

“Sorry boss, won’t happen again.”

“Make sure of it.” Romero followed him to the door. The creaking of his joints made you grit your teeth. His movements were just slow enough to look strange. How long had it been since you fed? Your eyes flicked to the desk again, where you saw a plate, only juices remaining of what he’d been eating.

Swallowing, you stood up straight, trying to not show fear.

Romero closed the door, turning the lock and hanging the key on a nail next to it.

“So.” He deeply sighed, closing his eyes. Veins protruded from his skin, slithering across his brow and cheeks. “You’ve come to the cathedral during feeding night.”

He opened his eyes, the veins stopped squirming, and he began to walk toward you, hands clasped behind his back. When he stopped, the scent of peppermint rolled over you. Sweat beaded on your upper lip as you swallowed, trying to not spit as the scent burrowed its way into your mouth and tongue.

“I’m amazed the horde didn’t take you at the gate.” He towered over you, eyes tracking back and forth as he sized you up.

Your breath caught in your throat as memories flooded back. Those eyes… So long ago.

They looked at you with love.

“Relax.” He turned to the side and waved a dismissive hand through the air, as if trying to rid himself of a bad smell. “I’m not fond of eating someone whose mind would be a detriment to my intellect.”

“A detriment?” You raised a brow, shaking the thoughts from your mind. Right. The creature in front of you was a thief!

“That’s how I would describe your actions. Too stupid to live.” He unfolded the piece of paper, staring at the flyer and rolling his eyes.

“If more people like you were in power, the undead would have overtaken the city in months when we first started to walk.”

“Are you going to insult me this whole time?” You clenched your fists. “If this is how you treat everyone, I’m amazed the undead weren’t mowed down when you first started to walk.”

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the pew in front of the desk, before pulling open a drawer. “Clementine? Cranberries?”

“What?” You expected to see a few cans or fruit cups, but your mouth watered when he pulled out the fresh produce, along with a bottle of water.

“You think we only eat the flesh of the dead?” He tossed you the bottle of water, which you caught. Checking to make sure that it hadn’t been opened or had holes in the cap, you slowly opened it. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Finishing the water bottle, you set it next to you on the pew. You heart skipped a beat as his eyes fell on you again, now glittering with curiosity.

“You’re too old for your actions to be a dare or some childish foolhardiness.” Romero didn’t sit, but leaned on his desk. It creaked under his weight. “Did a spurned lover put you out? Angry boss threw you here because you fell behind on your performance?”

You shook your head. Why was he asking so many questions?

Sweat trickled down your neck as you pushed down the memories starting to rear their heads again. Grabbing the water bottle, you made a show of crushing it down until only a small ring of plastic was under the cap.

“Are you in debt? Terminally ill?” His voice was softer, light returning to his eyes. His cheeks and hands started to look less clammy. “Because if it’s the latter, you’ll find no reprieve here. A vampire might be more to your liking.”

“If I had those problems, then I would have let the hordes in the street take me. Maybe I would have been someone dragging terrified living through the halls.” You put a hand to your bicep, knowing it was likely going to bruise. At least a handprint was better than a bite mark.

“You’ve seen my kind.” The kindness was gone as he all but bit off each word. He held up an arm, showing where his wrist met the rest of his arm. The skin tones were slightly different. “Mismatched and sewn together from the best parts the dead—” He paused, rolling his eyes in a reluctant admittance. “—And occasional living, offer. We pay for the bodies, they pay us for the minds.”

“Yes.” You nodded to the paper in his hand. “I’ve seen it. Flyers around town, teasing them with promises of being able to talk to loved ones who passed on, or helping the police find criminals.”

“Is that why you’ve come?” He smiled, crumpling the paper in his fist and tossing it over his shoulder.

Inhaling sharply, you gripped your pant legs, nails digging into the fabric.

“Did I hit a nerve?” The smile grew larger, but didn’t reach his eyes. A small part of you was relieved.

“I take it you didn’t come prepared with money?”

“The flyer didn’t—”

“I never take clients on feeding nights.” He held up a hand to cut you off, then stepped down the stairs to close the distance between you. “Too grisly. Lots of people upset that I’m eating in front of them.”

You couldn’t hide your disgust as your lip drew backward and your face scrunched up. Leaning back in the pew, you crossed your arms. So, you’d come all this way for nothing?

“I’ve consumed lots of minds over the years.” He put two fingers to his temples. “So many memories jumbled together. It’s hard to tell who they originally belonged to. The process to get… Specific can be taxing. Of course, these things don’t come cheap, but there are many who are willing to pay if it means getting some closure from a loved one.”

The eyes… They stared at you, trying to gauge your reaction. When your face relaxed, you were rewarded with a clementine. Peeling back the skin, you stared down at the fruit.

“Usually something is needed to trigger recollection. A trinket. A song.” His voice was a lot closer. Closing your eyes, you didn’t dare look up to see how near he was to your face. Surprisingly, you could smell mint mixed in with his warm breath.

“A smell…”

A breeze stirred. And the memories lanced their way through your mind. Even when your squeezed your eyes shut, they remained.

“I can see it now, actually.” Romero’s voice was faint, fading into the ambience of downtown. A train whistled, and you sat on a bench, a suitcase at your side.

“You were supposed to meet him at the train station.” Romero’s voice was gone. The cadence… The tone… the speech pattern. You didn’t dare turn around to face him, for fear that everything would fade away. His voice. The one that matched the eyes.

“Both of you wanted to escape to a new city, leave this life behind. A place without the undead. Where you wouldn’t have to worry about the pressures of your families. Somewhere no one knew either of you. A clean slate. Thrive, not just survive.”

“But his family had debts.” The scene began to fade away as a clock above the train tracks spun, people and other occupants of the station moved by in a blur.

“Ones that buried them worse than the corpses that make up the graveyard. They gave up everything to make it. Gambling on someone that they hoped would be the light at the end of their miserable tunnel.”

The cathedral returned, and you saw Romero’s mismatched hand out of the corner of your eye.

“He was far from the only one.” The ghoul dropped his hand and shook his head. The pew creaked as he stood back in front of you.

“His body was the base for my current form.” He ran his hands over his suit, fingers tracing over the buttons. For a moment, you thought he would undo them and show you the patchwork beneath it.

“But, like many, it needed better pieces. Parts had to be replaced. So many minds were absorbed in creating this.” His hands went back to his temples, pointer fingers resting on them.

“Of… Me?” He sounded unsure, brow furrowing as his straight hair fell over his eyes. “Us?”

His fingers went from his temples to his eyelids.

“The eyes stayed, though. His were lovely. Although I suppose you knew that the moment ours met.”

You sucked in air through your teeth.

“What…” He shook his head and dropped his hands, placing a hand on his chest. His voice lacked bravado. For a moment, it looked like a tear was shimmering on his cheek. “Who he was doesn’t exist anymore. He’s… sorry. That he left you waiting. But he’s glad to see you’re doing well.”

Your heart fell into your stomach. If you hadn’t been sitting, then your legs would have given out. Panting, you placed a hand on your chest in a mirror of his own pose.

“Interesting…” His hand went to cover his mouth, but you would still hear his words. “Memories of the dead… Creating feelings.”

He made a fist and cleared his throat, body becoming stiff.

“Is that all you needed to hear? I think we’re pushing things as we are.”

“How did you do all that? Make me see that night?” Your words came out barely above a whisper. Your voice shook with each word. “Is this some trick?”

Your heart fluttered, and you reached out to touch the ghoul, as if that would bring them all back again.

“Forgive me, it was a mistake to refer to him in the present tense.” He started to back away from you, waving his hand in that dismissive way. “I don’t mean to make you angry.”

“I’m…” You felt tears slipping down your cheeks, large and hot. They fell down onto your collar and chest. “Not angry…” It surprised you, but you realized it was the truth. You certainly weren’t happy… But far from… The fury you expected.

“Such an expression doesn’t do you justice.” His expression softened, and his hand cupped your soaked cheek.

“You’re still radiant despite it.”

“Is this… Normal?”

“Your presence is pulling him to the forefront. Quieting the others.” He put a finger to his lips with his freehand, closing his eyes. Inhaling deeply, he exhaled the minty breath over your face, covering you with goosebumps.

You didn’t dare say anything. Didn’t breathe. Worried that any noise you made would send him back to the hive mind. Losing him forever. A second death after seeing him for only a short amount of time.

How could people subject themselves to this?

“There are a lot of minds I’ve absorbed. Memories.” His hand went from your cheek to the curve of your neck.

“But never emotions.”

“So does that mean he’s… Piloting you right now?” You felt silly for asking. Of course he wouldn’t be. Why would he refer himself to the third person?

“It would be impossible to bring him back, I apologize.” He dropped his hand. The icy cold of your cheek stung, like he’d slapped it.

“And yet…”

You finally sucked in a breath. Your heart slammed against your ribs, a battering ram that threatened to break them. Swallowing hard, you placed your palms on the back of the pew and forced yourself to stand.

“I appreciate all you’ve done. But I think we’re moving past a professional relationship.”

“Right. Yes.” He finally broke the gaze, and it was like a piece of you was torn free. “There is a cot that you can stay on until feeding night is over. Once the sun is out, then you can head home.”

You headed to the door, hand hovering above the key. It was the one thing that would give your freedom, but lock him away forever.

So many questions swirled around in your mind. It was a rare opportunity.

Turning back around, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Romero standing between the pews. Far enough away to give him deniability of following you, but closer than he’d been when you’d arrived.

“Perhaps it’s these eyes of his.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “But ever since you walked into this room, I haven’t been able to see you as food, but as a thing of beauty. And your smell… Appetizing, but it entranced me further.”

He took another step closer, eyes flicking to the key. It was slow enough to give you enough time to leave. To tell him to stop.

But you didn’t move.

These eyes of his…

Memories… Feelings… Sorry… Glad to see you’re doing well…

“I don’t want you to get confused.” You blurted. “You aren’t him.”

“I know.” He admitted. “But these memories…” He stopped within arm’s length of you. “I will never be a replacement for him, but perhaps you can find some comfort in that a small part of him will continue to live on.”

You sniffed and wiped your eyes. The touch. The gaze. The way he talked… There was no way to convince yourself it was him…

But this was as close as you could get.

You closed the distance between you two and wrapped your arms around him. The way he felt was… Wrong, but at least the warmth was the same. You expected stiff and cold. But you let your head rest on his chest, expecting to hear and feel the familiar rhythm of his heart.

Only silence answered.

His fingers went under your chin, and he tilted your head up toward his. Rough lips brushed against yours in a chaste kiss. You closed your eyes. All you could see was the ghoul in the darkness.

