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slttygeto · 1 year ago

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CURSING MY NAME, WISHING I STAYED.

જ⁀➴ synopsis: you never got the chance to say goodbye to each other in 2007, you never thought you needed to. ten years later, you are still unable to find the right words as you stand in front of his lifeless body. if suguru geto was truly dead, who was the man standing in front you almost a year later?

જ⁀➴ content warning: angst, hurt/no comfort, manga spoilers, slapping and choking.

જ⁀➴ word count: 1,4k

જ⁀➴ note: this was requested about a year ago and I only got the chance to work on it today. enjoy :)!

You never associate Suguru with spring, despite it being such a lovely season, you remember it being the one season where he decided he needed to pull away. It was subtle, but you could feel it. He ate less, spoke less, he didn’t want to hang out as usual. You didn’t go on missions anymore, but you tried to be present. Even when summer came around and all hell broke loose.

You associate Suguru with autumn. Satoru doesn’t say a single word when you say it loud, when you tell him that that the orange leaves falling down and painting the road remind you of your past lover, how your love for him felt that way when he left—fragile, easily crushed. But Satoru would beg to differ. He could see it in your eyes, how they refuse to meet his when Yaga brings up the man’s name. It hurts to lose a best friend, but it hurts even more when you have a best friend and a lover in the same person.

Ten years later on Christmas Eve, Satoru has to put his best friend to rest. He doesn’t need to call you or tell you where he is, you just know. You show up as Suguru is taking his last breath and you stand there, unmoving. Your love for Suguru didn’t feel like autumn anymore. The tears running down your face were warm, and your chin was quivering as you let out a pathetic sob.

“I’m sorry.” What was Suguru apologizing for? For killing people or for betraying the people he loved the most? You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, didn’t even bother to wipe the tears blurring your vision. You just stared at him, how a smile was dancing on his lips as he saw the two people he loved the most standing in front of him.

“Perhaps in another life,” Suguru’s voice is quiet, and you seem to take notice of how pale he looks. “I am who you’ve always wanted me to be.”

You wanted him to be many things, but it seemed unfair for him. If Suguru was truly unhappy while in Jujutsu high, then maybe you were never meant to be together. If he couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world, then perhaps destiny played its cards wrong. If you were never able to keep Suguru around, then Suguru was never yours to keep in the first place.

You watch as the life slowly fades out of his body, and Satoru turns away from the corpse of his best as you kneel down in front of it and hold his lifeless body in your arms, the heart wrenching sobs that you let out force the strongest sorcerer to stand behind you and place a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s time to go.”

“You’re late, (name).” You never associated Suguru with autumn after his death. In fact, no season could do your past lover justice. Yet the person standing in front of you reminded you of winter—cold, mean and lifeless.

Why was Suguru standing in front of you?

You and Satoru are unmoving as the familiar body of your best friend and lover approaches the two of you. You don’t speak, your lips are frozen as you stare in shock at the same person whom you’ve been mourning his death for the past twelve months.

Geto Suguru passed away on December 24th. You’ve been mourning his absence for almost a year—so who was this person standing in front of you?

“I don’t remember you being this quiet, my love.” The pet name sent shivers down your spine, and you watched as the hand of your past lover reached towards your face to hold it. You craved this, to be held by him again after so long, to feel the warmth of the one person who promised you a lifetime of happiness—only to break that promise so soon. You pull away harshly when the tip of his fingers touches your cheek, and Geto Suguru seems to find your hesitance extremely funny.

“Who are you?” You step back towards Gojo, and you don’t need to look his way to know that he was just as taken aback as you were. Wide blue eyes staring in shock at his best friend—his one and only. It was sad that Geto Suguru (while he was still alive) was your enemy for longer than he was a loved one or a best friend.

“Geto Suguru of course.” Liar.

“My six eyes…” Satoru starts, and your heart breaks at how panicked he sounds. “My six eyes are telling me that you are Geto Suguru.”

But he wasn’t Suguru. This wasn’t the man you fell for, nor the man you fought last year. You refused to believe that he somehow came back to life. Not when you kneeled in front of his corpse and held him in your arms.

“But my soul knows otherwise! So hurry up and tell us, who the hell are you?!”

It’s a gut wrenching feeling as you watch the man in front of you open up Geto’s head and toy with it as he wished. He lets out an ugly laugh, one that doesn’t match Suguru’s beauty.

“It’s a cursed technique that allows me to hop between bodies by switching brains. Of course, it lets me use the innate techniques within the body, I coveted his cursed manipulation and these exact circumstances.” His eyes then land on you and a sinister smile is dancing on his lips.

“You,” he starts, taking one step forward towards you. “As pathetic as you seem in this man’s memories, begged Gojo Satoru and Shoko Ieiri to not get rid of Geto Suguru’s body, am I right?”

As pathetic as you seem in this man’s memories.

You didn’t know what to react to first. His words felt like a thousand burning knives, each one stabbing you from a different side. You fight back the urge to jump on him, you know you’re at disadvantage because Satoru was bound to this prison realm.

“I did.” Your response is short and quick, and the man in front of you chuckles at how dry you sound.

“He loves you a lot, you know?” Kenjaku pauses for a second, and the time he takes before continuing makes you feel as though he was mocking you. “Always wished he could trade places with the strongest sorcerer. You two were close, it always nagged him.”

This wasn’t true. This could never be true because Satoru and Suguru were closer than ever. You don’t remember a single instance where you felt as though Suguru was jealous of his best friend. This man was trying to shatter you in hopes of trapping you the same way he trapped Gojo Satoru.

“How are you gonna let yourself get used like this, huh?” Satoru sounds enraged. “Tell me, Suguru!”

You are just as shocked as Kenjaku when his neck twists, a sign of resistance when hearing Satoru’s loud yell. It was almost as if he heard him and wanted to wake up, to free himself of the man who was using his body to toy with the feelings of his loved ones. He then laughs, and again it sounds evil as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Ha! No way! This is a first for me,” his eyes then fall on your frozen figure and by the look on his face, he was up to no good.

His hand makes its way towards you and wraps around your neck, you get that his intention was to choke you. But when his hand refuses to squeeze around your neck, the look on his face turns into an annoyed one. Kenjaku couldn’t hurt you, Suguru didn’t let him.

Unfortunately, he still had more control than the original soul occupying the body and his hand manages to grab your neck and push you up against the wall, knocking the wind out of your chest.

“You’re getting in the way.” No matter how hard Gojo tried to shift the attention back on him, Kenjaku seemed to want to get rid of you and as fast as possible. You find yourself thrown next to Satoru, tied up in similar bounds.

“Goodnight, my love.” His hand caresses your cheek, and you’re forced to feel his cold touch against your skin. You hear a smack and your cheek stings, teary eyes forced to stare into his cold ones when he roughly grabs your jaw.

“Let us meet in the new world.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

#moon's works #jujutsu geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto x you #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk season 2 #jjk spoilers

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

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𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Other Joel Fics: Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

🏷️ Taglist: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @moonnaught @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina

#Joel miller #joel miller x reader #Joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel the last of us #the last of us #TLOU #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #1k+ club

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ultr6violnce · 11 months ago

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⋆·˚ ♱ dating euro hc's

nsfw & sfw ♱ ⋆·˚

note ; this is only based on rory's portrayal , this is nothing ab the real euronymous.

SFW ♱.

he will definitely ties ur shoes for u. he thinks it's a little embarrassing especially when ur in the den n' the whole circles watching as he gets down on one knee and ties up the laces on ur boots. he goes a little red when they all start mocking him for being so 'head over heels' but how could he not be head over heels for his beautiful angel? he eventually tells them to fuck off and helps u off of ur feet and leaves the den with you.

when you go out to bars etc n' it gets to the time of leaving it'll most likely be early hours of the morning by the time u leave n' knowing oslo it would probably be raining or some sort of shitty weather so to spare you the shivering n' whining of being freezing cold he lets you wear his leather jackets , letting himself suffer all so his beautiful girl is nice n' warm. also he just thinks you look absolutely beautiful when ur practically swimming in his jackets , although he'd never admit it.

he loves having you do his corpse paint before a show. he'll have you sat on his lap in the bathroom , hands on ur waist , thumbs rubbing over ur waist as u drag the brush gently over his skin. trying to hold back from doing anything further as he stares up at you watching as ur face contorts into one of concentration as you makesure not to mess up on his face paint so it's all perfect for him to look good whilst he's up on that stage performing.

i kinda thinks it's a little ooc for him but it's cute so bare w me. but i feel like he'd comfort you after a fight. especially if it got physical or he said something that went to far. you'd probably storm off to the bedroom , tears soaking ur soft cheeks n' after so many minutes of pacing he'd slowly (and very shamefully) walk to the bedroom and he'd sit next to you , not saying anything for a while before apologising profusely. his eyes would be all big n' desperate as tears threatened to spill from them before he'd eventually just put his arm around you then his other under your legs and he'd lift you into his embrace and just comfort you as you cried.

also a little ooc for him but anyways , he would bring you like flower bouquets for ur birthday or just when he's feeling like it. obviously he'd make sure he's alone when buying them not wanting his friends to know how affectionate he is when he's with you and he'd always get u ur favourites n' just show up unannounced at ur apartment and give you them. at first you thought it was strange , he never seemed like the affectionate type and in all honesty he was the complete opposite but there was something about you that just brough out that affectionate side to him.

since you'd most likely be smaller than him , if he ever went to give you a kiss and was just too much of a lazy ass to lean down to ur level he'd put his hands to ur waist n' would let you stand on his feet so ur more at his height. all that just for a little kiss.

NSFW ♱.

starting off strong. he cums so much when he fucks u. like oh my god. that man will cum BUCKETS. he will literally drain every single drop of cum from his balls inside you , once he pulls out he'd like give ur ass a really harsh slap , enough to leave a bit sting n' would just watch it all ooze out before fucking it back inside you with his fingers.

he'd always tease you , especially when he fingers u. he'd always makesure he'd have his rings on so when he fingers you the cold metal of his rings graze against ur walls as his fingers curl inside u and plunge inside you deeply.

he defo has a wax play kink. like js hear me OUTTT like he'd be fucking u n' after a while you'd feel this hot liquid pouring down ur ass cheek n' he'd just be pouring little trickles of wax over ur sensitive skin as his cock just pounds into u deeper.

kinda a hot take but um he loves cockwarming!! sorry not sorry. like he'd makesure you were sat on his cock nice n' perfectly , making sure you didn't move , slapping ur ass if u made one wrong move even though if you even moved an inch he'd cum straight inside ya.

he's also a big fan of public sex. like that man will fuck you anywhere , anytime. literally name any place and he'll be pounding you in it. e.g: supermarket bathroom (maybe even an aisle if he's feeling it) , storage closet at the studio they'd go to sometimes to practice , he'd even fuck you infront of the public eye. like say you'd be sat out somewhere where quite a few people were and he'd just have you shamelessly bouncing on his cock , not making it obvious but also obvious enough that it catches a few eyes.

he's so loud. no matter what you're doing to him or what he's doing to you. he's loud. which only really became a thing when he started dating you. you were just so good he can't keep that running mouth shut. he could literally be tongue deep in ur pussy and he'd be a moaning mess. like no matter what he's doing he will be moaning , groaning n' whimpering like a bitchhh.

a/n: finally came up w some stuff , it's not the best but i haven't written a full thing like this in what feels like forever so y'knoww i had to cuz i js love spoiling u guys so much!! plus I've been up all night watching PLL and i can't sleep so I've just been coming up with ideas and the boom this was created so i hope u enjoy angels. love u all smm!! :3

#rory culkin #i ❤️ rory culkin #smut #r!euronymous #lords of chaos #rory culkin x reader #rory culkin smut

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thechekhov · 10 months ago

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Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH36

Time find out just how fucked up Toshiro got.