“Perhaps we can continue to learn from one another.” His lips scratched against your earlobe. “You’ll find more of your love’s memories, and I’ll explore these emotions and senses…” His fingers slid between yours, the touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

You finally locked eyes with him, looping your arms around his neck. His hands went to your waist, and your bodies pressed up against one another.

Your lips met again, and he grabbed the back of your head and crushed you two together. He moaned softly, his rough mouth wet against yours. Remembering the ichor, you squeezed your own shut and prayed none would get into your mouth.

Then, a growl.

A sharp pain went up the curve of your neck. His hair brushed your skin and you tangled your hands in his hair.

Had it all been an act?

Was this how you died?

Then, he was off, licking his lips and shaking his head.

“Sorry… Some natures are… Hard to ignore.” He stared at you, straightening his arms to look you over.

“Are you alright?”

“It hurts.” You admitted, putting a hand to the bite. It stung, but the skin didn’t seem to be broken. “Will I turn?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s… Just a love bite.”

You swallowed. Your head spun as you leaned into him once again. The surprise wore off, and so did the pain.

“Then I’m fine.”

“If I had a pulse,” He cupped your cheek again, bending down to brush his lips against yours in a much more chaste kiss. Guiding your hand to his chest, he let it rest. “It would be racing right now. “There’s so much of you I want to feel and taste… When I thought about sinking my teeth into your flesh, I never wanted to break it. Only leave you bruised.”

He made a clicking noise with his tongue.

“I suppose… I’ve already done that.” He tilted his head to the side and winced apologetically, fingers brushing against the bite mark. Each touch made you stand up straight and suck in a breath, crushing your bodies together again, to where only your clothes separated you.

“I wanted… Want to indulge all of my senses with you.” He pulled you in for an embrace again, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “The moans that escape you dancing on the razor’s edge of pleasure and pain.”

A kiss on your forehead.

“Lips that call out my name toward the heavens rather than cursing me into the dirt.”

A kiss on your eyelid.

“Fingers that tangle in my clothing.” A kiss on your earlobe again, as his own digits twisted in the back of your shirt. “Pulling me closer instead of pushing away.”

A kiss on your nose.

“Inhaling my scent rather than twisting away in disgust…”

A kiss on the lips.

“A flavor that brings us mutual pleasure.”

When he pulled away, you kissed him again. Your legs trembled, and he brought you to one of the pews and let you lean against it.

“We take parts of other bodies,” His hands roamed, going under your shirt. He found the wound from the fence, but his fingers danced around it with such dexterity that it didn’t hurt.

“I’d love to see one in its base state.”

You felt the all too familiar hardness between his legs. The touch almost made you cry out in shock. Sure, they took bodies, but they were… Anatomically correct?

“I’m undead, but I can still respond to stimuli.” He chuckled, then pulled back to give you room between him and the pew. “We may not reproduce like you do, but there’s still some pleasure that can be taken from it…”

“Ghouls have sex?”

“Maybe not nearly as often as humans do. But some memories stir… And if there’s a mood…” He titled his hand side to side with a noise of uncertainty.

“But I’ve never wanted to do it as much as I have with you right now.”

“Then surely… You remember how I like to be touched?” You felt your cheeks burn at your own forwardness. This was crazy.

But yet, you found yourself fumbling for your clothes, tossing them behind you on the pew.

He stared, lips parted slightly as he took you in.

“Perfection…”

The staring didn’t last long before he was kissing you again.

“I mean it. Truly.” He managed between kisses as his hands continued to explore, finding every sensitive spot and curve on you, his touch only becoming more eager as you let out soft sighs and moans.

“Just as lovely as it was… No… Better.”

Then, he broke the barrage of kisses to loosen his tie and start unbuttoning his suit. Unbuckling his belt, he gave you a sly look as his pants fell around his ankles. He stripped all fabric off him, revealing the patchwork skin beneath in the candlelight.

“It’s only fair if I’m as naked as you.”

Shadows danced across his skin, making it harder to tell where some ended and others began. A strange stitching of flesh that he somehow made look whole.

“As I said, we take all the best parts… Some for aesthetic. Some for health.”

You ran your hands over his skin, fingers more adept at finding the cracks in him than your eyes.

“I try to find a mixture of both.” He let out a soft gasp as your hands trailed lower over his hip bones. “Haphazard, yet coherent.”

Then you saw the cock rising and drooling. The fluid glistened in the light, and you sucked in a breath.

“His eyes weren’t the only thing I kept…” He softly moaned as your fingers brushed against it. Somehow, it managed to grow harder and leak more, leaving a glistening trail on your skin.

“It remembers your touch quite well. You appear to be a master of the flesh yourself.”

He brought you in for another kiss, moaning into your mouth as you pumped him. Your hands became slick with him, and it helped lube him up more. His hips bucked, hilting into your grip. You squeezed more, increasing your pace as you felt between your legs tingle with the memory of him…

You dropped to your knees, continuing to stroke, the head dampening with your pants.

“It seems to fit in your hand…” He moaned as you took him into your mouth. “And mouth , perfectly!”

He moaned, thrusting into your mouth. You opened wide for him, letting him go as deep as he could. It had been a while, but you moaned around him, grabbing his thighs to pull him back in when he tried to back out. When he did manage to get free, you sucked on his thighs and balls, tongue leaving a shimmering path behind you.

His panting and your sucking joined the classical music in the background.

“That’s certainly one way to draw out memories!” He moaned into you, resting his hands on the pew so he could thrust more into your mouth, but not hard enough to slam your head against the wood. You grabbed him harder, forcing him as deep as he could go while still sucking.

“I imagine a lot more of my kind would be willing to work with the living using this method!”

You pulled your mouth free, looking at his rock hard length, wet with your saliva. You pumped it a few more times, running your lips across the shaft and lapping at his balls. The taste… the smell.. the sight… You almost felt dizzy with delight at how familiar it all was.

“I imagine kneeling on a stone floor isn’t terribly comfortable.” He offered his hand, and you took it. With a grunt, he hauled you to your feet. He brought his hands between your legs, the grin returning when he felt the wetness between them.

“I feel it’s only fair to return the favor.”

His lips were against your skin, sending more goosebumps over it as your nipples became erect.

“Go ahead and lay back.”

You balanced on the edge of the pew. At least the sides were large enough to let you sit without it digging too much into your behind.

“Probably more comfortable.” He mumbled against your collarbone as he started to slide down, his lips and tongue mingling with your breasts, your stomach, hips…

“I have a… different hunger that needs to be satisfied.”

He drew his tongue across your wetness, swirling around your clit, breath warm against your folds. He rolled his head, drawing out the motion, before drawing it back. His lips rested against your thigh, before he clamped down on it again.

“Sorry.” His eyes went wide as his mouth continued to nibble across your thigh, before he pulled off with a suctioning sound. Grunting, he pulled off, about to apologize again, before you wrapped your legs around his head and yanked him closer.

“I didn’t take you for the type to enjoy that.” His muffled voice rumbled through you, and your back arched.

He continued to lick, parting your lips so he could plunge in deeper. His tongue moved with precision, teeth barely grazing your clit. Warm breath punctuated with moans vibrated through your entire body as he continued to devour you, not even coming up for air.

Eager lips parted and lapped at your wetness, fingers prying you open and delving deeper as he moved his head side to side, face slick with your essence.

You braced yourself on the pews, panting and moaning as the licks continued to spark the desire in you, then fanned the small flame into an inferno. You cried out, back arching again as your legs locked around his head. Taking shallow breaths, you tried to not fall backward.

“You’re truly on that edge.” He said with another lick, pulling back and running his tongue up your thigh. “A precipice of danger and desire.”

With no mercy, he licked and sucked more, focusing purely on your clit as his fingers slipped in and out of you, going deep and brushing against your most sensitive spots. Your moans grew louder, your body slick with sweat as the inferno raged out of control. You saw stars, your vision fracturing like the stained glass all around you.

“I want to fill that emptiness left. Cure an ache I never knew I had.” He murmured against you.

“I can’t replace him, but…”

You rocked forward, all but collapsing into his arms and sending you both to the floor in a heap. He caught the both of you, his suit forming a sort of cushion beneath the two of you. It still hurt, but you didn’t care, only kissing him more.

“Maybe… Just for tonight. We can both feel alive, again.”

You answered with a kiss.

“I can’t do much to make a stone floor comfortable, sorry.” He pointedly looked around at all the scattered clothing. “I doubt the two of us could fit properly on a pew…”

He sat up with a grunt, still cradling you in one arm.

“The only really cushioned spot in here is my chair…” He nodded to the desk.

“So. I guess you’ll have to sit on my lap.” He grunted and winced as his joints popped while standing.

“Come on, up we go.”

You started to stand, but your body felt like jelly and collapsed underneath you again.

“Having trouble getting your legs under you?” He grabbed your hand tighter and then pulled you into a bridal carry, taking you to the desk.

“You’re not?”

He sat you down against the desk. You leaned on it for support as he sat in his chair, patting his thigh.

“Have a seat.” There was the glittering of mischief in his eyes. So warm. With a smile that actually reached the edges.

You straddled his lap, clinging tight to his shoulders as you hovered over him. You could feel the wetness of your entrance and his tip as they brushed against one another. Letting out another gasp, you lined yourself up and finally took him inside.

“A perfect fit.” His whispered into your ear.

Once you had gotten comfortable, he began to thrust up into you, hands on your hips.

“ It’s like everything I remembered,” He said between moans. “Despite never having felt it before.”

He started to speed up, reaching further than his fingers and tongue ever could. Your walls opened up, allowing him inside you. Your synchronized moans overtook the record player, but you didn’t care.

“Creating new memories…” He crashed his lips onto yours, and you met his movements with your own. He moaned into your mouth, his cock twitching as his grip on you only grew tighter.

“The hair’s width of distance—” Another moan, and his breath caught. Sweat poured down his brow with exertion. “Between life and death growing thinner.”

He slowed, drawing out the motion intentionally, all but dragging himself inside you.

“And thinner.” His voice was breathy, shallow breaths warmed your skin and lips.

He sped up again, hilting you each time and making you cry out. You stopped meeting his movements and clung onto him as he thrust in and out of you.

“Every kiss—” He once again brought his lips to yours. “Moan…” His voice trailed off into a moan. “Drop of sweat….” His hands released your hips and let you fall onto him.

“Another way to make the barrier dissolve. And when you lean against me…” He thrust again, the motion lazy and agonizingly slow.

“It’s like you’re pushing through… I guess we’ll have to keep finding holes and make due.” He chuckled and thrust up into you again.