Hey Kabru. Chill.

That sure is a normal look to give your team mate. I'm sure you're a normal, well adjusted leader who understands when you step out of bounds.

Bold of you to assume they even care. They're too caught up in the plot of the second arc to even remember you...

So much to question here. The fact that Toshiro has retainers. The fact that they're all mildly bored. The fact that Marcille seems to hate it here. Marcille, hello??? Are you only interested in Falin? Do you just hate people that aren't her?

The fact that she's still wearing the frog costume makes this panel, honestly. What a legend.

This is so wholesome. Laios just decided to therapy this workaholic man all on his own, dangit. If he won't do it, who will? Senshi must be so proud.

Hang on, I just realized--.....is that.

Is that the cat girl...?!!? That I've been seeing? I thought it was just a hat at first, but those are ears, aren't they?! Is she the one that eventually joins the party?

Marcille, you're a beautiful frog woman to me.

If I didn't know that Chillchuck is a dad already, I would have known it at this point. What a thing to say. "oh no, which one of these kids grown men is going to cause more trouble if left unattended"

I'm sure that's fine.

...........

But when you put it that way, it seems a little.... simple?

Kabru is beginning to suspect he's in the wrong class.

"Ah yes, a little freak that scuttles around from paintings to reality and speaks in archaic and mysterious tones. GOTTA be a Sorcerer. And hella mad, too!"

The math checks out, your honor.

Her best, Karbohydrate. She did her best.

Oh Laios, you're a hoot.

Kabru, you literally said Laios is a terrible liar three seconds ago. Maybe be a little less obvious? 😂

...you've done this to yourself, mate.

Okay, you know what. I take it back. I still don't like Kabru but watching him suffer IS supremely entertaining.

Okay, I can see how he might jump to the wrong conclusions here. They did not, in fact, eat the orcs.....

Orcs are duty bound to slap ya upside the head.

I love how genuinely patient Senshi is, and how good he is at listening. Chillchuck was worried but he's just vibing with new friends.

I'm sure they're having a grand old time.

What do those ears do, hmmm?

I enjoy the fact that he says "they're all treated as heinous criminals" instead of passing moral judgement and saying 'they're beyond reproach' or the like. He knows the consequences, and remarks not at all on whether or not he agrees with the judgement itself.

I could also draw some parallels here about how Japan treats all drugs but. Well. That's another topic.

Oh, noooo. As opposed to that other way of dying, where your corpse is dragged about in a carnival fashion after you die, to dry up in the light of day forever after.

Oh wait.

This bitch is really only here for the drama. 😅

FALIN?!?!?!?! MY GIRL

WHY THE LONG......body...?

....................cool. Cool cool cool cool cool. Alright. Okay okay okay. Alright.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi quick reacts #chekhov reads dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi liveblog

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world0fmadness · 4 months ago

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I BURN FOR YOU

oscar piastri x black metal vocalist! reader

♡ general dating headcanons for oscar with a black metal vocalist partner!

୨୧ my first f1 headcanons in a little tiny while, i hope they’re okay lol, my birthday is coming up on the 21st and i feel like i’m having a midlife crisis right now so it might not be my best work </3

♡ related smau available here and related hc available here | view my formula 1 masterlist here

reading music recommendations: upon frigid winds by hulder - the oracle by mythic

♡ this relationship is literally sunshine x sunshine protector and you are NOT the sunshine…

୨୧ oscar is the sunshine, obviously! and you’re just the taller, more intimidating, partner who evil eyes anyone looking at your sunshine weird

♡ fans make a LOT of memes and jokes due to just how vastly different you guys are, in both style and personality…

୨୧ a lot of these jokes consist of people insisting he must be paying you to be a form of protection or something due to how uneasy some opposing drivers looks when they see you

♡ he doesn’t at all understand how your throat isn’t ripped to shreds and constantly in pain from the vocals you do! he has a serious amount of respect for you because of it, he thinks you’re SO fucking cool

୨୧ after a concert, he’ll always whisk you off to a local convenience store to buy some slushes for soothing your raw throat <3

♡ if your voice ever sounds majorly scratchy and just kind of weird after a show ( which it usually always does ) he really babies you…

“ love… listen to your voice! it sounds like it hurts to speak, christ… what will i do with you? ” ( you always jokingly roll your eyes as he frets, telling him he’s worse than your mother / father )

୨୧ oscar calls you “ magpie ” due to all of the shiny accessories you collect and wear over time!

♡ he absolutely loves coming with you to do metal magazine photoshoots! whenever he can, he accompanies you and the photographer to some woodland or a historic cemetery to take pictures

୨୧ for once, he doesn’t feel like the celebrity… the photographer never has an interest in taking his picture and he loves it! he just gets to admire you from the sidelines, speaking up to tell you a pose looks nice

♡ and speaking of metal magazines, oscar has ALL of the magazine issues you’ve ever featured in, he has some of the ones you’re covering on in little frames

୨୧ somehow he even has the first magazine you were EVER featured in… you don’t know how the hell he got that because it was years before you guys even knew each other existed, it was out of circulation and super hard to find being resold but he simply tells you he has his ways

♡ oscar is one of the few drivers on the grid i can see actually listening to and liking some black metal bands!

୨୧ he didn’t listen to them before you guys got together but since it’s pretty much all you listen to in the house and car, he found himself getting into it and bobbing his head to the music…

♡ you were SO happy when you noticed this, always nodding at him with a small smile as he gave a slightly shy smile back

“ i like this one, this is darkthrone, right? yeah… this one is good ” ( when he started really remembering and recognising bands, you knew he was the one )

୨୧ he thinks you look so good with corpse paint on!

♡ absolutely loves when you try out different designs for it and ask for his opinion, thinks the grumpy cat type one is so damn cute

୨୧ he’s not a huge fan of how your corpse paint is after a concert though, half melted down your face as you press a sloppy kiss on his lips, transferring most of the paint onto his face as he slightly grimaces at the stickiness

“ you were amazing, love! eugh… right, let’s get this washed off then, yeah? ” ( you usually smirk at him before grabbing his face and smushing it against yours, transferring even more paint as he yells )

♡ you did his corpse paint once, going with a pretty simple design for his first time! he kept smiling as you moved the brush, he was just so happy you were including him in something so special

୨୧ when it was done and he looked in the mirror, he was so awestruck… he swore on everything that is holy ( or unholy, really ) that it’s the coolest he’s ever looked and felt in his entire life <3 and you just think he looks really hot… his corpse paint doesn’t last long as you really can’t hold back the urge to make out with him which leads to his paint smudging all over your face

♡ y’know how someone in a relationship will often “ steal ” their partners clothes?

୨୧ yeah, oscar does this with you… he’s stolen SO many of your band t-shirts :( he just thinks the designs are so good and they smell like you which is a huge plus! you never get mad when he walks by you wearing one though, they suit him

♡ he can’t get enough of watching you get ready for a concert too!

୨୧ he’ll sit on the small couch in your dressing room, eyes shining with admiration and a small smile on his face as he gazes at you, watching you pull on your gauntlets and bullet belt

♡ speaking of gauntlets and bullet belts, he thinks black metal fashion in general is insanely fucking sweet

୨୧ you’re telling him you damn near dress up as a knight? with leather? a sword on your hip? and chain mail? literally the most awesome thing ever to him

“ more leather? you sure, love? it’s quite humid tonight! maybe go for your jeans instead… ” ( you know he’s right but leather is just so much more brutal than jeans )

♡ it fulfils an almost childlike wonder inside of him, you remind him of a fantasy character he would see in a video game and aspire to be like when he was a kid

୨୧ oscar does not like when he hears people stereotype metalheads as greasy, dirty goat fuckers because he knows more than anyone you and your friends are actually super hygienic when it comes to your hair, your hair is always so glossy and soft! he’s always been jealous of yours and your friends hair…

♡ of course you do stuff with pigs blood and stuff but you don’t slaughter the animal yourself! you just get it from a butcher, he hates when people try to paint you and your friends to be cruel and horrible

୨୧ some other drivers on the grid find you to be slightly intimidating… even when you’re not in your full stage outfit you’re usually still pretty dressed up in leather, combat boots, small gauntlets and at least one bullet belt… not to mention you very rarely have a smile on your face!

♡ though when oscar assures them you’re really a super nice person, they start to approach you more!

୨୧ i think lewis would be the most talkative with you, i can just see him having a massive amount of interest and respect for the metal scene <3 he likes asking about your lyric writing process and such, he finds your presence to be calming!

♡ oscar is a VERY good listener, he absolutely loves listening to you talk about the history of black metal and read new lyrics to him

୨୧ y’know books like lords of chaos, the swedish metal story and the death archives? yeah he takes them from your collection to read in his drivers room! his jaw gaping open and numbing “ jesus christ ” under his breath at some of the things written in said books

♡ but he seriously loves to come home to you and talk about what he read! asking you if you’ve ever met some of the people mentioned and what you think of them

୨୧ you showed him varg vikernes’ twitter one time and now it’s kind of routine for you guys to browse it and laugh at it every couple of days… seriously varg, take your meds and put the phone down

♡ when you guys first started dating, you got him to watch until the ligh takes us and oh my god did that documentary change this man’s life

୨୧ he was SO interested in it and wanted to have a in depth conversation about it with you when the credits rolled, he is a chatter box when he finds something interesting!

♡ he recommends the documentary to literally everyone he knows now, he thought it was just amazing <3 he kind of has a major man crush on fenriz now, woah! who said that? not me…

#oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 headcanons #dating headcanons

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takemetomyfragiledreams · 12 days ago

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Little excerpt from a fic I started way back and have never gotten around to finishing. I really love it though and wanted to show some of the dynamic going on between Arkham Knight!Jason and Joker Junior!Tim:

Jason stares at the corpse laid out on his doorstep. It’s as if a cat has deemed him worthy enough to bring back its kill, except Jason doesn’t even have a cat, let alone one big enough to kill and drag a man up six flights of stairs.

Really, this is just getting ridiculous.

There’s a bloody smile painted onto the man’s face and a note taped to his chest. Jason yanks it free to glare at the neat script.

What do you name a knight that won’t die? Sir Vivor.

For a moment, he can’t process what he’s seeing. He flips the paper over in search of further writing, but there’s nothing. Just a stupid smiley face and that same neat handwriting staring back at him.

Is that a threat? Up until now his mystery killer has been malevolent to Clown lovers only. Are they widening their pool?

They know where he lives—or at least, they know of one of his safe houses. Are they watching him right now, trying to make him squirm?

He casts his gaze around, lip curled back into a bitter snarl. They’ll learn the hard way that he doesn’t squirm. Hasn’t since he was left in the Clown’s hands.

He forces himself to keep the paper despite his desire to rip it to shreds. A solid kick is landed to the corpse’s ribs as he lets out a vicious curse. His comm crackles to life with a touch of his hand.

“I need a body pickup,” he barks, “and a full scan of my location. Anybody suspicious found lurking around is to be detained.”

He doesn’t give time for a response. He shuts the line off with a sharp twist of his wrist before turning on his heel to stomp away, paper clutched tight in his fist. Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself to do. It’s the smart thing. There could be an ambush inside; it wouldn’t be the first time. He has better things to do than bother with some asshole’s idea of a practical joke.

Except someone decided to wet his doorstep with blood. And Jason’s pissed.