Then, he clamped onto your neck again. Rather than pain, you only went over the edge in pleasure, nails digging into him as you cried out. You clamped down on him as he released inside you. Fluid and wet mixed on your thighs and his lap, dripping onto the floor.

He sucked, cradling you close and finally pulling off, kissing it apologetically.

“I guess there’s some parts of my nature I can’t ignore.” He whispered against your skin. “We have some medical supplies to treat that.”

You couldn’t help but shoot him a look at you clutched the fresh bite. Your heart fluttered as your legs and between them tingled. Despite the fear, you couldn’t push down the excitement flooding your body.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t turn. Takes a bit more… Finesse to become one of us.”

You resting your head against his chest, hand searching for his beating heart. You let out a sigh of disappointment when you remembered there wouldn’t be one.

“I appreciate you indulging me. I hope this brought you some closure.” He stroked between your shoulder blades and nuzzled up against you.

“And if it didn’t… Perhaps we could try again?” You expected him to laugh or make a joke, but his face was… Hopeful.

“I feel like I’ve been revived a second time. It’s a phenomenon I’d like to explore more.” He stared at his hands, which were shaking. “New methods to channel the dead and creating memories that can… Coexist with the old ones.”

“Making breakthroughs?” You managed to say. “Discovering new methods on how things work with your kind?”

“I think your teaching style differs from what I’m used to.” His hand slid into yours again. “And I’d love to learn more. Maybe your mind can be of use to me after all.”

#monster lover #monster love #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster x human #monster fucker #monsterfucker #terato #writeblr #monster x reader #monster/reader #ghoul #ghoul x reader #ghoul/reader

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velvetures · 9 months ago

Text

AU Continuation: Perimeter Security

a.n.: Thank you to everyone who left comments, and gave this love! I hope to write more! This is thanks to @3dumbass and their suggestions.

summary: living with the 141 has its perks, and built-in security is one of them. it’s just not always easy for them to determine who’s actually a threat.

AU: The 141 are at risk due to personal files being compromised. They’re laying low at a low-risk location until further notice.

tags?: Simon x 3rd person coded relationship, strangers, tension, well-meaning anger, protectiveness, misunderstanding.

Snow made everything on the ridge lines slow down. Thick, icy, blankets camouflaged roads and halted the daily movement of simple life. The mail didn’t run, and neither did the school busses in town. It was as if the whole mountain slept in for weeks at a time when this kind of weather trudged in over the skyline. Freezing water pipes -if you didn’t know to turn the tap on a little- and draining the battery in your vehicle leaving you stranded for days at a time. It’s what made a wood-burning stove a lifesaver and why the ornate Art Garland sitting in the living room more of a necessity than a gilded cast-iron luxury from 1898.

But getting firewood was a whole different experience… especially when the task force took up residence and experience their first winter with Price and Laswell’s goddaughter.

She did well to provide for herself. Not just well, really, better than that. Everything she could manage alone was done without any assistance, and she never complained about much. They all assumed it came from living in such a remote place. That she couldn’t rely on anyone and never got spoiled to living easily. What she couldn’t -or simply didn’t- want to manage, the locals down in town helped with by beaters, trades, or well-kept favors that just kept being passed back and forth.

Just another one of those slowed-down things that made a whole lot of sense in her life, but set the 141’s teeth on edge.

They could rely on each other and do just fine most of the time. But individually and as a squad, it made all of them feel inadequate beyond comprehension asking for or requiring help. And like with her was just one of the stinging wounds they couldn’t quite heal up. Seeing her trade strawberries for corn or a rough-sewn quilt for a hand-made kitchen knife was dignified enough… they just didn’t understand fully how deep the lifestyle ran.

Ghost’s encounter with “Bear” put that much more tension on the dynamic.

***

She’d been inside bent over a pot of soup for nearly the whole morning. Steam curling over her reddened cheeks and sucking up through the range hood when the faint sound of a truck came spinning up the steep snow-covered driveway. A flatbed with a steel-cage welded to the bed and stacks of wood covered with a blue tarp in the back with fraying bungee cords. A familiar sight for her since the man driving always brought her firewood when the weather got too cold to go and do it herself. Or when she’d been regrettably lazy… and didn’t feel like it either.

Barrett “Bear” Stephens. A real outdoorsman and not more than a couple years older than her. Most people around town thought he was a real prick since he didn’t talk much and kept to himself out on West Run Ridge. But she liked him well enough. Trusted him to let him in her house for dinner as thanks for keeping her house warm and always waved when she saw him in the grocery store despite the guarantee he wouldn’t aside her back. Hearing his truck ambling up through driveway wasn’t anything new.

It’s why she forgot to mention it to anyone else.

“Damn freezing out here,” He spit with gritted teeth, sliding out of the truck in four layers of coats. “You’re real lucky the biscuits you make are worth this shit.”

She couldn’t help but stifle a smile. Shifting back and forth to stave off the cold while wearing less than half of what Bear was. Only having come out to greet him since it was below freezing. Normally she’d leave him to drop off her bundles of kindling without the harassment of making him talk. But the snow was deep, and she felt guilty not at least helping him for a moment. Maybe it was good luck that she had though. Because Bear didn’t even make it to the back of the flatbed when a solid black figure smoothly appeared from the opposite side. Black steel glinting in evening light and the black hole of a rifled pistol aimed right at him.

She stopped dead in her tracks. The mistake washing over her seeing Ghost standing there in the scary-as-hell mask, with a white skull framed by a black hoodie and positive white snow all around him. Fuck, even the steam from his breath smoked out of the mask like he was fucking burning from the inside out and letting off pressure before he exploded. His eyes were dead and cold. Staring down the mountain man who’d came to just as still of a position. She was certain Ghost was the only one breathing.

“You’re not welcome,” his thick burred voice sounded more gritty than normal. Maybe from the cold weather… she’d not seen him inside her house in days. “Suggest you leave.”

Bear didn’t say a word, but his rapid nod of his head was enough to thaw her out. Stop this before it got any uglier than Ghost’s .45 making a damn-good threat.

“Wait! He’s… he’s here on purpose!” The excuse can’t great. There could be plenty of reasons he came with intent and then not be positive. “I needed him!”

The stiffness in Ghost miraculously gets worse. Frost in his wide shoulders turning to blue ice and that darkness in his eyes sharpening like flint from sloped hills behind the house. It made him more pissed, and she didn’t have the slightest idea of how to fix it.

He was cagey at the best of times. Like he’d bristle if he had fur on his back or bare fangs if he had the choice to. She hated making any of that anger show, but there wasn’t a better option right now. Besides… it was her damn house. She could have whoever she pleased so long as she thought they were safe. John had made it clear there wouldn’t be any restrictions unless something serious came up. And having visitors weren’t one of them. Especially since. Bear wasn’t coming in the house.

She’d been quite set in that decision anyways. Bear wasn’t the nosey type anyways. He didn’t talk much, did his job, and left. But that didn’t mean Ghost knew it. And his pistol didn’t even waver a centimeter even after she spoke.

“This… this yours?” Bear’s voice sounded shaky. His teeth unclenched and irritation with the cold wind dissolved. His question made her antsy. There were too many answers, and none of them felt right in her head.

“Long story,” she decided, taking a rounded pathway around Bear and towards Ghost. Purposefully staying far away from that damn pistol he felt still necessary to have out.

“He can be-”

“Lethal.”

Ghost’s interjection made her wince.

“Enough of that!” She snaps back, hissing and feeling the hot air freeze in front of her lips. “Let him drop off the firewood, and he’ll leave.”

One look back at Bear and she could see the slight confusion in his otherwise guarded expression. There was no chance in hell she was letting Ghost just disappear off somewhere after this. He couldn’t just point-blank threaten people. Bear was who kept the damn house warm half the winter whether she liked it or not. And Ghost couldn’t fuck it up just because he’d not been explicitly told anything.

“How ‘bout we lend a hand?”

Soap and Gaz walking up nearly gave her a heart attack. One of them was bad enough. Two more? Her faith in Bear not running and telling anyone who would listen about her was stretching thin. The grocery store, all three churches, and the fire department would think she was in a reverse harem by the end of the month. Even if Soap was already helping himself to the stacks of bundled wood in the back, this interaction felt centuries long with no hope of ending.

“Just three.” She finally gets the warning out, seeing Gaz going for a fourth bundle. He just nods, setting it back down and shooting a quite civil nod in the man’s direction.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” He adds, looking over the tall stacks. “How much?”

“Ten dollars a bundle.” Bear sounds half ready to pass out.

Gaz promptly drops the one he’s carrying and pulls out a wallet like he’s got no problem with Ghost still standing there like a human-centry gun. Pulling out a twenty and holding it out in his hand.

Is this some sort of fucking peace treaty?

Ghost only moves to holster his weapon after Bear takes the money and mutters something about ‘help yourself’ before shutting himself back inside the can of the truck without another word. Tension easing with each moment Soap spends stacking his arms tall with dry, red cedar and sycamore. She doesn’t even know where to begin. Wondering where John was. Wanting to know where Ghost had been. Why he’d even approached in the first place.

“I need a word with you.”

She can’t bring herself to do anything but stare out at Bear’s truck hightailing it off her property as she addresses Ghost. Hearing his very heavy boots creaking on the porch. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s clear once Gaz and Soap leave for inside that he’s not standing behind her for his own enjoyment.

“Do you have any idea what you might’ve just screwed up?” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own. It’s mad, sure. But almost panicked in a sense. The reality of the situation hitting her harder because she vividly remembered winter before the help. And it wasn’t pretty. Recent snows had been stable and quite pleasant actually. And Ghost nearly made target practice out of her own sure solution.

“Very aware,” that damn voice sounded too smooth. “Who is he?”

Another thick billow of fog curls out of her mouth. “Who he is, isn’t important. Keeping my fucking house from freezing is.” She can feel her fingers starting to prick from the cold even inside her coat.

“Don’t care for nameless men.” He counters just as seemingly unbothered.

If she could physically force herself to turn around and face him head-on, she would. But his utter disregard made it intimidating. Too much to handle.

“Jesus Christ….” She muttered, head dropping to thump against a porch post. “Barrett Stephens. We call him Bear.” It felt defeating to be forced to answer him like this.

Ghost’s boots strain the porch as he walks towards the firewood hoops. The sound of dry bark ready to catch an ember cracking and scratching as he moves it.

“Almost killed himself…”

“Yeah,” She chuckles dryly, biting the inside of her cheek and spinning around with some real anger. “M’sure the coroner would love to know how he got ahold of the pistol you have tucked in your fuckin’ jeans.”