His leg swings up to smash his own door down in three hard kicks. He can feel the contact reverberate up his leg but it doesn’t stop him. His own alarm starts to wail before he reaches up to throw the small shrapnel bombs above the door into the kitchen and living room respectively. They go off in a shower of razor sharp metal, piercing through furniture and embedding into the walls.

Jason pulls a gun and stalks inside.

“Geez,” someone says from the hall leading into his bedroom. The angle was off or he would have thrown one of the bombs that way too. “If ya hate the place so much, ya could just sell it. No need to go around vandalizin’ property, yanno?”

“Get out here,” Jason barks, “and keep your hands where I can see them, asshole. You’re lucky I didn’t blow the whole place up with you inside.”

There’s a quiet little giggle that sends a chill down Jason’s spine. He’s trying to figure out why it sounds so familiar when a small figure steps out into the light, hands held up by his head. He’s wearing what looks like a kevlar bodysuit with an actual suit jacket overtop that looks like it’s seen better days. An arm and half of the side has been ripped off entirely, while the pants are nowhere to be seen. Thick soled boots cover his legs from slender ankles to muscled thighs. There are belts hanging from his waist and chest, connected to several different holsters. There’s a machine gun strapped to his back, what looks like a modified pistol with a silencer on his thigh and an assortment of knives on his arm. And that’s just what Jason can see.

It’s the smile that gives it away though. Crooked and stretched around the scar tissue cutting up through his cheeks. Just like the smiles on the bodies of the Joker’s goons.

“You,” Jason breathes, “you’re the one that’s been leaving bodies around the city.”

“I would hardly say ‘m the only one,” comes the mild response. “You leave bodies behind almost every day.”

“And yet you decided it was a good idea to break into one of my safe houses. Why?”

“I wanted to meet you.”

“What?”

He grins and gives a little wiggle of his fingers, like a mockery of a wave. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I even saw ya fly a few times, back when ya still had a shadow. I wanted t’ meet you now, to see if yer still the same.”

There’s only one shadow he could mean. It belongs to someone he’s been doing his best not to think about for months now. Instead, he focuses on the strange rise and fall of the stranger’s accent. It doesn’t sound natural. It’s as if every other sentence his brain catches up and realizes what he’s doing. Jason just can’t decide which one is the truth: the careless syllables or the posh upper crust accent.

“Why now?”

“I only got out recently—couldn’t come see ya, even if I tried. And then I got up ‘ere and saw those idiots dressed as clowns,” a dark look crosses his face. His smile turns sharper, more dangerous, but it doesn’t fade. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You were in Arkham?”

“Something like that.”

Jason doesn’t remember anyone like him visiting the cell he was kept in. Judging by his kills, he could’ve been on bad terms with the Clown. Then again, the Joker had run Arkham. If someone he didn’t like came in, they didn’t last very long.

Jason doesn’t lower his gun.

“Who are you?”

For the first time, the smile disappears. His head tilts to the side like a bird. “Who am I?” He repeats. “I don’t really know.”

Jason scoffs. “Bad place to come to find yourself, kid.”

Another giggle raises the hairs at the back of his neck. “I lost myself a long time ago, Jason. I’m not looking anymore.”

His name sends a chill down his twisted spine but Jason gives no outward signs of just how unsettled he is. “That doesn’t give me much of a reason to let you live.”

“No, I suppose not.” His hands drop to his sides as he moves to examine the shrapnel embedded into the wall. He pokes at a sharp edge carelessly, though his gloves hide any blood. He makes no sign of caring about the gun trained on his head.

It’s really starting to piss Jason off. An unintimidated enemy is either stupid or has something up their sleeve. He’s not banking on stupid.

“Tim,” he finally says, “that’s what my name was Before.”

“Tim,” Jason echoes, “get the fuck out of my house.”

There’s a grin and a giggle and then he’s gone in a rain of smoke pellets. Jason waves it away from his face with a cough and wonders if he shouldn’t’ve just shot the bastard anyways.

#jaytim #jaytim fanfic #i really need to finish this some day bc I do love this fic #i just have so much other stuff i'm working on as is #kayla talks #my writing #arkham knight!jason #joker junior tim drake #wip talk #fic: the creation is not the creator

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scp230kinnie · 10 months ago

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Hi im so glad I found someone still writes for hunter😭Could you do a hunter x goth reader or if you don’t feel like writing that I will take any hunter content literally😭❤️‍🩹

JSJSHSJS YES OKAY IM GONNA DO HEADCANONS JUST CUZ I DONT FEEL LIKE WRITING A LONG THING

Hunter Sylvester x Goth reader Headcanons

No warnings aside from being cringe and not proofread🙏 mostly gn!

⚠️ I AM NOT A GOTH PERSON so please feel free to let me know if I get anything wrong😭

Have fun reading

At first he really doesn’t like goth music 😭

He says it’s not metal enough for him or something

He learns to accept your music taste, knowing he’s not gonna change anything

He does try to get you to expand your music taste a bit

(By giving you metal recommendations)

IMAGINE GOING OUT IN FULL TRAD GOTH WHILE HE DOES CORPSE PAINT AWW

Lowkey he would to do corpse paint on you, and he would maybe be willing to let you do trad goth on him in return

He’s not a fan of the style himself, but he thinks you look absolutely freaking majestic

You always catch him staring at you or watching you do makeup

He shows you off to all his (3) friends for sure

“This is my amazing gf/bf 💪”

He will learn about the subcultures and stuff just for you

On the days you don’t do full read goth and just do like regular eyeliner or something, he’ll be all goofy like “who the fuck is this chick😦”

Shit bro he will buy you whatever clothes and accessories you want (with his dads card duh)

He will also (try to) help you do your hair

He doesn’t have any “goth” clothes, seeing as he’s a metalhead, but same goes for my last set of Hunter hcs, he will give you his hoodies and maybe his band shirts if you wanted

Painting each others nails🫶

He’s not good at it but damn right he’s gonna try

I just KNOW if you painted his nails he’d fuck it up instantly. Like it’ll still be drying and he’ll already smudge it in like 5 minutes

If you dye your hair, (light haired alternative people know😔) he will probably try to help

He has really low patience with it tho

If you have really thick or long hair he will straight up just give up

Idk how many times I’ve said it but he WILL try to learn your favourite songs on guitar

Back at it with the “serenading” thing but it’s just him flexing his skills

When ur not around he will try on your jewelry just to see how it looks

Will steal your rings if they fit him

Same thing with earrings

I’m like 90% sure he canonically has his ears pierced so if you have nice earrings he will take them and wear them with pride

I am not goth, once again. But I am some kind of alternative, and I know that a lot of these people have like spikes that they put on clothes and stuff

So he would definitely want you to do that with some of his stuff

That’s all I can think of for now 😇 keep them coming guys

#headcanons #fluff #scp230kinnie #tumblr #fanfic #hunter sylvester fluff #hunter sylvester headcanons #hunter sylvester #hunter #hunter sylvester x reader #metal lords headcanons #metal lords #metal lords x reader #Hunter Sylvester x goth reader #in my flop era #megamind

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 2 months ago

Note

PLEAASE WRITE A TENNANT REVERSE:1999 FICC THERES BARELY ANY

Touching you Between the Thorns

Notes : You were shot lol, not my best work but I had no more time to edit bc im being buried in homework, accidentally posted it when the post was unfinished, ik I said no smut but I would rate this E on AO3, first smut-ish thing I'm posting, Alexa play : More than a friend by girli, thx for the ask :D

Sypnoses : She was the first you could turn to. The closest. Who were you to refuse?

Words : To be added.

You lean against the brick wall, your head hitting it with a loud thud, it shortly distracted from the pain in your side, the blood gushing out in liters and galoons. If you`d look down, it would almost look beautifull, shining in the ligth. But it only hurt as of now. You took a sharp breath, going on to lean against the wall, using everything what was left of the earlier adrenaline. It is actually a suprise that you have made it so far withougth any medical attention. Must have something to do with your Arcanist mother. You cough. You would only need her to take the bullet out, nothing more. You would not stay for anything more. You took a sharp breath, continuesly pressing into the wound while your other hand was leading you towards a small alley, that led into a small square where there was only one house that had its ligth and music on. You went up to her door with your last strength left, lifting your fist against the door, and hammering it down as strong as you were able to. You leaned against the stone frame, trying not to crumble.

The music was turned of and the ligth turned on, shinning into your face. You listened to every footstep she took, they were so casual, she probably wasn`t expecting you to ruin her nigth. Or that you had known where she lived. Her shillouette was painted against the door untill the door clicked open with a broken sound, revealing her. The emotions on her face changed visibly, going from confusion to a teasing smirk in seconds.

„Good evening.“ you greet, as if you were her to ask if she had some damn salt or butter left.

She leaned against the frame, speaking in her low, sultry and sarcastic voice. „I wonder, what does lead an honorable officer like you into this part of the city?“

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to shout at her how you were bleeding out and how you would appreciate this another time. But your vision blurred and it felt as if you could slip on your own blood. „I wouldn`t know, can I come in?“

She grinned, before looking back to the wound and swallowing whatever teasing words she wanted to say, instead she decided to help you in and you sit down on a long green couch instead. You switch to lying down while she pulls a smaller sofa closer. You really had the sligth feeling that she would be able to help you, she was still wearing that gun at her side. You grit your teeth when she pulls your hand away, exposing the fleshy wound. She looked concerned, her smirk gone and her eyebrows knitting together, thus her open hair. It made her seem older, in a way, or maybe you just haven`t seen her for to long.

„Wait here.“ she says, putting your hand back. She walked into the kitchen, opening cabinets, getting whatever she needed probably. You try to shift, look behind you, but are only meet with pain, so you stop, deciding to lay still like the corpse you migth become if that woman won`t come back soon. You look down, only realizing now how ruined your shirt was. It would probably be better to take it off anyway. She would probably ask you to take it off. You asked yourself which one of those you`d rather have, but she had already decided for you.

„Do take the shirt off.“ Ada said, standing behind you already.

You grab at the ends, roughly tugging untill she came to help you, her skilled hands just had the damn thing slip over your head as if it was made out of butter. She folded it, then put it on the small table, over a radio. You then watched the woman cross her legs as she dissenfects the tools carefully. To think she was doing this for `free`, she, odd wasn`t it? The woman that scammed other ladys, pulling the money out of their pockets. Your brows knit together, maybe she had something going on rigth now? You look back at Ada, the open hair, the half buttoned shirt. „So have you been up to something?“ you ask as casual as you can. „I did hear music, could I have interupted something perchance?“

She scoffed, freeing her hands to take one of yours, bring it to her lips. „You have been the only one on my mind, my rose.“

You pull your hand away. „I feel faint, you better get those hands to work so I won`t bleed out on your couch.“

She grinned, looking up at you, before taking the tweezers. „You have always been smart.“ her hands go to asses the wound with some tweezers, no warning, which makes you hiss and squirm away, but she holds you down as if you are only a leaf. „If you want me to do this, you will have to stay still, do you think you can do that?“

You hiss, staying still. If you wanted to heal yourself, you would need it out. Thank heavens above that Arcanists and half arcanists couldn`t die that easily. You feel her take a grip of it. „Less deep than the blood makes it out to be.“

„Still hurts like a bitch.“ you swear, shaking from the pain. „Why did you not give me alcohol?“

She chuckles and the bullet clatters onto the little plate she brougth. „There we go.“

You sigh, feeling the wound slowly close under your skill, it did not even leave a scar. „Thanks. I will have to go now.“ you go to stand up, but she is quick to be in your way, a fake pout on her face.

„What? Not even a thank you? I am insulted, my rose.“

You roll your eyes. „Thanks.“

„There we go.“ she pushes you back to the couch. „It is late and we have not seen eachother in so long, it would be a shame to not use this opportunity.“

You look outside. It was indeed dark...and they migth have followed you. But you could handle them.

„You have also been shot, I am worried about you, friend.“ something goes weak inside you then, her words, accentuated with her hand, putting some hair behind your ear.

„Alrigth then.“ you sit back down.

„Perfect.“ she goes back into the kitchen. „Do you still like your tea like back then?“

„My taste in it never did change.“ you sit back, relax. Your shirt would do no more, maybe that is why she would not let you go either. You were half naked. You could ask her for something later, it wasn`t as if she hasn`t seen you like this already. You take the fireplace in, in front of you, the shelves. It was all neat, trophies of travels, paintings, not half bad.

„I hope you don`t mind me putting some wine in this.“ she said, holding two cups as she approached you, handing it to you.

You snickered, stiring the dark fluid within. „I did always like to drink with you. Remember when I had my first one?“

She chuckled, her hand brushing your hair away, touching your face. You had the urge to lean in, imerse yourself in her hands, lips, whatever she`d give you. „You were so very cute, still are.“ her eyes seemed a bit distant, untill they sharpened with a grin on her face. „I have always had a weakness for your red cheeks, your babbling, the way you clung to me.“ she lets her fingers stroke it then, gently, she continues as you make no sign of dislike. Ada sighs. „It really has been long.“ she says in a breath.

„I missed you.“ the thougth that had lingered in you slips out like butter. And it changes something behind her eyes, her smile falters and she looks as if she has fallen into deep thougth, but only for a second, then she pulls back, sitting down in the brown chair opposite from yours, with an all to familiar expression. You follow her movements, even after, as she picks up her cup, but now she holds your gaze, looking at you through those slit pupils. Your cue to look away, drink from your own cup, have her chuckle at you. It was still warm, of course, and it was sweet, with only a hint of bitterness suggested by the alcohol. You were very sure that she could have completely covered it up though. You bite your lip, remembering when she did it the last time, where you have only taken a sip of it... „What if something more will happen?“ you look down, the dark brew mirroring your reflection.

„Hasn`t it happend before?“ you could hear her cocky grin, her dimples. How insufferable. How...attractive. You blushed, sinking down into your chair, sipping at your cup. She laughs, gently, you feel her leg brushing yours and realize how close she actually is. You could touch her.

„So...what have you been up to lately?“

She humms. „Haven`t you heard of my newest scam yet?“ she nudges your knee.

„I did. Your biggest one yet.“ you look around. „It is no wonder you hide here.“

„And I plan for bigger ones to come, but what about you?“ she crocks her head. „And while we are at it, you are the only one who knows my location, rigth?“ there was a sligth danger there, inside of her, but you knew it was only the fear of getting caugth. Getting exposed. How long has it been since she has seen her father the last time?

„Of course, what are you thinking of me?“ You snicker, enjoying some more of your tea, which was nearly emtpy now. You were left with a warm feeling in your cheeks. You saw her lips move, but had already forgotten what you had just asked. She explained it again, you acted as if you understood, staring at the fireplace flickering behind her. It reminded you of that one time, that other fireplace, you on your knees on some expensive couch, with Ada grinding her hips against yours, her hot breath on you, her hand already coated in your slick, playing with your clit. You downed the last bit of tea, crossing your legs., refusing the fire in your stomach.

„Finished already?“

You look at her outstretched hand ,your fingers linger a bit to long on hers as you give it to her. „It was good.“ your mouth was dry. „Like always.“

She put it to her side. „But as I was saying, how did you find me?“

You took a deep sigh, trying to conceal your desire„It was a coincidence, I was just getting back from some...business and saw you walk by. Funny, really.“

She looked away, then back at you, you couldn`t read her expression and were instead fixated on a loose strand. You interupted her talking, leaning over to adjust it, looking into her hellish eyes that were observing your every move, it made you feel naked, she saw rigth through you from the moment you appeared at her front step. You tried to brush some more hair away, but it only fell back.

Ada pulled you in closer by the waist, making you sit on her lap. „Someone is getting comfortable.“ she grinned, stroking your hot cheek. You lean into it.

„There we go,“ she praised „there is that blush.“ her other hand is tracing your spine meanwhile. Your naked spine, up to your brah clip. She circles around the place, her eyes drowsy, but hungry, yet she waited.

„Tennant.“ you whisper, hands on her shoulders.

„My Rose?“ she crocked her head at you, fauxing innocence.

All of your vocabulary leaves your mind. Your mouth is dry, so you lean down. „Yes.“

She grins, dimples showing. „What yes?“

You think, trying to find your words, but its hard when she is staring rigth at you while her fingers are teasing the space around your brah clip. „You know me...please touch me Ada.“

A genuine smile appears on her lips. She leans in to whisper into your ear. „Who am I to deny such a request from my Rose?“ A shiver runs down your spine. Her voice always did have this hoarseness to it. And you have always had a weakness for it. She kisses you, you return it, though it is more sloopy. How long has it been? She parts from you, leaning back, drinking the rest of her tea, not taking her eyes of off you the whole time. „We should take this upstairs.“ she side eyes the statues. „They creep me out.“

„The walls seem thin.“

„Did you ever really care?“

Well, the neighboors sleep would be ruined. You got off of her, took her hand and jogged up, with only a few inbetween breaks of kisses and some spare hickeys on your neck, around your collarbone. Her name left your mouth in prayers already. It did not take much for her, now did it? When you were struggling to open the door inbetween kisses, her shirt had already been unbottoned, exposing her bare chest. It wasn`t easy to focus with these factors in your mind, or her warm toung in your mouth. So she took this job from your hand, turning the knob and making you stumble back, but she catched you with a grin, of course. „It appears that you have fallen for me.“

You can not stop yourself from laughing, still giggling as she pulls you to bed, pushes you down. But she herself is grinning, even as she kisses you again, finally uncliping your brah. You sigh, taking it off with her help. She swiftly presses her lips on your jawline, leading them down your throath, more down until she closes her mouth around the hardened bud. Your body presses into her and a breathy moan escapes you. „Ada...“

Apperantly she likes your answer, her one hand travels towards your other breast, gently squezzing. You were sure that your underwear was ruined by now, just judging by that feeling in your stomach.

She takes your attention back as her lips continue to go lower, as she takes your pants off. You grin. She bites her lip at your wetness, before kissing your thigh to look back at you Yeah, you`d have a long nigth ahead of you.

***

Ada looked upon your sleeping form, the first rays of sunligth were scatered on you, your soft eyelashes, your naked body, bearing her marks. She crossed her legs, a proud grin on her face. She did usually avoid leaving traces, dissapearing to be never found again. But with you it didn`t work, and she ougth herself stupid for expecting it too. Considering your shared history. You`d always come to find her, and she would always leave traces. She leans down, kissing your forehead, asking herself if she would stay when you asked., as she stood up to leave. The idea scared her.

Untill there was a hand grabing at her wrist. When she turned, your angry eyes were looking between her and a letter on the nigthstand.“You are not leaving me to pay the rent again, are you?“

Ada grinned, holding the look in your eyes with no problem. „Oh. You know, I have always loved you for your brain, my rose.“ Your face changed from anger to shock in a matter of seconds, and with that shock came a loose hand. She took the oppurtunity, walking towards the door with a „I will see you soon, my rose~“

„Ada Tennant, you will come back into this room and face me now-“ she heard you shout as she jumped down the stairs, escaping something you threw at her, which she recognized upon further inspection as her hat. She threw a quick „Thanks“ at you before jumping down the stairs to escape your wrath.

#tennant x you #tennant reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 tennant #tennant x reader #ada tennant #tennant #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 tennant x reader

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whackk-kermitt · 28 days ago

Text

It’s Not True

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: “Death” of character, Mentuons of Trauma/Abuse, Violent Threats

Summary: The reader returns to Asgard, despitetheir banishment, after hearing the news of Loki’s death.

NOT PROOFREAD

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

The bright colors and shining gold of the city felt wrong. People in the streets, smiling, and cheering, were a stab in the gut. It felt like an insult to be this merry after such a tragedy.

[y/n], adorned with a dark cloak, watched the passing faces as they stepped deeper through the avenues of busy Asgard. The cloak was a way of hiding their identity, knowing they'd be prosecuted for returning here after having been banished. It was also the only thing left to cherish from the recently departed.

The cloak had been his, though it had lost the scent of him long ago. A parting gift when they were dragged away to the Bifrost.

Wearing it made [y/n] feel as though Loki was still holding them close, like he did before.

Before everything went to shit and they were separated by Odin's wrath.

[y/n] looked up at a golden statue being built in the middle of the Plaza. The face of it haunts them. Turning away to ignore the burning twist in their heart they strolled along.

The lavish tribute was as pathetic as Odin in their eyes.

They made their way through the crowds and toward the palace.

It had been nearly three years since they'd seen him, held him, even spoke. Though not a day passed where they doubted the love they held for him. Even now.

The guards at the door garnished with flowers and gifts along the walls, only gave them a look as they pushed through. All the gifts that played outside were enough for them to know he was here.

And there he was.

Laid out in a space on a shining pedestal, his body enclosed in a shimmering force field to protect it from the outside.

All motivation to keep walking drained only a yard away from the corpse. Body and hands began trembling and they finally let out the tears they refused to let go.

Some time had passed since hearing the news from Thor himself on Midgard, their prison. They hadn't believed a single word of it. Refusal to accept that Loki was truly gone until they saw him with their own eyes.

But there he was. Decomposing.

On display like a wretched trophy of Asgard's victory.

The room was empty of gifts and offerings, the only few having been laid outside. Nobody cared enough to come in and see him for themselves.

Their cries echoed off the walls and ran back at them.

Loki had promised to find a away for them to be together again, “Do you trust me, love?” He had said. “I’ll figure something out, just wait for me.”

And wait they did- for three years. Patiently waited. For a letter, a massage, Loki to appear at their door, something, anything. Wait and wait, and wait, for nothing. For agony and heartbreak.

“[y/n],” An all too familiar voice called. Though it was foreign to them at the same time; for it was gentle- kinder than they remembered.

“Odin.” [y/n] seethed, refusing to face him. Hand coming up to press against the magic that separates them from Loki.

“You got the message I sent, yes?” He asked heitently.

“I want nothing from you.”

Their back still turned to the All-Father, they admired for one last time the beauty that was their first true love.

“If you did not get my message, that makes this difficult.” [y/n] heard his steps drawing closer. “I suppose it's time to explai-”

“Another word and I'll kill you!” All the anger and spite held back over the years boiling over and out. All the thoughts, insults, and unsavory opinions held back for Loki’s sake, come to mind. But Loki isn't here anymore.

“[y/n],”

“You think you could embrace an innocent child, raise him on misery, point out every mistake- every flaw,” Their words stuttered out between clenched teeth. “Paint his story, his living memory, as an image of an untrustworthy monster-”

“Let me-”

“Then kill him!” [y/n] turned to the elderly man, eyes bleeding red in sorrow. “Put up a glimmering statue and praise his death? Do all that and expect me to listen to a word you have to say to me?”

Odin looked on at her with a horror in his eyes, guilt and shame took root in his chest.

“You’ve killed me as well Odin. I'd slit your throughout but it is not my place. Ragnarok is coming to Asgard, you have made sure that there is nothing here worth saving.”

The was silence between the two. No words, just anger and regret.

A glow of green caught their eye, turning to see the corpse vanich in an instant.

“Wh-” They breathed and uneven breath, staring at the empty coffin.

“I’m so sorry, my love.”

That voice.

Slowly turning their head to look into the most captivating blue eyes they'd ever seen. Loki.