That massive man turned on himself just as quickly. Closing a multiple-yard distance in just a couple long strides. His breathing heavier and that thick smoke trailing from the stitch-seams in his mask.

“Gonna get yourself killed too…” He warns. Low, and just like the wolf she pictured him being. Bared teeth, dilated eyes and all.

“Stop growlin’ at me…” The words come out of her mouth before she even thinks about how wrong it is. “Actin’ like a damn dog.”

He’s fast. So fast.

Hauling her backwards against the porch banister and towering high above her head with a low, and heavy sort of breath fizzling out in his chest. It’s the most threatening he’s been so far. And she can’t tell just how far she can continue to stand her ground without things truly getting ugly. Even her fingers have stopped tingling from the cold with just how fast her blood is pumping. Force feeding oxygen to her brain. Desperate to find a way to run from an inescapable situation she’d created.

“Mind tellin’ me where you got this idea to talk back to me, creeker?”

“When you started throwin’ that gun around like you have the right.”

The fear didn’t keep her mouth shut. Digging an even deeper grave all because he kept using that stupid fucking nickname. Pushing buttons and making it that much harder to be understanding of why he was always so bitter. Nothing she’d done had made a difference so far. And the patience she’d saved specifically for him was waning.

Ghost just chuckled, his head rolling to the side and the gloved hands gripping her coat tightened.

“The right?” It was almost impossible to imagine anything other than a smirk under that mask.

“Oh… I certainly have the right to defend what’s mine.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated 🤎

#velvetures #velvetures writes #cod mwii #cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod au

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brineoffire · 28 days ago

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Next day of my schedule is a fic update! BTW I'll pin my posting schedule after my poll finishes!

Chapter 3 of Wings and Wires!

Previous chapter link

vvv

Around you many of his guests stare and you all but ignore all of them. You keep your chin up, staring at the rafters once again. Do exactly what you were trained to do. Grit and bare the looks you get and the hands of your owner that trail over your knee and thigh absentmindedly. You've dealt with this over and over again, and you'll continue to deal with it as long as you're here. As long as you belong to Alphonso.

The worst part of it all was still when he allowed his associates to touch you. When he let them line up to get their hands on you. Greedy hands brushing through the fur on your wings and tail. Those closer to him he allows more intimate touches. Those more important guests are able to see you as you strip off your fancy silks and satins. Left in nothing but your tight underwear, lacy tank top and short briefs that lay low on your waist.

He usually leads them, pulling you down to your knees by the chains on your muzzle or collar. Keeping you between his legs he allows them to run their hands over your exposed body. They rub over where scales meet flesh, too many fingers tangling in the streak of fur that follows your spine. A select few would slide eager fingers over and into the edges of your underwear. Those touches still sent a chill down your spine and the sting of bile up the back of your throat.

It's easy to recall the time you first fell into Alphonso's hands. The first few months he kept you all to himself, breaking you in as you fought back. Heavy chains and straps always kept him just out of reach of your claws. In those times he kept your mouth fully covered with muzzles made fully of steels and metals, your teeth would snap behind them uselessly. For two months you fought him, each time your punishments getting worse and worse.

Bindings tightened. Dark rooms where he kept you isolated and hungry. When your fits had been at their worst he'd have you pinned down, your limbs immovable. He knew the slowest and most painful way to remove scales, claws, and fangs. Always pulling from the same spot after they'd regrow, relishing in your extra pain from the fresh growth. It broke you down after the third month. Three months of blood and tears. Three months of sobbing and anger. Three months of being forced into a mold to become the perfect pet for the mafia head.

You had no one to get back to after all. Your family would be the first ones to pay the price if you ever actually escaped. There was no love lost there, but you understood what happened. Understood the bleakness of all of your futures if Alphonso didn't get exactly what he wanted. So you played the role he forced you into. Became his attack dog, his lap cat. Followed every order to the letter ro win his praise.

Now here you are, sitting in his lap like the pet you've become. Answering every one of his demands no matter how outrageous just to avoid his wrath. It's easier now to ignore the eyes, the hands, the cold voices talking about you like an animal. You've spent so long tuning it all out while he totted you around, just like you do now, staring up at the rafters as if they were bars to the cage your life has become.

When everything from your sleep to your exercise has been dictated it's easy to fall into an autopilot. You've gotten to a point where you can tune out all voices but his, can focus only on his scent, but today is different. Somewhere on the edge of your consciousness you feel a pull. A little tug that threatens to pull your focus back to your surroundings and onto something other than Alphonso’s call. More than a scent, or a voice, it's something that tugs on your mind itself, pulling you to look in the direction of the other dragon and his harpy.

Your vision comes back into focus and you can't help but slowly glance that way. When your eyes finally settle on them again it confuses you to see concern from the bigger man, his brow furrowed even more as he watches you carefully. The harpy conceals it well, no one else would notice, but you see anger, though it's not directed at you. Following the line of his vision you know he's looking past you, at Alphonso. You know that sense is somehow coming from both of them, and you're about to give into it, about to turn to look at them directly, when Alphonso clears his throat and has your full attention.

Your eyes shift back to his face as you watch him talk. He thanks the crowd for attending and rattles on about his plans. Letting them know a vague outline of his manufacturing, subtle details and hints mean those who know the plans are reassured and those who shouldn't are kept in the dark. He has your full attention as he talks yet you feel that same odd sense again. That same pulling desire to give your attention to the two men across the dining room. For now you keep yourself in line and focused on Alphonso.

His speech finishes and the crowd claps lightly. In your peripherals you catch a blur of movement, and you know exactly what it is. Snapping your head towards the source you react in a split second. Launching yourself off the seat, using your wings to lift your weight off Alphonso before springing into action. A gunman rushes forward, shotgun in hand as they sprint to get a good shot.

You’re used to these attempts by now, though what you’re not used to is a smaller blur of movement. The gunner stumbles forward, their speed broken as one of their knees buckles forward, a gasp of surprise leaving their mouth as you continue to bound towards them. Grabbing the gun’s barrel you knock it upwards, kicking at its wielder's chest with enough force to drop them backwards. They cling onto their weapon desperately but you slam the butt of their gun into their face hard enough for them to lose their grip.

As they fall you press a knee to their chest, your wings flaring backwards as you drive your weight into them. Your clawed hands dig into their shoulders and they cry out in pain as your thumbs dig into their neck hard enough to draw blood. You hear Alphonso laughing loudly and clapping as you glare down at the would-be assassin.

“Well now ladies and gentlemen! Isn't this nice? Dinner and a show!” You hear mummers mixed with a few chuckles around you as your focus stays on your quarry. They struggle in vain under you, calloused hands gripping at your wrists as they squirm fruitlessly. Out of the corner of your eye you catch something falling from behind the leg they stumbled on. Something thin and pointed, made up of several brown shades with a slight glint of red.

Behind you Alphonso's footfalls ring out as he gets closer to you, his hand falling on your head, patting you.

“Good boy.” He raises his arm, a signal for his regular guards to approach as he laughs again.

“You fucking idiots never learn do you?” Your grip only loosens once the guards have their shoulders, yanking them to their feet roughly. Your tail subtly slides over what you now see is a feather. While the attention is on the assassin you deftly slide it under a scale on your tail, hiding it just under your fur. You can almost feel its owners' eyes boring into you, but you keep your focus on the task at hand.

#task force 141 #141 x male reader #141 x reader #141 x trans male reader #poly 141 #tf 141 #141 #poly 141 x male reader #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #brine scratch #141 hybrid au

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acapelladitty · 1 year ago

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Whole Day Off: The Continuation (Part 10)

Summary: Having agreed to return to the basement, you find that Crane has prepared a wicked medical examination which pushes both your limits and also the delicate line which seperates reward and punishment.

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader (6.7k words)

Full series also available on AO3

Pulling into your preferred parking space outside of the warehouse, your fingers are quick to turn the dial down on the music which is blaring across your ears. The level of noise, delicately chosen to cover the slight rattling of something metallic within the bonnet of the car, wouldn’t be appreciated by anyone in the nearby vicinity but it would hide the worst of it until you could get the bastard booked in with a mechanic.

A simple shift dress covers most of your skin, the opaque, dark material hiding the cute black lace underwear set which lay below. It was a small indulgence, the underwear coming in at a little more expensive than you would typically enjoy but the way the thin fabric hugged and held your skin in all the right places made the price tag that bit easier to swallow.

Instinctively, you reach to the seat on the passenger side to pick up your black bag, its contents crammed full of the various toys and tools which you typically found yourself subject to during a session, but your fingers stuttered in place as you recall that Crane already had the bag, having taken it with him as he left your apartment.

The air is as cold as ever and you grit your teeth against the chill as you walk on steady legs towards the metal door of the warehouse. Slipping within, your feet tread a familiar path to the second doorway which acts as the final barrier between you and common sense. Hesitating at the door, you pause to take a deep breath. Nerves tingle across your frame as your fingers dance along the handle but you steel your spine and continue. Pushing the door open with your shoulder, you descend the stairs as the metal creaks shut behind you.

Your eyes seek him out immediately, his back still turned to you as he finishes writing something on a thin notepad at his workstation. However, his attention is quick to shift as he stands to his full height and turns his face in your direction just as your feet hit the final step of the stairs.

“Hey.” You smile brightly to cover the anxiety which is tugging at your chest.

“Good evening.” There is a hint of unfamiliar giddiness to his deep tone. “I’m,” his pause is tactful and you can see him choose the words carefully, “glad you made it.”

“I did agree to come back and I’m a woman of my word.” Pushing through the hesitation, you slip slightly closer to him. “Besides, you have my bag and how’s a girl supposed to get anything done when all her favourite toys are missing.”

His brow quirks at your brazenness as a smirk settles across his thin lips. His hands delve into the pockets of the off-white lab coat which hangs over his thin frame.

“Bold as brass tonight, witty girl. Very interesting. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

And, just like that, the nerves were back but now they were wrapped in a seedy arousal which dried your mouth out in an instant.

“Follow me.” Crane demands, thin hands wrapping around your elbow to guide you forwards. “I have something to show you.”

Doing as commanded, you follow him around the corner to a familiar area; one which you had previously spent a good amount of time within as you stood with your arms restrained overhead, the rope tying your wrists connecting to a thick hook in the supporting beam above. However, as you approach, a very clear difference quickly makes itself known.

A thick cuboid of wood hangs from the familiar hook in the ceiling and your eyes follow the small length of rope which attaches to the top to see something resembling a pulley system. However, your gaze is quick to snap back to the wood and, more specifically, the four sets of thick padded cuffs which dangle freely from it, each one connected by a thick length of chain which is embedded solidly in the main frame.