“I thought you'd come after getting my message. I explained everything in it, I thought you-” He hesitated for a moment taking a cautious step forward. “I never mend to deceive you. That illusion was meant for someone else. Not you never you.”

“It's not true,” Their voice was broken. “Its fake, you're here?”

Loki sighed tear threatening escape watching his lover's lip quiver in distress.

“I'm here.” He opened his arms, an empty pace that was quickly filled by a trembling companion.

Their cries of relief as they felt his heart beating rang ing his ears. Petting their head and holing them close he shushed and soothed their sorrows as best he could.

“I'm here, I'm here love.” He mumbled in their ear. “I'm sorry you waited so long.”

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Got sleepy, gave up. Goodnight, happy Halloween!

•Kermitts Masterlist•

#x reader #loki laufeyson #loki series #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki #mcu loki #loki fanfic #marvel loki #xreader #gn reader

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cod-sins · 1 year ago

Note

Can I have Ghost, König and Thomas Hewitt (if you write two fandoms in one) with male reader who is a metal head? Long hair, corpse paint, is fascinated with gore stuff and such.

.ೃ࿐ Format: HCs.

.ೃ࿐ Reader: Male. Heavy Metal!Reader.

.ೃ࿐ Ratings: SFW. Gore/Blood mention.

.ೃ࿐ Word Count: 1.3K

[A/N: FIRST MALE READER REQUEST LET'S GOO! Thank you anon for giving me an excuse to watch TCM again. I also did some similar HCs with König (no mention of gender) you can check those out as well. Also, it was so hard for me to find a picture of a black male with corpse paint *sigh*.]

𝑮𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑻

Wowie y'all make an interesting duo.

Between his skull mask/balaclava and your corpse paint and dark clothing, you two make a very visually appealing couple. Ghost jokes about how it's always Halloween at y'alls house.

He likes your long hair. Military guys aren't allowed to have long hair so seeing you with long hair is somewhat refreshing to him.

There is something that awakens inside of Ghost when he sees you walking around shirtless with your hair down.

Ghost is another COD character who wouldn't be surprised by your music.

His father used to take him to Bone Licker concerts (sounds pretty heavy metal to me) when he was younger but he stopped going after the prostitute incident. With him being in the military it only drove him further away but if you could convince him to go to concerts with you he would.

He would make sure to mark the date so he wouldn't forget or let his work intervene. With even more convincing he would allow to you paint a skull on his face, he wouldn't wear it out though he'd switch back to his balaclava.

If there was a chance he couldn't make it to a concert or just didn't wanna go, he'd make it up to you by buying you VIP tickets.

Gets really defensive when other guys hit on you. Puts himself between you and the guy. “Yeah his style is nice and all now bug off.”

At first, Ghost would try and shield you from whatever injuries he has. If he came home still a little bruised and bloody from his last mission he wouldn't want you to see, probably heading straight to the bathroom to freshen up until you tell him you aren't squeamish and you're fine with it. Then he would come straight to the bedroom while you clean up his bloody bandaged shoulder.

Thought you were an odd fella the first time he laid eyes on you. It was most likely Soap who set you guys up.

He acknowledges your interest in gore, however, he'd prefer if you kept it to yourself. When he's deployed he's constantly surrounded by it--by death and blood. So when he gets home it's the last thing he wants to see.

Since the majority of Ghost's clothing is dark colors he would mix up y'alls clothing and wouldn't notice.

“Hey, Simon?” “Yeah?” “Is that my shirt?“ He peers down realizing it is in fact your shirt.”Ah, yeah sorry love I guess I grabbed the wrong thing.” He begins to take it off until you tell him it's okay and that he actually looks really good in it.

KÖ𝙉𝙄𝙂

The moment König laid eyes on you he was blown away.

He doesn't see people with your style so he thought you were very unique. He asks you why dress that way and why your makeup looks so crazy. He doesn't mean to come off as rude or anything he's just not used to it and he likes to hear you talk about your interests.

König would shyly ask if you could make his face look like yours. He would let you sit on his lap and watch as you meticulously drew on his face with black liner, on top of the white paint. He'd have a dumb smile on his face after you finish.

Just like Ghost, König would also go to concerts with you. If you were on the shorter side he would pick you up and put you on his shoulders so you could get a better view. The dude is like a rock so when people get a little too aggressive with their thrashing he has you stand behind him so you don't get hit.

Likes when you put your hair up and let strands of hair fall down, thinks it's really hot. König would stare non-stop until you called him.

Wouldn't say anything about your gore interest but he would indulge you in ways he killed/kills people. [cough cough König finishers cough]

He told you about how one time he sniped a man and his brain splattered out on a wall behind him. Or once he snapped a dude's neck so hard you could see the bone about to come out.

König watches closely as your eyes get big and you squirm in your seat as he goes on and on about his war stories.

He glares at anyone who would dare say anything negative about you. That includes his coworkers and supervisors.

König could not tell you the name of the bands you listen to because of the font. He says it looks all scrambled and he couldn't tell which letter is which.

When you told him you thought he was a little intimidating the first time you he giggled and told you, he felt the same way too. People think y'all are like that one scary goth couple in school.

𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑨𝑺 𝑯𝑬𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑻

The first time Thomas saw you he instantly fell in love.

He couldn't stop staring at you, he thought you were sent by the devil himself as a gift.

He is so interested in you especially since you guys look the same. You have long hair, he has long hair. You wear intricate corpse paint that covers your face, he delicately sews people's faces together to cover his.

Thomas wouldn't allow Hoyt [derogatory] to make fun of you. He takes a lot of shit from him but he draws the line at his boyfriend being made fun of.

Thomas prefers your hair over his. His isn't really taken care of. It's all greasy and messy so if you took the time to brush and style it, he'd probably cry.

No one is that nice to him besides his mom. So it'd be up to you to spoil him.

I imagine the type of music you listen to isn't common in Texas, especially on rural Texas radio so he would be very interested in it.

He would have you play it while he's dealing with his victims because he finds the screaming to be very annoying and sometimes headache inducing.

Tommy always keeps an out for you to make sure you don't pass out from the heat. He'd literally be standing there, watching you with your paint running down your face with a concerned look on his face as you tell him you're fine.

He would let you watch him disassemble bodies. Since you're interested in that stuff Thomas thinks it's the perfect bonding experience.

Thomas would also put your ass to work, I'm sorry to say. He believes everyone should pull their weight including his partner.

While his method of butchering is sloppy, he would still show you how to properly gut a person and how to get the most meat off the bones.

He's happy that you have an interest in gore and he would most definitely make a mask for you. If you were to wear it around he would be so unbelievably happy.

You're wearing his art AND you like it?? A match made in heaven.

If you were too grossed out by the whole canniblism thing Thomas would try and find you other food. There aren't a lot of animals in the area but he would try and catch deer, rabbits, or coyotes.

Thomas might have you lure in other victims, and you may have to change your look-up to be more “approachable” so he would lend you some of his clothes. They'd be too big but he and his mom know how to tailor.

He would only do this if you felt comfortable with it, he would never want to put you in harm's way.

I think Thomas would do a lot to make sure you're okay. He doesn't get that luxury and he is afraid of you leaving him for someone else.

You would have to reassure him that you wouldn't leave him because he's pretty insecure about himself and being around Hoyt and Monty does not help.

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strlingsav · 2 years ago

Text

Based off of this ask! Sorry if it's shit, I'm not really familiar with military protocol but I gave it my best shot!

Sorry it's so late!!

Man-eater

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— You're a gifted specialist.

Explicit sexual and gory content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

You were used to the prying eyes, the staring and gawking- it came with the territory. A female soldier stationed in a combat zone wasn't standard practice, for many outdated reasons. You'd become used to the intrusion, the judgement and overwhelming criticism.

You'd earned your spot, your title. Everything you had, you'd worked hard for. Clawed through dirt, blood and mangled corpses to get where you were. Even as you stepped foot inside the base, you could feel the eyes on your back, drawing a target with sharpened knives.

You had a job, though. A purpose, which overrode any instinct to confront your audience. You made your way to the Captain's office, knocking briefly before entering, and your eyes landed on the older gentleman seated at the oak desk.

You'd heard of Captain Price through the grapevine, and Laswell had mentioned him more than a few times. He was the driving force behind the elite counter-terrorism task force, forming 141 with the mission of capturing Hassan.

You'd been briefed, a short phone call with Laswell while on your way to base. It wasn't nearly as in-depth as you would've liked, but Price insisted he needed the unit to move out that very night.

You'd not slept a wink the night before, never did on the eve of deployment, and the bags under your eyes told the same story.

"Lieutenant L/N," He said, standing to his feet.

"Captain," You nodded, bringing your hand out for him to shake.

"Heard good things about you- let's hope it's true."

"I'm well-suited to the task," You were resolute, a stoic expression that never seemed to crack.

"Laswell seemed to think so. Let's get geared up, we'll be on our way to Mexico soon."

You followed his lead, and soon you were out on the tarmac, waiting for the Blackhawk to arrive. Two other soldiers, men Price had hand-picked to join his task-force, were said to be meeting the two of you in Mexico, at the base of Los Vaqueros.

It wasn't a long journey, not with your security clearance and cars ready for transport. As you stepped off the aircraft, blades still spinning, your eyes landed on the two armoured soldiers, cradling rifles in their hands and waiting against the black paint of an SUV.

"Ghost, Soap," Price called out, beckoning the two over. "This is Lieutenant L/N." He cleared his throat, an awkward silence settling before he said his next words. "Goes by Man-eater."

You knew the way it sounded; a female soldier that must've slept around the barracks with a callsign like that. The truth was, you'd earned it, like every other thing about you. It was yours to take and you wore it with pride, no matter how it made you look.

Your first op earned you that callsign; a particularly vicious mission ending with your body covered in blood, brain matter and viscera. It was the first time you'd been afraid for your life, yet you hadn't relented from the warfare, even when things looked like they were going tits-up. It stuck after that, years after.

Your troopmates at the time knighted you with that term, both as an insult and a compliment. An ode to the brutality of your hand-to-hand combat, as well as the blatant, sexist stereotype placed on female soldiers and marines. It didn't bother you after a while, not after the novelty had worn off and it became a first name.

You could place Ghost by the way Laswell described him; anonymous. Wears a balaclava and skull mask. Soap was deployed from the Special Air Services unit. The Union Jack and SAS patch on his vest spoke for him.

"Heard of you," Soap said, hands tucked in his vest. "Lookin' forward to trackin' down this fucker with you."

"Let's get to it then."

Your gaze was drawn to the quiet, looming figure beside him. He hadn't said a word, nor introduced himself. The way Laswell spoke, he was a highly skilled specialist. You had given him a once-over, unintentionally, but managed to satisfy your curiosity for the time being.

He was tall. You fought the heat settling in your gut, a consequence of his long fingers and thick arms carrying his rifle, shoulders protruding from beneath the vest. It had been a long time since you'd felt that way, had your attention taken from a mission to stare at a man. It certainly wouldn't earn you any respect, but your eyes were glued to his form.

You broke the trance, tearing yourself from his body to climb into the SUV.

Your meeting with Alejandro was more enlightening than the conversation you'd had with Laswell. He'd gathered a lot of intel and a solid lead on the head of the cartel, El Sin Nombre. Entering enemy territory wasn't a problem for you, though you always experienced the gut-wrenching nausea that churned your stomach.

The armoured SUV travelled deep into their territory, a collection of abandoned houses used for manufacturing and transporting drugs. Every citizen had been evicted, forced to relocate so the cartel could set up shop.

"We'll clear these houses. Watch your six, don't know if these bastards are still here." Price looked over his shoulder at you, a short nod to confirm you were listening and ready.

You took position behind Ghost, who was leading. It wasn't standard practice anymore, to clear buildings without prior knowledge of habitants, but you didn't have time to waste. Entering the building, you had your rifle lodged against your shoulder, finger on the trigger.

You thought back to the many searches you'd done; the stillness in the air, a modern-age showdown of sorts. Waiting with bated breath, unflinching focus on every single thing in the room. There was never space for error, or distraction.

You recalled the horrific injuries you'd sustained, the many times you'd been forced to play medic while stranded in the desert with nothing but a hunting knife and a dirty piece of cloth. Your stories had become famous, and infamous, published in magazines and news articles.

It wasn't the type of attention you were looking for. You loved what you did, now addicted to the rush of adrenaline and smell of gunpowder. But the reputation you'd built for yourself was one that demanded respect, and that was worth every long night, early morning, and stray bullet almost taking your head off.

You knew they knew who you were; there was no reason to pretend they hadn't heard talk of you. All the better, you could work without interference, without having to prove yourself.

There was a sudden flurry of movement, tan camouflage and an automatic rifle firing short bursts in your direction. Without a moment to waste, you pulled the trigger, your eye already peering down the scope. The bullet cracked through his helmet, piercing his skull. He crumbled instantly, thick, red liquid covering the wall behind him, chunks of brain matter scattered about.

The air was still for a moment, before your comm radio buzzed to life.

"Ghost," Price's distorted voice came through the speakers. "It's Price. Heard fire, what's your status?"

He tilted his chin down, meeting the radio. "Enemy combatant still inside. Has been neutralized. Over."

"Roger."

You continued on, falling in line behind Ghost, eyes up and scanning the room. He opened a couple doors, looking inside, and once deemed clear, he carried on.

You followed close behind, when an unexpected force shoved you aside. You were slammed against a stone wall, the wind knocked out of your lungs. You grunted, scrambling to recover, letting your M4 fall to your chest and unsheathing the knife strapped to your thigh. Your hands reached out to grip the assailant, taking hold of the fabric of his uniform.

A hand wrapped around your throat, holding you against the wall while the other shoved a pistol under your chin as you struggled against his grip. You could only see his eyes- enraged, wild, scared. You gasped for air, finally gathering enough clarity to bring your knee to his groin. As he keeled over, releasing your trachea and his hold on the pistol, you slid your knife between his vest and belt, wrenching upwards.

A horrifying, gargling sound spat out of his mouth, blood splattering your cheeks, warm and heavy. You landed a kick to his gut, effectively pushing him off the blade of your knife, and he collapsed on his back, eyes dull and glassy as his heart slowly stopped.

You watched him die, the same feeling of regret, guilt, fear settling into your stomach. You swallowed, shoving the feeling to the back of your mind so you could deal with it another day, another time.

It never really worked though, even after participating in countless missions, the guilt ate at you, gnawed on every bone in your body. You'd bury it with the rest of your secrets, drown it with alcohol and try to eradicate it, just as you'd always done.

You grimaced; an unintentional reaction to the blood across your cheeks. You could feel it, on your face, your lips, scarring your cheeks with searing heat. Your lip twitched, wiping your face with the sleeve of your jacket. You cleaned the blade off on your pants before tucking it back into the sheath.

"Any injuries?" Ghost appeared, Soap following after him.

"None," You breathed, his blood staining the gaps in your fingers. "Let's keep going."

"You learn hand-to-hand as a rookie?" Soap asked, crouched and moving slowly as he followed Ghost.

"Mostly," You nodded.

"You still train?"

"I took up martial arts anytime I was on leave." You weren't invested in the conversation, not as your eyes levelled the room. "Experience helps, too."

"Christ," He muttered.

Ghost was pleasantly surprised; he'd heard of you. Heard the talk. The elusive Man-eater, known worldwide for her tactical skills; a decorated officer. It was impressive. It was even more impressive given your nonchalance after nearly being shot at point-blank range, but beneath it he could see the emotional turmoil, the gears grinding as you digested everything in a matter of seconds.

He saw fragments of himself in you, a highly-trained, highly-skilled individual with nothing more to offer anyone than your talent for violence and execution. A person the higher-ups appreciated solely for the value you offered them. He recognized it; the hundred-yard stare, the emotionless expression.

He knew better than anyone how lonely it could be, the sacrifices you made to get where you are; and he knew even more that it was hard. It was gruelling, de-humanizing, stripped down to nothing more than a vessel for the government to employ. Maybe he read you wrong, maybe you enjoyed the killing; but the way your brows twitched, your body tensing ever so slightly, he knew he hadn't.

He couldn't help but feel an attraction, which was innocent enough on its own, but the blood across your cheeks, flush in your skin; it aroused him even more. In a fucked-up way, the sight of you covered in blood, bruised and flustered, had held his gaze.

He couldn't deny your skill, couldn't deny the title you'd earned, and was enamoured the moment you swiftly took down the cartel member that ambushed you.

Though, he was still on the job, still on enemy soil, and he resigned himself to relieving the ache in his groin later on. Later, when he could picture your face, imagine what exactly was beneath the layers of armour, both physical and mental.

The mission hadn't been successful. None of the cartel members were anywhere to be found, aside from the two that snuck up on you. Everyone had left, likely tipped off by civilians in exchange for money.

You retired to Alejandro's safehouse, a fair-sized place on the outskirts of the city, tucked away from prying eyes. It was surrounded only by crickets and wild, barking dogs.

Once inside, you settled in, finishing the rations you brought, fingers ghosting the aching bruises forming along your throat and collar bones.

Price had taken first watch, footsteps on the roof alerting you to his location.

"Those look nasty," Soap commented, kicking his boots up on the table.

"Had worse," You answered back, pulling your shirt collar up over the purple and blue marks.

It wasn't a lie; or an exaggeration. You had the scars, evidence of your many overseas expeditions, memories that haunted your subconscious, even when you slept. A few scattered over your face, most on your torso where enemy militants had tried to puncture a lung or some other vital organ.

"You're quite the name," He remarked, leaning forward. "Talk of the town, if you can call it that."

"All good things, I hope."

Truthfully, you couldn't have cared less what he'd heard, good or bad. It would be the same pile of shit you'd heard for years, the disbelief, the threats, the unending, festering anger. No matter who you'd prove yourself to, it went unchanged. You'd nod and stay silent, let your actions speak for themselves.

"Aye, aye," He nodded reassuringly. "Heard you're handy with a sniper-rifle."

"Lots of practice," You pursed your lips, an attempt at a smile.

"You seem t'know what you're doin'," He nodded along, deep in thought. "Takedown today was impressive."

"Stop the interrogatin', Sergeant," Ghost's voice was monotonous, echoing around the room.

Your head turned to watch him as he crossed the floor, slowly sitting beside you on the weathered cot.

His presence was strong, whether it was because of the mass of man that he was, or the undeniable burning in your abdomen.

You hadn't slept with anyone in a long time. You'd celebrated the end of deployments at bars, clubs and the like, had your fair share of hookups, but it'd been a long time since you were satisfied. The ever-lasting drought was beginning to take its toll, you were susceptible to even your most minuscule desires. Ghost being one of them.

He was anonymous, but you could see the brown eyes behind the mask. The slight movements they made when surveying an area. You could feel them on you, watching you, scrutinizing every inch. Normally, you'd ignore the intrusion, but when his eyes met yours, you knew it wasn't because of curiosity.

"Not interrogatin' L.T. Just interested," He replied, hands rubbing his knees.

Ghost hummed in response, a short acknowledgement.

"Interested? In what?" You asked, sitting back.

"You. Renowned specialist, a female soldier deployed to combat zones around the world. Pretty damn interesting."

Your brow quirked up, unsure whether he was insulting or complimenting you.

"Not much interesting about it," You replied, a heavy sigh leaving your mouth. "Slept my way to the top."

The room was silent- awkward tension falling over the two soldiers as they took in your words. You could see the thoughts in Soap's head, unsure how to respond, whether you were serious or not.

"I'm fucking with you," You said finally, seeing the look of amusement on Soap's face.

"Christ," He shook his head. "Sense of humour on you is fucked."

Your face relaxed, not quite a laugh but a huff of air from your nose. You were relieved not to have another bout of confrontation.

"Soap," Price called, entering the room. "You take watch, I'm bloody knackered."

Soap stood up with a sigh. "We'll swap war stories another time, Man-eater."

You nodded, watching him pick up his rifle and swap places with Price.

"I'm headin' in, you two should get some sleep."

"I will, Captain," You said.

Price acknowledged you with a wave of his hand, heading off to the lodging down the hall. There was space in the house for an entire troop, bunks scattered throughout. Alejandro had thought of everything.

It left you alone with Ghost. A man of few words when he wasn't in the field- as far as you could tell. You were uncomfortable, blinking rapidly to relieve your dry eyes, thanks to the insomnia you'd experienced the night before.

You stared at the empty wall, your heart pounding in your ears. The silence was deafening, a heavy weight in each of your limbs as breaths passed between you, waiting in the tension for something to change.

"Johnny's right," Ghost said, finally, a crack in the open air, making way for conversation. "You've made quite the impression, seems."

"So I've heard," You rolled your head to the side, looking at him. "And yet, no one's given me a warm welcome."

It was your attempt at a joke, a way to lighten the tide of tension that had dragged both of you under. You had a difficult time with back and forth, teasing banter. It didn't come naturally. It never had, since you'd been promoted. You spent most of your time alone.

You had a few friends back home, likely having long forgotten about you, missing birthdays and weddings. You could never be there on a whim, couldn't be the person they needed. Not anymore, not with who you'd become over the last few years. You were sure they wouldn't even recognize you if you did go back. You didn't belong anymore.

"You lookin' for a warm welcome?"

"A little hospitality goes a long way. Gets lonely out here. I'm sure you know how it is."

It quickly transformed into something more- a vague offer to satiate the loneliness, and the desire festering in your abdomen. Your eyes dragged over his body, more than impressed with the sight. You had an inkling he'd be able to satisfy you; to give you reprieve from the aching hole in your chest where a family should be.

"I do," He nodded. "Can drive a man mad."

He met your gaze, a moment of realization when you kept his attention, unblinking and stiff. He could recognize the glossy veil of lust in your eyes, and the way your thighs were pressed together. It was a showdown, waiting for the first to break, to give in and make a move. He didn't mind being the bigger person- especially not with the streaks of dried blood across your cheeks, your lips mocking him with every word.

Two, highly talented individuals, pent-up and frustrated. He could never resist- especially once he'd seen you in action. Nothing aroused him more than a woman with a bit of aggression, passion. And a woman who could challenge his own abilities was an invitation for desire.

"But, no warm welcomes here, sweetheart," He adjusted himself, sitting up taller. "Think an English welcome'd suit you better."

You narrowed your gaze, slowly removing the kevlar vest strapped to your chest. He watched with an uninterrupted stare.

"Are you offering to show me?"

He leaned closer, his knee knocking into yours.

"If that's what you'd call it."

Standing to your feet, you shut and locked the door. He lifted the vest from his torso. Unbuckling his belt, he kept his eyes on you while you did the same.

He wasn't one for undressing, but you were quite the opposite. You'd stripped down to your bra and panties while he'd only managed to yank off the fitted long sleeve.

He could see it now- every single scar. Every memento of deployment, a different type of chest candy. Though, as strong and determined as he'd heard, and seen, you were, he knew you ached to have someone take care of you. Please you, satisfy you without having to ask.

"Come 'ere," He said, his hand finding your waist.

Quick, precise movements lead you to his lap, swinging both legs over his thighs to straddle his waist. You were nimble, years of martial arts and training made you fast on your feet.