If restrained by it, you would be held off the ground and completely at his mercy as both your wrists and ankles would be supporting the rest of your hanging frame. Leaving you unable to do much more than wriggle your head and claw your digits against the padded cuffs.

Crane turns the handle, newly crafted and embedded on the nearby wall, and the restraints slowly lowered a few inches down towards the floor.

“A piece commissioned by a friend.” Crane explains, his piercing gaze following your features like a hawk. “He constructed the main pulley system and established a solid capability to restrain a subject via their wrists or ankles for however long would prove necessary. I, obviously, added in the more personal touches such as the softer cuffs. I’m not foolish enough to believe that you possess the physicality to endure this type of restraint without some creature comforts.”

“A friend made this? Like, this whole thing?” Impressed and a little amused at the thought of him having to explain such a thing to another living soul, you run your fingers along the cuffs.

“I’m sure he naturally believed that its use was intended for more nefarious purposes. No doubt some cruel experimentation and prolonged torture of those who are unfortunate enough to find themselves trapped down here.”

“Is that not what we’re doing?” You ask, unable to help yourself as the cheeky question rolls from your tongue.

“If you would rather,” Crane offered in a dry tone, “I can have the padded cuffs removed and replaced with the steel handcuffs which were attached originally. Fully restrained, I imagine the bleeding and nerve damages will be very impressive by the time I am finished.”

“The padded cuffs are fine.”

Crane simply huffed his acknowledgement as he comes to move behind you, his presence enveloping you like a shadow as you shudder in place.

“Do you agree to it? You suggested a thorough examination, and this seemed like the perfect solution to allow me to accomplish such a feat.”

The echoes of your previous offer, so easily given as he was making your head spin atop your bed, whispered through your mind.

Maybe such a test should be scheduled for my next visit to the basement? I would hate for my wicked doctor to feel that he was neglecting his patient.

“Yeah.” You say, the words breathy as heat pools in your stomach. “I agree.”

“Excellent.” His hands are delicate as they ghost along the fabric of your shift dress and he takes a step away from your back, one hand spinning you in place to face him fully. “Now, strip.”

Flushing at the command, your hands scrunch up the hem of your dress as you pull it overhead in one swift movement. Already you can feel the growing arousal within your groin, excitement and mild anxiety battling it out to control your racing heartbeat.

A short noise of appreciation from Crane as he observes your underwear set, the black lace panties so thin that they hid nothing while the bra made a fantastic time of pushing your tits together in a very inviting manner.

“I like this.” Crane mutters, his thumb reaching out to brush down the thin strap on your right shoulder. “I thought the red was impressive but this-” He pauses, allowing the comment to fizzle out before running a hand through his russet hair and fixing his glasses.

“Regardless, before our examination begins, I have a simple task for you.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to take my belt off and hand it to me.” He explains with a hardened expression, the words brokering no argument. “I warned you before that the Scarecrow does not take kindly to being neglected and that I would warm that lovely skin for it. So, before we start you will take my belt and hand it me, knowing what I’ll be using it for.”

Dropping gently to your knees for a little bit of added drama, your mouth is wickedly dry at the surprisingly erotic act. It felt submissive in a different way, making you an active and willing party in your own ruin as your trembling fingers deftly unlatch his belt. You are in the perfect position to see the straining bulge of his groin, his cock already visibly hard and pressing against his dark slacks, as you slip his belt free of the loops.

Standing once again, you hand him the faux-leather belt with a shuddering breath, your face blushing as you take in the deep arousal which reflects in his expression.

“Good girl.” Is all he says and his wire-framed glasses glint as he tilts his head to observe you further. “Now ready yourself to be locked in.”

You shuffle forward to stand beside the hanging restraints, quickly raising your hands up to allow him to slip the thick cuffs around your wrist. They’re tight but comfortable, the thick band wrapping around and swallowing the first few inches of your wrist. Your heart beating harshly, you take a steadying breath as you allow him to grip your left ankle.

“Raise it. High as you can.”

And you do, even as the position leaves you balancing on one unsteady foot.

“I’m going to raise the restraints, be prepared.” He warns and his thin fingers wrap around the short handle on the nearby wall as he cranks it slowly.

It’s an odd sensation as your hands and foot are raised higher and higher until you are no longer able to support your weight. You gasp as you are lifted from the ground, hands and foot held high as your body hangs freely, dangling above the floor as he quickly secures your other foot in its waiting restraint.

Now weightless, the feeling is so strange that an absurd bubble of laughter rises in your chest. You hang in a messy ‘v’ shape with your lower spine and ass being the closest point to the floor; your legs and arms spread as your head hangs freely, gravity forcing it tight against the back of your neck as Crane continues to raise the restraints until your hanging body is roughly on line with his hips.

“Excellent.” Crane begins, his voice deliciously tinted with the arousal that he wasn’t bothering to hide. “It has been too long since you underwent a thorough medical examination, and I will be correcting that oversight today. Every inch of you will be subject to some form of testing as I cannot allow such a wanton little mouse to continue our games without a clean bill of health.”

“I wasn’t aware that you offered gynaecological services, Doctor Crane.” You say, finding the urge to comment difficult to resist.

“Ah, yes. That mouth.” Crane growls, slipping around your body to wrap a thin hand around your jaw. His grip is firm, threatening, and it causes your breath to hitch as he pulls a thin object free from the depths of his lab coat. “Let’s deal with that before we continue.”

Presenting the object before your eyes, you don’t recognise it immediately, but its intent becomes very clear as he swipes his scarred thumb along your lower lip.

“Open.”

You follow his demand, allowing him to slip the metal gag between your lips as it instantly springs open to force your jaw to widen as far as it would reasonably allow without tearing the skin. It’s uncomfortable and cold against the warmth of your mouth and holds a metallic taste which makes your nose scrunch; the edges of it pressing harshly against the corners of your mouth as it exposes your mouth and tongue freely to his heated gaze as he locks the dental gag into place.

“This will prevent you from both biting and also holding back those delightful little noises that I enjoy.” He pauses. “Plus, the added benefits which will become clear when we begin oral testing.”

There it was and a soft little mewl is the first noise to break free of your spread lips as your tongue traces along the edges of the gag, mapping them out in such a way that you can feel his gaze following your exploration with keen interest.

“Your examination begins now.”

His hands move to your own first, clasping over your fingers as he tugs as the restraints which hold you in place to test their strength. Satisfied, he does the same with your ankles and his fingers brushing the soles of your feet spark a panicked giggle which causes him to arch a brow before moving on.

As always, his attentions quickly divert to your chest. Your tits remain hugged within the lace bra which you had so carefully chosen and his hands are like claws as they immediately begin to grope at the material, sending a delightful discomfort rocking through your chest as he does so.

“There are several types of stimuli I considered for these,” Crane mutters, “but I believe that some kind of punishment is due and so-”

His fingers dip within his pockets once more as he pulls free the familiar clover clamps and the thin metal chain which connects them.

A mild dread poisons your thoughts at the appearance of those particular clamps, muscle memory making you wince in anticipation.

His fingers are deft as they pull your tits free of the bra, allowing the material to sit below the breasts as his thumb and forefinger pluck at your right nipple. Once satisfied with the peak of the nub, he snaps the clamp over it in such a way that you cannot hold back a short cry as a bolt of pain radiates from the harsh clamp.

Without giving you a moment to breathe, he repeats the feat with your left nipple and another shrill squeak of discomfort greets the accompanying pain. It’s a familiar ache, the wicked squeeze causing a fresh flood of arousal to brush against the thin lace panties which felt wet against your cunt as you clench around nothing.

His pinkie curls around the short chain which connects the clamps and gives it an experimental tug, forcing the clamps to squeeze even tighter for a moment, and your body curves in place; chest following the chain to alleviate the pain as your wrists pull against the restraints to raise you an inch higher for a moment. After a moment, he takes pity and frees the chain from his finger and your body falls slack to dangle like a piece of meat once more.

The examination continues and a solid flush of colour overtakes your frame as he methodically moves around your prone frame; pinching and stroking whatever bits of skin that took his fancy while his palms ghosted over the ultra-sensitive skin of your inner thighs and neck. He’s cruel with it, deliberately avoiding your soaked cunt and abused nipples as he instead teases the areas which he knows will only serve to stoke the fire within you while providing no relief.

Eventually, he seems content with his examination, and he moves to stand behind you, your head tilting even further back as you stare up at him with glassy eyes.

“I think it’s time I took advantage of that beautiful gag.” He mused, his hands curling around your head to hold you in place as he explains his intent. “Besides, a thorough test of that marvellous throat might remind you of what I expect from my witty girl.”

He releases your head as you shudder, swallowing down the sudden flood of saliva which accumulates in your stretched mouth.

You hear his zip and his hands return to your head, tilting your face roughly to the side as he presents his cock before you. Held in place and mouth unable to do anything but accept him, he pushes his cock within your mouth, holding himself there with great patience as he allows you to make the next move.

Without too much thought, you wrap your tongue around the head of his cock as the familiar taste of him floods your mouth. He’s already leaking pre-cum and you swallow down the salty taste as readily as you do your own saliva. The dental gag prevents you from wrapping your lips around him but you know that’s not what he’s looking for and so you try to regulate your breathing, knowing that he’s soon going to be buried deep within your throat.

As if he could sense your thoughts, his cock slides deeper and he gives a few shallow thrusts to build up pace before he jerks himself forward in a sudden movement, forcing his cock past your fluttering tongue and down the sensitive juncture of your throat.

Panic sets in in an instant as your fingers scramble against the restraints and you struggle to relax your breathing. Through the roar of blood in your ears, you can hear the satisfied grunt which escapes him at how tight and warm your throat must be and a sick sense of pride cuts through the anxiety which makes your eyes water with every passing moment.

His hips jerk in a steady rhythm, every thrust forcing his cock down your unprotected throat before pulling free enough to allow sharp, panicked breaths before delving in once more. It’s uncomfortable and you fight the urge to retch, your throat instead constricting around him in what you can imagine is a lovely tightness.

Before too long, his cock swells within your mouth and his fingers curl painfully against your scalp as he pulls your face flush against his groin, his pubic hair pressed roughly against your nose as he grunts out his pleasure. He comes, his cock twitching and convulsing as he releases deep within your throat while you thrash against your restraints; teeth painfully held in place by the dental gag as he rides out his orgasm before pulling away in one fluid movement.

Coughing and spluttering as a wayward tear breaks free of your left eye and tracks down your reddened cheek, the ache in your chest seems more pronounced due to your squirming and you blink away the remaining tears to fix him with your bleary gaze.