"Take off the gloves," You said, heavy breaths of anticipation fanning his chest.

"Thought you were disciplined," He shot back.

You shook your head, "Only where it counts."

"Counts here. Mind your manners, sweetheart."

You shivered- most men you'd met outside of the military allowed you to take control without much participation on their end. Ghost's blatant demand was invigorating; you'd finally met your match.

"I will," You whispered, leaning forward to his ear. "Please." Your eyes were begging, pleading for his touch.

You could feel his shoulders tense, a low growl of approval leaving his lips. The image of a calculated killer straddling his thighs made his cock hard.

His hands gathered around your hips, gently pulling you forward to grind your centre across the stretch of his lap. You could feel just how hard he was, your thighs flexing as you helped push yourself forward now. He was staring, watching for any hint of a reaction. His head tilted to the side, your nostrils flaring softly with every harsh breath; masking the pleasure.

He lifted the sports-bra over your head, his eyes drawn to the sight of your perked nipples and soft flesh. He exhaled, strained.

His fingers trailed down your thigh to your pussy; clothed in only your panties, he tugged them aside, a gloved finger teasing at your clit. You gasped, a full-body twitch as his fingers circled your clit, the rough fabric making your toes curl.

He hummed, appreciative, inquisitive, invested in your pleasure. Leaning forward, you used his shoulder for balance as you rolled your hips against his fingers, silently pleading for more.

He slipped the gloves off his hands, meeting your skin with a searing temperature that made you gasp. His fingers returned to their post, now moving a bit quicker. He squeezed two fingers inside you, grunting softly as you absorbed him, wet and tight.

Your head fell back, arms hanging around his neck as you let yourself fall into the pleasure-filled stupor, ignoring the way his eyes studied you. Your soft stutters of 'yes' and 'please', fingernails digging into the balaclava covering his neck, he snickered- a dark and appeased sound.

"Look at you," He uttered. "Fuckin' hell."

Your head rolled forward, eyes glaring into his. His voice was rough, worn, fucking irresistible.

His fingers hooked inside you, now determined to bury them, he leaned forward to meet your chest. It was an attempt to get closer. He could smell you from a a mile away, but now he could detect the hints of fruit in your shampoo. He buried his face against your shoulder.

"Lift my mask up, sweetheart."

You did as he asked, rolling it up just enough to finally meet his lips. Scarred, but plush and wet. He'd been licking them.

His lips met your chest. Gentle, savouring kisses against your breasts, before he wrapped his lips around your nipple. He sucked softly, and when a small gasp left your lips, he grazed the sensitive bud with his teeth. You pursed your lips, arching your back into his chest. He was messy, but dedicated to his craft.

The combination had you close to your climax, your body filling with rigidity with every flick of his tongue, fingers. He was still flexing his fingers inside you, his palm rubbing against your clit with every thrust of your hips. He'd paid attention to your breasts, biting and licking with unbridled vigour.

You pulled him close, hands gripping his neck, your abdomen tensing before your toes curled, your pussy clenched down around his fingers. Your orgasm ripped through you, leaving you breathless in his lap, gasping and moaning as you perched forward, leaving every piece of you in his hands.

His chest rumbled, "Bloody hell- cummin' already? Been neglectin' yourself."

Your mouth went dry, the twinge of hunger in his eyes was intimidating. You'd been in worse positions than now, but his hold on your body was even more terrifying. Vulnerability was terrifying.

You nodded, still panting as you regained your stamina.

"Go on," He nodded his head to the pillow on the cot.

You slid off his lap, landing on the cot. You sat up, gasping softly when he hovered over you, grabbing your thighs and pulling you down to meet his hips.

"You been needin' a good fuck?" He asked, his triceps and biceps bulging as his arms supported the weight he held over you.

You nodded, "Fingers don't always get the job done."

He smiled softly, a mutual understanding. Neither of you were truly the type to seek out a hook-up, especially while deployed, but the tension and magnetism between you was impossible to ignore. It had just appeared in front of you, unintentionally brought together by bloodshed and violence.

He pulled your thighs apart, eyes landing on the glorious sight of your glistening pussy, red and swollen with the effects of his fingers.

He leaned in closer, unzipping his fatigues.

You felt the head of his cock rub against your clit, his hand gripping the base as he guided himself against you. Your eyes dropped to the sight of his cock, throbbing with an intense blood rush, slowly disappearing into your pussy.

You thighs were pushed back, nearly touching your chest, when he plunged inside you. No warning, no patience; you gasped. It was uncomfortable, until he moved his hips and spread the arousal seeping out of you over the length of his cock. Then, he could glide in and out with ease, discomfort quickly replaced with pleasure.

Your eyes widened at him, watching his chest expand as he sucked in a deep breath. You'd wrapped around him so perfectly, practically dripping from your earlier orgasm.

"Fuuuckin' hell," He drawled, lips tight with restraint, a twitch in his shoulders. "You're goddamn tight."

You fell back off your elbows, dropping onto the hard surface of the cot. He rolled his hips, still exhaling sharply, his cock rigid with the liquid desire in his veins. Your back had arched into his chest, your arms finding your hair, tugging sharply to alleviate the growing impatience.

His hips hit yours, languid strokes that threatened to hit your cervix, deep and deliberate. Your thighs had his waist in a tight grip, rolling back with every thrust, your lungs collapsing into themselves as you moaned.

He gave only soft pants, low grunts of pleasure, sucking in the saliva pooling in his mouth at the sight of you. Breasts recoiling with every thrust, skin flushed with your heart pounding, eyes wide with pleasure. He buried his face against your shoulder, inhaling your smell, moving to grip your thigh as he picked up his pace.

You took the skin on the back of your hand between your teeth, biting down to resist moaning too loudly. A burning scorch of pleasure twisted inside you, your lungs tightening with each strangled moan.

He was heavy on top of you, so close you could feel his abdomen against yours while he drove his cock into you. You couldn't handle the teasing strokes, the edge of orgasm so close- you wanted, needed, to be in control.

You wrapped your thighs around his, hitching your ankles behind his knees to twist his body. He had no choice but to follow, falling onto his back while your hands gripped his shoulders. You perched forward, sliding back down on his cock with such swift motions he lurched forward when he felt your pussy encase him again.

His hands gripped your hips, eyes widening with shock- and pleasure.

"Goddamn fuckin'-" He cursed, his lips shutting when you lifted your hips, pushing forward.

You couldn't hide your smirk, the undeniable rush of confidence as you slowly tugged apart the seams of the giant soldier beneath you. Your head fell back when your fingers gathered over your clit, rubbing furiously while your hips matched the pace.

You were a determined woman, hell-bent on getting exactly what you wanted when you wanted it. Ghost did nothing but lie against the cot, hands squeezing and massaging at your waist and hips. He was mesmerized, the waves of your body, feeling of you wrapped around him, riding him so fervently he couldn't help but pant softly.

He'd become so violently entranced, his fingers were sure to leave bruises over your skin, grasping and clawing at what he could to ensure you'd never fucking stop. His low grunts were a bit louder now as you worked toward your orgasm, he could feel the twitching in your body, your pussy tightening with each teasing flush of pleasure.

You unravelled, spasms between your thighs, your stomach tense as the haze of your climax crept over you. A strangled moan left your lips, deep and genuine. You were nearly suffocating his cock, clenching down so hard he couldn't resist it anymore.

"Fuck," He groaned, his head falling against the pillow while his body went rigid. "Get off," His voice was strained, rushed.

You gathered your senses, rushing to lean closer while he tugged at his cock with his hand. You slid to your knees while he turned to see you, your tongue stuck out, mouth wide open for him to use.

He finally combusted, a growl leaving his chest as he painted your tongue white. It was warm, salty. Hastily, you closed your mouth, swallowing.

He still had the expression of exhaustion, frustration, pure ecstasy over his face as he watched you swallow.

"Fuckin' hell," He huffed, doing his fatigues back up.

You did the same, dressing and making sure you were presentable in case Soap needed relief.

It was awkward, regardless of whether he'd just been inside you or not. You weren't sure how to navigate the situation, how to go your separate ways without ever feeling the ache of yearning in your chest. He felt the same, of course, a quiet tension falling over the two of you.

"Thanks," You said, a short, incredibly out-of-touch statement. "For the welcome." Almost a joke.

He raised a brow- certainly not expecting that kind of response. He couldn't deny, it was the first time he'd felt any kind of uncertainty; unsure how to proceed after delving into such an intimate interaction. But, he was also sure that he'd do it all over again, any time you asked, so he threw another vague offer into the air, hoping you'd bite.

"Y'know where to find me, Man-eater." A profound emphasis on your callsign nearly made you roll your eyes, patronizing in every way but irresistibly charming.

You finally cracked; almost a smile, just enough to let him know you might take him up on his offer sometime- soon.

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #simon riley #mwii #strlingsavwrites #ask strlingsav

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mymreaderlibrary · 11 months ago

Text

Maybe it's just cause I'm replaying Dying Light but with Cod zombies being a thing I'm thinking about the TF141 in an apocalypse type scenario. Just a blurb idk if I’ll do anything with this.

Gonna lean heavily into the story of Dying Light here because I love it. Note that mc/ reader takes a combined role of Bracken, Jade, and Kyle C. That being said there is no Bracken, Jade, or Kyle in this universe and Rahim is reader’s younger brother.

[TF141 x male reader, no relationship (yet), zombies, death and gore, ramblings/ lore skimming]

[Length: 1,480 words]

The 141 are given a private mission to infiltrate the city of Harran and hunt down a terrorist residing in the area. He's stolen highly sensitive documents and is threatening to have them released through an informant if something happens to him. A standard deal where the task force is concerned however Harran itself is the dangerous part of the mission.

A disease has ravaged the city, being the first documented case of what is now known as the Harran Virus. It is a strain of rabies that zombifies any of those infected, making them instinctively hunt down other warm blooded creatures to spread. The city has been completely quarantined and the virus has not gotten outside of it yet, but this also makes the area a cesspool, concentrated with death and disease. Reports say there are no living (or at least non infected) residents remaining aside from the terrorist group which have holed themselves in an unknown location. Because of this a strike has been permitted to raze Harran in hopes of destroying the virus or at the least any violent infected. A counteractive medicine is in development with its prototype being given to the task force in case of emergency, however there is no solid solution beyond massacring infected. It's not pretty work but the world can't risk this disease breaking out.

The 141 are given specialized equipment, thick gear, loads of medical equipment, and a collection of high end firearms. The team are air dropped into the lower city and instructed to start their search immediately.

The sun is already beginning to set by the time they land. It would almost be pretty if it weren’t for all the viscera in the streets creating a sour rotten stench. Both Gaz and Soap wretch but do their best to push through, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of life. It doesn’t take long for them to find hostiles except to their surprise it’s not infected. Instead a group of well armed thugs attempt to corner them. They’re all carrying machetes and nail bats, some with masks while others have paint creating three jagged stripes across their face. Ghost notes their lack of firearms as odd but chalks it up to lacking proper equipment (even if their body armor told otherwise).

Regardless it goes about as well as you expect for the thugs against such well trained soldiers, however hell breaks loose when Soap decides to fire his pistol. A banshee like scream is heard from across the street and their attackers scatter without hesitation, even leaving behind their wounded. Quickly a horde of infected begin rushing towards the task force, mouths gaped wide and moaning. The zombies they were told of were slow and bumbling but these were ravenous. They ran, yelled wildly, clawed at the 141 with a fervor, and with each shot of the team's firearms another horde would soon follow. It was clear they were overwhelmed and the fear that the mission was over before it even began quickly hit. A pained hiss sounded from Ghost as a zombie managed to pull off his glove and bite into the calloused flesh of his hand. Another slammed Gaz onto the pavement and began chewing into his shoulder. Price and Soap just barely threw off their friend's attackers but the assault only continued.