His glasses are slightly crooked and the flush which sits high on his cheeks speaks of the lovely affect your forced oral has had. At his groin, his saliva-slicked cock remains half-hard and he tucks it away with a clinical hand before returning his attention back to your suffering frame.

Dipping his head low, he captures your mouth in his own. It’s not a kiss, your fully restrained mouth making such a thing impossible, but his tongue trails across your gagged lips before delving within your mouth to taste both you and himself as a low hum vibrates past his mouth.

“You suffer so beautifully, witty girl. It makes it hard for me to be reasonable when you hang there with such vulnerability.”

Unable to answer that, a low keen of desire rips free of your mouth as his hand presses roughly against your panties, grinding the lace fabric into your cunt.

“Shall we move on?” He asks, seeking no answer.

Seemingly from nowhere, a small pair of silver scissors appears within his hands as you pull your head up to stare between your spread legs. He is quick and efficient in the way that he cuts your panties free of your ass – the cool metal of the scissors making your shiver as they roll up your outer thigh to snip away at the straps there.

You whimper as the fabric is pulled away, exposing your obvious arousal to his piercing gaze. Your body still on par with his groin, he lowers his hand to stroke one finger experimentally along your aching slit. After such neglect, the feeling is electric, and you clench around nothing as his finger comes away glistening with your juices.

“Even suspended in the air, the safety of solid ground ripped away to leave you victim to the whims of a madman, you are still as wet as a whore. Arousal and fear,” he quotes the familiar words, “you wear them both like old friends, the line between them indistinguishable.”

“Are you frightened of me, witty girl?”

You nod quickly, the truth of the nod fleeting as you would agree to anything just to have him return his finger to your aching sex.

“Liar. You are not nearly as afraid as you should be. I wonder what it would take to have that fear fully enter your eyes again, to flood your features as it does all my other little experiments.”

His toxin never too far from your thoughts, a genuine anxiety settles in your chest as you recall the effects that even the reduced dose wreaked on your body. How awful a full dose would be, particularly if administer while you were hung helplessly like this.

A shudder rolls through your spine as his fingers traces the outline of your ass, teasing the hole there as his other hand maintains a death grip of your thigh.

“Perhaps we will make that the focus of our next meeting. Besides, the Scarecrow has plans to use every inch of you, witty girl. We’ll start training this,” his thumb brushes across your asshole firmly, “soon enough and then we’ll see how anxious you can be with the correct motivations.”

The noise which escapes your throat is somewhere between surprise and agreement, the idea making you feel filthy in the most delicious way. It would be something new and the thought of the many ways he could utilise anal in your games is thrilling. A fantasy rises in your thoughts; your ass filled by him as his wicked fingers curl within your cunt, stroking those areas which drive you wild as he fills you from behind.

Shaking away the thought, you focus on his current ministrations as he prepares something unseen, his back tactfully turned to prevent you from seeing what is held within his hands. Whatever it is disappears into his pocket as he turns to face you once more before dropping to one knee.

A wretched noise screams free of your throat as his tongue stripes a cruel line across your throbbing cunt, flicking across your neglected clit to send a lance of pained arousal across your groin. His enthusiasm is terrible in its immediacy, his lips and tongue flooding you with sensation as he delves into your cunt with even more determination than when he had you splayed out on your apartment couch.

Your orgasm builds quickly, the ache of your abused nipples as they jostled around only adding to the pleasure of your cunt as he rolls his tongue around your clit, providing just enough sensation to have your breath coming in sharp pants as your toes curl against thin air.

However, just as quickly as it started, he finished; pulling away as your body chased him without thought, the restraints only allowing a few inches of movement. His hand falls into his other lab coat pocket to pull free his next toy.

From this position, you can barely make it out, but it almost looks like a thick plastic syringe with the tip neatly removed, leaving only the barrel.

His eyes flash from behind his wire-rimmed glasses as he brings the object closer to the dim light.

“A suction pump. Designed to isolate an area of skin and create a vacuum. Can be used for insect bites to extract toxins, but it has many other uses. Such as-”

Your tongue presses against the roof of your mouth as his fingers return to your cunt. However, their intent is decidedly more clinical as they spread your lips wide to allow him to find the target for his latest toy. A sharp gasp forces your chest to inhale deeply as you feel the smooth edges of the tube coat themselves in your arousal before trailing up to lock around the circumference of your clit.

An explosion of sensation rockets through your straining frame as he pulls the syringe tight, capturing your clit and pumping it roughly within the barrel. The intensity of the sudden pull, every nerve in your clit straining against the forced inflation, catches your breath in your throat and you splutter and whine through the feeling – pleasure and discomfort rolled into one as you jerk your hips against nothing.

The pain in your nipples forgotten, every slight movement within your body causes fresh waves of pained ecstasy to shudder through you. Your mouth fights against the dental gag as you gasp and whimper, unsure if you want him to remove the pump or pull it even tighter.

“You took that very well.” Crane praises, ignoring the obvious distress as his thumb casually wipes away a fat tear that you were unaware was rolling past your cheek. “I will let you decide if you consider it a punishment or a reward. Regardless, there is still another punishment to attend to.”

He disappears from sight, moving quickly past your head as he dips to the floor to retrieve something before standing upright once more.

Within his hands, lies the belt. The one you had so willingly handed him earlier as your game began.

“Seven days.” He muses, wrapping the buckle of the belt within his fist to prevent the metal from damaging your skin. “Your neglect of the Scarecrow lasted a whole seven days, little mouse.” Tutting with mock disapproval, he circles you like a hawk, clearly enjoying the fresh anxiety which has entered your features. “I think that warrants seven stripes of that beautiful skin. Do you agree?”

“Yes.” You try to answer, the word coming out slurred and messy due to the gag.

“Excellent. As always, you are responsible for counting along and if you lose count then we return to zero.”

A wash of euphoria skates across your skin, anticipating the pain of the belt even as your tits ache and your clit throbs in its isolation, and you loosen your frame as you await the first blow.

CRACK.

A howl snaps free of your throat as the belt wraps around your exposed ass, catching both cheeks as heat blossoms from the spot in an instant. The pain is sharp, different to the rest of the torments that afflict your body and your spine curves in place to avoid the next hit.

“One.” You cry out.

CRACK.

“Two!” It’s a pathetic yowl as his second hit connects across the exact same skin as the first- causing the heated skin there to explode into an inferno of discomfort while fresh tears spring into your eyes.

CRACK.

“Three.”

Pulling your head up for a moment, you catch his eye and the sadistic delight which reflects in his expression frightens you as much as it makes your cunt clench and drip with undeniable arousal.

CRACK. CRACK.

Blows four and five come in quick session across your spread inner thighs and you squeal out their numbers as these new areas burst to pained life. The skin there had remained mostly untouched until now and the sudden assault catches you off-guard while your ankles pull hard against their tight restraints.

CRACK.

An open scream followed by a sob drags free of your stretched lips as his fifth belt catches you across the tits, sparking white-hot pinpoints of pain where the leather catches your clamped nipples.

“Six.” You continued to sob, the pain slowly overtaking the rolling pleasures which had been making it bearable. “T-that’s six.”

“Well done. Despite your fear of the belt you’ve managed to keep up.” Crane growls. “And for our final strike.”

His fingers trailing down your slit for a moment before ripping the pump free of your clit in one rough movement. In an instant, your breath is stolen from you as the pain of your sensitive clit is immediately overshadowed by his final swing, which stripes along your cunt. Stars explode behind your clenched eyes as the pain flashes so intensely that you choke, the scream caught within your chest making you dry-heave instead as his hand ghosts along your wet cunt.

“Seven.” The number comes out with a pathetic squeak as you hear his belt fall to the floor once more.

His palm is cool against your heated flesh, but you sob in place as the calloused skin grazes your plump clit, sending an unbearable flash of sensation across your groin.

Lightheaded as your head hangs limply, the tightness of your bruised throat mixed with the gag makes breathing feel tricky and your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to gain some composure. Pain, tinged with that same euphoria from earlier, dances along your skin to alleviate the worst of your aches as you hang there. You briefly consider telling him to stop, of using that one guarantee that he promised, but something holds you back.

You flinch in place as his hands come to rest on your scalp, the surprise of his touch pulling you from your thoughts and a mild relief sweeps through your chest as you realise that he is removing the dental gag. As the metal pulls free of your mouth, you test your aching jaw, the muscles there feeling strained and uncomfortable while you wetten your dry lips with your tongue.

Still hanging loosely, you issue another low scream as he unlatches the clover clamps from your abused nipples and the blood returns to them like a strike of lightning. It’s a horrible pain, enough to overshadow the other aches for a moment, as Crane sadistically assists the process by rolling the nubs between his fingers and thumbs.

“Our examination is almost complete, little mouse.” Crane announces, his tone oddly breathless as he slips to stand between your hanging legs and his fingers fiddle with his zip once more. “Just one final test and then we’ll see if you have earned a reprieve.”

His hands comes to wrap around your hips, the thin digits digging into the skin there roughly. You offer a broken moan as you feel the head of his cock bump messily against your slickened hole and you spread your knees as wide as possible to invite him in further. He pushes in harshly, not allowing a single moment of respite as his left hand leaves your hips and instead moves to brush against your clit as he sinks himself fully, claiming his long-awaited prize.

So over-stimulated and close to your limits, his cock burying itself deep within you, hard enough to brush uncomfortably off your cervix, is enough to push you over the edge and you come almost instantly.

His thumb pressing against your pumped clit adds an unbearable pleasure to your release as you squeeze around him so tightly that you hear him grunt with the pressure.

Your entire body tenses as the waves of pleasure crash through you, bolstered by the pains across your abused flesh, and your moans are pathetic in their earnestness as ecstasy drives you to utter madness.

It’s overwhelming in its intensity, your mind immediately floating off into pure sensation as your lips move of their own accord to garble out a mixture of pleas and groans.

Crane, uncaring of your torments, does not let up on his brutal assault on your over-stimulated cunt and his utter disregard only causes your orgasm to prolong itself- every fresh thrust and rough rub of your inflamed skin making you mewl and pull him deeper as you clench around him desperately.

Lost in the sensations, you barely feel it when he comes; his release shockingly warm as it coats your walls, dripping free as he rides his orgasm out before pulling away. Through watery eyes, you watch him as he casually wipes off his cock with a handkerchief before tucking himself away once more. A few strands of his russet hair have fallen across his forehead, plastered to the skin by sweat, as a satisfied slackness courts his features.

You jolt in place as that same handkerchief wipes along your electrified cunt, cleaning up the mess from your combined release as you whimper and attempt to pull away from the fabric; the cotton feeling as terrible as sandpaper against your sensitive skin.

“Well done, witty girl.” Crane praises once more, his words as clinical as ever yet slightly slurred by his sated arousal. “You performed admirably, and I don’t think any of the recent trouble has impacted your ability to impress.”

His hand wraps around your feet, fingers making short work of the restraints there as he pins your right foot beneath his underarm until he has securely released the other. Both feet now freed, he lowers them slowly to the ground to allow you to gain a solid footing.

Standing on very shaky legs, you allow him to repeat the feet with your wrists – releasing them from the thick cuffs as his thumbs rub almost absent-mindedly at the reddened skin there.

Now fully righted, a wicked wave of nausea sweeps across your frame, and you slowly drop yourself to the floor, laying on your back to allow the linoleum to cool your skin and give you something to focus on as you fight the urge to vomit. Your chest throbs and your cunt aches with every slight jostle, the flooring providing a wonderful coolness against the heat of your belted skin.

Vision swimming, a dark shape above you alerts you to Crane’s position as he stands over you. Something like a sigh escapes his shape and you flinch as thin hands dip to wrap around your shoulders and the backs of your knees. With a solid grunt, he picks you up from the floor and you are immediately reminded that he is much stronger that his wiry frame would suggest as he pulls you flush to his chest as he carries you back to the main area of the basement and towards the familiar couch which typically housed your frame.

Wracked by a full-bodied shiver as you relax into the couch, your trembling fingers pull the thin fabric of your bra up once again, wincing as the lace traces over your reddened nipples. The worst of the nausea seems to have passed but previous experiences tells you that you’re still not in any fit state to be walking around and so you pull your legs onto the couch and lean heavily on the arm.

Having lost track of him after he deposited you, the reappearance of Crane as he thrusts a chilled bottle of water under your chin startles you for a moment but you take the water gratefully. Your fingers struggle with the cap for a few seconds before his thin digits take control, opening the bottle and pressing it towards your mouth to allow you a few deep sips.

Satisfied with your intake, he drops to the couch by your side and his hands pick up your feet enough to allow him to adjust them over his lap due to the lack of available space.

“Did you find your examination thorough enough?” Crane asks, his voice suspiciously disinterested as his gaze trails across your striped thighs.

“It was a lot.” You sigh. “My body is aching enough now that I know I’ll be in some state tomorrow. I liked the new restraints though; they make it easy to agree to whatever you want since I’m trapped mid-air.” A slight hint of teasing peeks through the tiredness in your tone and you can feel the amusement roll off him despite his expression remaining stoic.

“You are as responsive as ever. The fear of being fully restrained and vulnerable appears to heighten your sensations in a way that the gurney does not.” His fingers trail along your leg, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. “I am pleased that you offered to return here, with me. I doubt I would have been so kind if the tables were turned.”

“You don’t strike me as the vengeful type, Doctor Crane.”

That gets a genuine laugh from him, the sound little more than a low rumble from his lips but its honest and it alights a satisfaction within you that you were able to get that from him.”

“You could afford to be more vengeful, witty girl. I suspect one day you will come to some brilliant moment of clarity and attempt to cave my skull in for my various crimes against your lovely skin. I also have no doubts that you could murder Roman Sionis in his sleep if you were provided the appropriate means.”

You wince at the mention of that bastard and the flinch does not go unnoticed as a slight furrow appears in Crane’s brow.

“I enjoyed your apartment.” He diverts the conversation smoothly, his hands pulling at your shoulders to guide you into adjusting your body the opposite way. A task which you follow, true surprise clutching at your thoughts as he encourages you to lay your head down on his lap. “If my offer of dinner were still to be taken up, then I don’t see why it wouldn’t suffice for a more relaxed atmosphere.”

You find yourself willing to ignore the fact that his offer of dinner had somehow bastardised itself into a self-invite for you to prepare something for him as his knees adjust to make a more comfortable pillow for your head as you gaze up at his still frame.

His expression refuses to change, stoic features only slightly softened by his obvious fatigue after your little session, and his gaze is as piercing as ever as it flits across your features, taking in your own exhausted state.

“Sleep, dear one.” Crane encourages, tilting your head away from his to face the expanse of the basement. “You’re clearly exhausted and will be unable to function without some rest.”

Unable to refute the fact, your eyes drift shut as something delightfully warm touches at your senses and it’s not until sleep quickly comes to claim you that you realise what it is.

Dear one.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Her breathing steady as he watches the rise and fall of her abused chest, Crane knew that his witty girl was asleep. She looked peaceful like this, a fact which inspired as much disappointment as it did amusement. Her features were so expressive, wearing arousal, fear, rage, and delight with such ease that he needed no prowess to detect her true feelings and it amused him no end.

He had called her ‘dear one’ and its use was not accidental. She had demonstrated a bravery, arguably a foolishness, by agreeing to continue their little arrangement and he felt that bravery deserved a reward. A recognition of something that perhaps he himself was not willing to face.

Brushing the hair which had fallen across her forehead away, he tucked it behind her ear in a surprisingly tender move. Something about her, the way she lay nakedly splayed across his lap, fully asleep and vulnerable to his presence sparked a terrible sensation in his chest; something that lived in the delicate space between protection and cruelty.

She trusted him, regardless of everything, and he could use that trust to do what he wished. To lull her into a false security which would be stripped away in an instant as those lovely features twisted in true rage before dissolving into fear as she realised the true monster which lurked within.

And yet, his hand stayed.

The appeal of such a betrayal was fleeting in its temptations as it would only provide one session of delights and he doubted that the discomfort which plagued him over his previous perceived betrayal would forgive him so easily.

Yes.

His little mouse inspired a terrible thing within him.

She regularly courted the temptation of a monster, one more than ready to tear apart the delicate prey between its teeth. However, her fire saved her. That fire which amused him so much and singed away those darker temptations as they would require him to snuff it out completely, something which he found himself loathe to do.

Dropping his hand gently to her chest, he spread his palm over the area which covered her heart and waited for the steady rhythm to thump its beat against his skin. He would not sleep, not like this, but he allowed the soft thrum of her heartbeat to lull him into something approaching peace, if only for the moment.

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x you #scarecrow smut #Jonathan crane smut #gotham rogues #whole day off #cillian murphy

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mariademetal · 9 months ago

Text

cw ... yuuji calls reader babe, blood(?) but nothing violent and no vivid description of a wound, if there's anything else lmk note ... haiii welcome to my lil established relationship yuji fic in which he is a stupid cat dad this is HEAVILYYYYY based on my experiences with kittens (every single kitten i've ever owned has shat on my bed once, as if just to get it out of their system before devoting themselves to a litter box) and the many fatal injuries i've received from them..... word count ... 3.1k

At first, you're the one that's apprehensive about bringing the cat home.

It's a little brown thing that ambushes you at the foot of your apartment's stairs, and who was very fun playmate for the first twenty minutes it followed you around, but got to be a little more trouble than you thought it might be worth after locking into climbing you like a tree and tearing a hole in your jeans in the process. At which point, you decided that while your hangout sesh was a lot of fun, it's time for your friend to go back to its mother.

To its fortune, just as you steel your resolution to leave your new friend at the bottom of the staircase on which it first attacked you, Yuuji shows up— of course he does— and decides as soon as his eye catches the claws hanging off of your shirt that he will simply keel over and die if the two of you don't foster the kitten.

"What if her last owners neglected her?" He pleads with you, looking you with the most convincing sad brown eyes you've seen in a moment while he speaks. (All while his new best friend bites his finger like it's made out of something positively delicious.) You're in the worst place in the world for this discussion, you think, still sitting at the bottom of that damned staircase. The fact that Yuuji will have won the moment you move into your apartment with that kitten keeps you in place at the price of your pride.

"Look at how fat she is, Yuuji," you gesture to her, and you can't even remember at what point in your heated discussion it became her. "What if her owners love her dearly and are waiting for her to come home? I'm not going to... catnap her."

"What if her mother died and she's looking for a new one?" He keeps asking these stupid hypothetical, rhetorical questions that prove nothing but still annoy you to no end. Not to mention the way he's cradling her in his arms— you have no doubt that by new mother he means himself.

"We already have a kid," you grit out. By kid, you don't mean an actual child, but rather a betta fish that Inumaki dared you to buy six beers deep and who you, unfortunately, discovered you could not return the morning after, nor ever. Yuuji stepped up as his father when you proved to be a little bit too absent as a single parent to him, and he's alive and thriving to this day, albeit in a tank you doubt is quite the recommended size. "What if she eats Fish? He's my pride and joy."

At this, Yuuji stops and thinks. "Aren't Nobara and Maki looking for a cat?"

"I think so," you hum, and tentatively reach over Yuuji's lap to rub your little enemy's stomach.

"Lets just take care of her until they're ready to take her," he smiles at you, tight-lipped and hopeful. "I'll make sure she doesn't eat Fish. I'll scoop her shit and feed her too."

You take your hand back to allow another tenant to pass between you and Yuuji and lean your head against the railing with a sigh. It's a bad idea and you know it. As much as you'd love to think you and Yuuji are ready to take care of a cat, dedicate the time and care it needs to it, you just can't. But if Yuuji says he'll take care of her just for the meantime, you know he means it. "... Alright. But the second she fucks with Fish, she's gone."

As it turns out, Kitty, as you and Yuuji have intermittently named her to match with Fish, is an only slightly worse roommate than Yuuji. If you were to rank everyone in your apartment by how much you all contribute, it'd go something like this— Fish in first place, obviously, for all the joy he gives you and Yuuji, as well as causing the least mess; you in second, for feeding and raising Fish up; Yuuji in third for cooking and paying the bills; Kitty at dead last for shitting all over your comforter on the first night she stays with you and having the audacity to beg you for food come morning.

Yuuji had prepared in every way he could think of— he bought her a litterbox, plenty of food for kittens, a collar (just until Maki or Nobara take her to get chipped), and enough catnip to plant a field. And, for what it's worth, when you’d first brought her into your apartment, just before Yuuji left to buy her supplies, she was an angel. She was the calmest you'd seen her the whole evening, carefully sniffing the floor of your apartment, sneaking up behind corners, checking for any harm that might come her way. So preoccupied with discovering this new, unknown land that she doesn't even acknowledge Fish's existence. It was only after she'd settled in that he ran to get her kitten things.

Naturally, Yuuji didn't think to check if Kitty actually knows how to use the elegant litter box he'd so diligently set up for her in your bathroom, so where you were expecting to sleep in and wake up to your boyfriend peppering your face with kisses, you instead wake up at the asscrack of dawn to the feeling of him jerking your blanket off of you (and the rest of your bed, you suppose), Kitty watching him from the floor with what you can only describe as morbid curiosity.

"Yuuji, what...?" You croak out, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

Then, the smell hits you, and you're confident you're not falling back asleep.

While Yuuji washes your blanket and lectures Kitty on the proper, sanitary way to relieve herself, you sprinkle some food in Fish's tank.

You stare down Kitty, who, in Yuuji's temporary absence, has taken to frolicking around your flat, as if she isn't a criminal, as if she didn't ruin your favorite duvet, and with a glare that softens by the second, you scoop out a can of cat food into a bowl and put it on the floor for her, despite the fact that Yuuji swore he’d take care of feeding her.

For what it's worth, you have to appreciate that, at the very least, she hasn't so much as glanced in Fish's direction. Despite how vehemently you're denying it at the moment, Kitty is, in fact, tearing and clawing and shitting her way into your heart— but if she does come to stay with you for any extended period of time, you'd rather it be one in which you don't have to constantly move Fish further and further away from her reach in order to keep him safe.

Fish, your first and beloved son— an accident, sure, but the happiest you've made in your life. There have been nights where you have been one dry heave away from throwing up your stomach in its entirety, and the only thing that could get you to stand up and drink some water was Fish, blub-blub-blubbing in his own, urging you with bulbous eyes to take care of yourself (because if you don't, you can't take care of him).

He's a selfish child, but all children are, you suppose. It’s their right.

Kitty finishes her food with a satiated meow and barely makes the three-foot journey to your coffee table before dropping down onto her side and passing out. It's an adorable sight, obviously, but one that also reminds you that that could've been you this morning if only she hadn't emptied her bowels onto your blanket.

Yuuji comes back to your apartment, empty-handed and head hung low, and you already know what he’s going to tell you; “Your blanket didn’t make it, babe.”

All you can do is sigh and throw your arms up. “I’ll pick up another one after work.”

Thankfully, after that fateful morning, Kitty didn’t have many other shit-related accidents. It was incredible, really, how easily she managed to fit into your life, how easily she forced you to carve time out of your day to spend with her instead— she sleeps on your couch since you tragically banned her from your bedroom, wakes you up like an alarm clock, consistently, to give her breakfast, and lazes around your apartment in tandem with you and Yuuji scurrying around to get ready for your respective days. You have class in the morning, he has work, and you always come come back just in time to deliver Kitty and Fish’s lunch. You’ve also found that Kitty has a taste in television— she screams at you whenever you put on Rupaul’s Drag Race, out of excitement or prejudice you can’t quite find out, and curls up into a ball in the crook of your elbow whenever you watch Seinfeld. Then, Yuuji comes back from work and if you don’t have plans, the four of you eat dinner together like a bonafide family.

Tonight, you don’t have plans, but Nobara, who has been promising to call you about Kitty for the past month you’ve had her has finally caught you on your phone.

“Of course I want her,” she insists, and you can see her bob swaying along with her head as she jerks it around in your mind's eye. (You love her dearly.) “It’s just… not a great time for Maki and I.”

Maki and I seems to be her favorite thing to say nowadays— you don’t think you’ve seen one without the other in some months. “That’s fine, but me and Yuuji can’t foster her forever, you know,” At the sound of his name, Yuuji whips his head around to see what you’re doing. Once he clocks who you're talking to, he mouths to you to tell Nobara he says hi. “Yuuji says hi, by the way.”

“Yeah, tell him I say hi too,” Nobara sighs. “We’re moving into Maki’s folks’ place, and I don’t know how they feel about cats and stuff.”

“Maki’s folks’ place is so big I doubt they’ll ever even see her.”

"I'm sorry, but can you just keep her until we're settled in?" Nobara asks with a politeness that's very out of character for her. Then again, if you had to live within a mile of the Zen'in compound, you'd be worn out, too.

It must be a sign from God, from Buddha, from the universe, or maybe just fate that before you have the opportunity to mumble out an uncertain I don't know to Nobara, Kitty wraps herself around your calf. She's gotten so big, you think to yourself— it feels like just yesterday she was small enough to fit in your shoe, but over the month you've fed her and scooped her shit, she's become big enough to play with your shoes.

"Yeah, of course," you splutter out. You press your phone against your shoulder and lean down to pick Kitty up while Nobara chatters away in your ear about gratitude and just hum when she asks you this or that. For a moment, just a moment, you wonder if you should be selfish and keep Kitty for yourself. Then you reprimand yourself, because she's still, for all intents and purposes, Maki and Nobara's cat.

Still, as you come to terms with the fact that Kitty's stay in your apartment will certainly be longer than you originally planned, it seems Kitty comes to the same realization— you and Yuuji discover that she's pointedly decided to make herself entirely at home. She was never well behaved, not really, what with the way she'd pounce on Yuuji whenever he fell asleep on the couch, or the way she'd dig her nails into your thighs whenever your petting skills failed to meet her standards, but it seemed that you, at the very least, had an understanding when it came to respecting the space you're all sharing— your apartment. She didn't scratch your couch, didn't spray litter all over your bathroom, and seemed to ignore fish in his entirety.

Now, though, she's picked up possibly the worst hobby of all— knocking shit off of other shit. Pens off of your desk, detergent off of your washing machine, cups off of your fucking kitchen counter. Yuuji, guilty for anything and everything he is physically capable of being guilty for, has cleaned up after her with a vigilance that you feel genuinely bad about. Unfortunately, he doesn't do it as carefully as you wish, which is why you're picking glass out of his hand with a tweezer at one in the morning after he stumbled out of your room to find what you and him had neglected to put away (what Kitty had managed to knock off of a counter) this time and found out the hard way. By tripping on the culprit in the darkness and falling hands-first onto the scene of the crime.

"Are you sure you can go to work tomorrow?" You ask, voice soft, and Yuuji, who has been smiling since he woke you up with a yelp, finally falters.

"I think I'll be alright," he murmurs back. "Nanami won't be happy, but..."

"When is he ever?" You snort.

"He likes Kitty, too."

"You've shown him pictures of her?"

"Of course! I've shown pictures of her to everyone in the department," he grins, and you can picture him, heavy in his uniform, lifting his phone up to his stoic boss' face with a picture of Kitty, asking Isn't she cute? Then him adjusting his glasses before nodding, Yes, Itadori, she's very cute.

You suppose that's the effect Kitty has on people. Yuuji, too.

He's sitting on the edge of the tub, you're sitting on the toilet seat, paper plate balanced on the sink beside you to drop the fragments of glass onto, Kitty passing and curling around your and Yuuji's feet. It feels odd to say it, but he got off lucky in this situation— only a few pieces of glass burrowed themselves deep enough into his skin to bleed, and the rest are just stuck on the surface. Still, you're pretty confident Yuuji's in a lot more pain than he's letting on.

"Really, Yuuji," you huff, "I think you should stay home tomorrow. Just so the swelling goes down and it'll be less painful the day after."

"It doesn't hurt," he starts speaking with his whole chest, but once he clocks the look you're giving him of complete and utter disbelief, his confidence wanes. "... that much."

"I know you're worried about money, but I'm worried about you," you start, and try not to wince with him after pulling out a particularly deep shard of glass. "And besides, if this gets worse because you went back to work too early, we'll have to pay for that, too."

He hums. "I guess so."

You wrap his hand up diligently, pepper his face with kisses, and shoo him away to your bedroom so you can pick up all the glass on the floor that didn't end up on that paper plate. He calls in sick.

You get through your classes like a zombie being pulled along campus by a leash. As it turns out, staying up until the early morning making absolutely sure that there wasn't any glass left on your floor did not prepare you for success when it was time to leave. Still, Yuuji solemnly swore to spend his day focused entirely on healing, so you achieved one little victory, if nothing else.

When you get home, before you can even grasp the doorknob, you hear Kitty yapping away, Yuuji sniffling, and something being shuffled around your living room. You don't know quite what you're afraid of— an intruder, Kitty growing to the size of King Kong, or Yuuji having shrunk of Kitty's height, but after peeking your head into the door, you can confidently say that it is none of the above. You do, however, see the assortment of Kitty's things gathered right by the door.

You step into your apartment, kick your shoes off, and greet Kitty as she practically jumps into your arms.

"Yuuji?" You call out to him, and realize he's in the bathroom, probably figuring out what the best way to remove Kitty's litter box would be. "What're you doing?"

He walks out of the bathroom, eyes red, bandage on his hand freshly, but messily changed, and his head hung low. "We have to give Kitty up," he says, and you immediately clutch her tighter in your arms.

"What're you talking about?"

He just gestures to where Fish is— rather, where fish should be. His tank isn't just empty, it's gone. You realize what happened.

"Did she eat Fish?" You ask. Your voice is calmer than you really are, but you don't want Yuuji to think you're mad at him for Kitty coincidentally killing Fish the one day he happened to stay home.

"No," he insists, and points to a red Solo cup he's placed on top of your bookshelf. "He's there. She... knocked his tank over. I saved him before he could die, but..."

You look down at Kitty, who is similarly looking up at you— it's like she knows what she did, like she knows exactly what your one condition to let her stay is, like she's pushing the rules just to see what you'll let her get away with before kicking her out. But Fish is not dead, albeit traumatized and certainly not thriving in his temporary home. You realize that you think you'd forgive Kitty if she clawed your eye out. You've been denying your truth— denying that you love Kitty like she's yours, because she is— for far too long.

"I-I remember what you said about only fostering her if she doesn't mess with Fish, and I agreed, so—"

"I don't want to get rid of her," you interrupt Yuuji, and his expression goes from distraught to severely confused.

"No," he insists. At first, you were the one who was apprehensive about keeping Kitty. Now, the roles have been reversed. "She messed with Fish. I get it."

"Yuuji," you say, softer, and walk towards him. You look at his hand and realize he must've worked so hard on his day off, to clean up the glass of Fish's tank, to clean up the water, the decorations, the plants, and how scared he must've been that Fish would die. How scared he must've been that you'd be mad at him. You love him too much for that. "We're not getting rid of Kitty."

"We're not?"

"Of course not. Do you want to?"

"Of course not!" He huffs, and makes a face at Kitty that she must not like, because she takes a swipe at him from all the way in the crook of your elbow.

"So... do you want to tell Nobara?"

"Hard pass."

#not edited icl #this stems from my deep dark desire to raise a cat with a himbo #jujutsu kaisen #itadori x reader #jjk x reader #yuuji x reader #yuuji fluff #jjk fluff #itadori yuji x reader

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