As another infected went to claw at Price's face the zombie's head flew clean off. The corpse flopped down to the side, convulsing wildly, but unable to keep attacking. A group of young men and women, wearing uniforms unlike the thugs from before, began dragging the team out from the horde. They threw firecrackers over their shoulders and onto the street, catching the infected's focus and separating their numbers. A man in particular seemed to be leading the 141's saviors, giving quiet orders through hand signals to his comrades.

They got a solid distance before the same man began looking them over for injuries in a building. The lowered visibility from the growing dark made it difficult but not impossible. Gaz and Ghost were the only ones bitten meanwhile Soap and Price were scraped from their scuffle with the thugs. Despite the bites being small they bled heavily and the two men had already broken out into sweats. Shaking violently Gaz’s legs buckled and he began to cry out in pain. Ghost faired no better his eyes looking dazed and unfocused as he could only hiss out panicked breaths. Gaz's pain seemed to recapture the attention of the infected outside as banging began on the door of their refuge. A young woman went to barricade the entry but the vicious sound persisted. A fist broke through the wood and scratched at the woman's eye but she didn't falter, using her back to block the entry.

In the commotion Price recalled the prototype medicine he had been given by their contractor and quickly pulled out two small syringes. Their rescuers gave them an odd look before the leader snatched it out of his hands and injected both men without question. It took a moment for the medicine to take effect but the pair began to go lax, heartbeats slowing to a normal pace. However they were still too weak to stand and the door was beginning to buckle. The woman barricading it was grabbed and dragged out into the dark street by the vicious creatures. The rescue leader tried to pull her out but it was too late.

With a pained look in his eye the leader commanded the remaining men and women to take the 141 back to "The Tower" while he distracted the zombies away from them. He left no room for argument and they were whisked away quickly from the regrowing horde. The now nearly black streets greeting them as they ran, carrying their fallen comrades.

The journey to this tower, which turned out to be an apartment complex covered in UV lights, took a lot of climbing but eventually they were welcomed through the front gates. Or well, welcomed was an overstatement, it was more like begrudgingly let through after some convincing from their rescuers. The guards at the door glared at the men and Price could hear them scoffing about their missing leader and how “Rahim is gonna be pissed”. Seems that man wasn't just a leader to those runners but to this tower as a whole. And well if that wasn't a way to instantly ruin your reputation.

They were transferred to the medical ward where Gaz and Ghost stayed, far too out of it to get out of their cots. It was honestly quiet odd seeing the two laying dazed and pale. While the medicine seemed to have some sort of effect, there was no saying for how long. It was still only a prototype.

Soap and Price on the other hand could leave after getting bandaged, only suffering superficial wounds. They were instructed to rest, guided to some rooms a floor below where they saw several civilian types. Men, women, children... a mother in the corner cradling her crying baby trying to convince him to go back to sleep. A father sitting beside his two daughters resting on a cot covered by a thin sheet. A teen boy sitting alone, curled up on a chair shaking. Life. Something they were told didn't exist down here outside of terrorists.

One day on and the mission was already a mess, two soldiers down, emergency meds already in use, a whole community of civilians discovered, a possible ally MIA, and they had not an ounce of info to show for it. Sleeping after that just didn't feel right but the two men supposed there was nothing they could do as the tower was locked until morning. If the screams and yowls of dead were anything to go off of, it sounded like the infected were more active in the night. Who knew if this tower’s leader was even alive out there amongst the savage undead.

It took what felt like a year for the sun to rise again but just as daylight cusped the window Price could hear commotion downstairs. Cheers, shouts, panicked calls for a medic. As him and Soap peered onto the floor above they spotted that same leader from before now being dragged in to the medical ward from the stairs. Blood trailed behind him, his arms littered with cuts, bruises, and bites, but he was conscious and attempting to walk. A thick stream of red pooled from his temple down his chin and for a split second his gaze caught Price. His eyes were near unreadable, murky like Ghost's but still alert enough to be aware of what was going on. He seemed almost satisfied seeing the captain alive and well but quickly was taken away to be bandaged.

This mission was already hell.

#mw #my work #cod #cod mw #dying light #crossover #captain price #soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #gaz garrick #male reader #unspecified male reader #x male reader #cod x male reader #zombie apocolypse au #zombie au #dying light au

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kryptid-writes · 1 year ago

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Chapter 1 - Dream a Little Dream of Me

Y/N has nightmares of a winged man haunting her dreams. When her dreams become reality, her world changes completely.

(1.3k)

The sound of wings rustling, knife slashing, and faded screams echo all around. The stink of metallic blood and rotting corpses burning my nose. I’m choking on the thick air, and it feels like my chest is caving in as my breathing gets shallower by the second. There's blood everywhere. My eyes widen as my gaze falls on the mangled corpses upon the forest floor, each one twisted and bent in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Rays of moonlight pours through the trees, dancing across their mangled remains like some twisted classical painting.

I sink to the damp forest floor. There’s no escape.

In the blink of an eye, a large ominous figure towers over my shaking form. His short dirty blonde hair and strong hands are covered in fresh blood splatter and pieces of sliced flesh. His striking eyes glow a dark red, reflecting the color of blood painting every surface. But what I truly could not take my eyes off of is his large white wings that block out the view of everything around it. His intimidating wingspan wraps around us like a dark feathery blanket, reminiscent of a night sky with no stars.

“I promise I will never let anyone hurt you, never let anyone come between us,” he says in a surprisingly soft voice. He flashes me a smile that’s intended to be comforting, but it comes out sick and twisted. He pulls me close and wraps his muscular arms around me, a low buzzing feeling humming between the two of us.

I can hear his heart beating in his chest, slow and steady, far too calm for a man that just slaughtered a dozen people with ease.

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I bolt up out of bed, nearly falling off completely, but I catch myself at the last second. A cold sweat clings to my skin and the worn-out sheets, my breath coming in heavy and ragged. It’s not the first time I’ve dreamed of the winged man, in fact it seems to be the only consistent thing in my hectic life as of lately, but waking from the dreams never seems to get easier, always a struggle to shake the sinking feeling.

It takes a few moments to remember where I am, the crappy motel room I rented for the night, not so different from the countless other run-down motels I’ve stayed in across the Midwest, all with the same stingy smell.

Obnoxious yellow floral wallpaper lines the wall, caked with dirt and God knows what else that’s been accumulating for years. Ceilings spotted with black mold and blotchy water stains. An outdated box television plays the local infomercial about some miracle cleaning product, but it all sounds muffled and far away. The digital alarm clock on the bed stand reads 2:00 AM flashing in big red bulky numbers.

Just a dream, I remind myself with a relieved sigh. I swing my feet out of bed, throwing on some jeans and my signature leather jacket, scuffed and torn in various places. I need some air. Just need to get out of here.

I recall the rundown bar I drove by just down the street. It’s a good way to kill some time. Plus, I could really use a drink right now. The bitter taste of alcohol is the only relief I get from these nightmares that torment me at night and haunt me during the day.

The cold air bites at my skin, but it’s surprisingly pleasant, grounding me back into reality and away from the painful dreams. It's the twelfth dream I’ve had this month and they only seem to be getting more intense, more real. They always end with the same winged figure. The same demonic, yet charming smile. No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to shake that haunting face.

Entering the bar, it’s nearly empty with a few patrons here and there. Most of them are older men wearing bulky leather jackets, a bit rough around the edges, perhaps a local biker gang. Some of them playing pool, others chatting about their glory days over a bottle of beer. The sound of the jukebox in the corner playing the best of eighties rock drowns out their conversations. It's apparent there’s not much of a buzz going on, unlike most bars at this hour.

The voices and music around me fades to background noise, it feels as if the rest of the world has disappeared, that I'm the only one left on this miserable planet.

I slide into a worn bar stool that’s certainly seen better days, taking off my worn leather jacket and placing it on the sticky wooden bar. I sigh and halfheartedly raise my hand to get the bartender's attention.

“What can I get you, hun?” A nice older lady asks, shining a glass behind the bar.

“Just a whiskey please. Jack Daniels if you got it,” I give her a weak smile, trying to blink the tiredness out of my eyes.

She nods and pours me a generous amount of light amber whiskey in a fancy glass, sliding it over to me.

I take a swig, the warm liquid slides down my throat with a pleasant burn, already giving me a sense of calm. These days, whiskey has been my best friend and I’m okay with that. People just disappoint you.

“Make it two.” A large figure takes the seat next to me.

My body stiffens. I recognize that voice from somewhere. I slowly turn to face him and see him staring back at me with those intense red eyes and intimidating wings that I’ve come to know all too well. My stomach drops. It's the man from my dreams. I freeze, my body going into fight or flight mode. In a matter of seconds, I decided to take my chances running. I leave my drink and jacket behind, making a beeline to the door, slamming it closed behind me, giving me any sort of advantage to get away.

He doesn’t follow, but that doesn’t stop me. I run and run and run until I physically can't anymore.

The streetlamps and apartment buildings around me turn into a blur and my head starts to feel dizzy. The world spins around me, clouding my vision. The cold air feels like it's burning my lungs as I struggle to gather oxygen. My legs feel like jello, ready to give out any second. I’ve lost track of how long I've been running, maybe minutes? Maybe hours? Everything in me is begging myself to keep running but I physically can’t force myself go on any further.

I tuck myself into an alley, leaning against the ragged brick wall that painfully digs into my back, yet it barely registers in my brain. My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath.

God, please let this be another bad dream.

“I was going to pay for your drink, and you just ditch me like that? Rude.” The man scoffs.

My eyes shoot open to see the man from my dreams less than a foot away, arms crossed, looking nonchalant as ever. My blood turns cold.

How is that possible? He couldn't possibly have run that fast!

A knot twists in my stomach. Deep down I know. This man is not human, and he certainly does not have good intentions.

“L-leave me alone!” I try to sound brave, but my words come out a sloppy stutter. I hold my arm out in front of me, as if that will deter him in any way. Stupid. This intimidation tactic is clearly not working.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic Y/N.” He rolls his eyes, then presses a gentle finger to my forehead.

The world goes black.

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ultr6violnce · 10 months ago

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𝙀𝙐𝙍𝙊𝙉𝙔𝙈𝙊𝙐𝙎 𝙄𝙈𝘼𝙂𝙄𝙉𝙀𝙎 ♱.

note : i have made a post similar to this but i js didn't rlly know what else to write for euro since im still not 100% comfortable writing a full like fic yet if ykwim so ya , i hope u guys like this!!

𝑺 𝑭 𝑾 .

euronymous who lets you play his guitar. ok so imagine he'd be like sat in his bedroom js like strummin' away yk n' you'd be sat next to him js watchin' as he pulled at the guitar strings creating some ghostly riffs. you'd be absolutely mesmerised before he'd stop n' offer you to play something. you'd start strummin' away but he'd end up having to guide you placin' his rough hands on top of ur soft ones cuz you'd be so confused on what you're doin' :( and he'd just guide ur fingers along the strings letting you figure out to play some soft melody.

euromous who is only a softie around you. whenever he's out in public , he'd be this dominating 'tough' guy but when it's js you two?? trust he is the biggest softie you've ever met. he'd let you put his hair up , mess around with different kinda corpse paint styles on his face , he'd even let you put bows in his hair. he'd genuinely be such a softie im curling up :(

euronymous who would dress u up in his clothes. like not even js like letting u wear his shirt. he'd like help u put on his jeans , belt , shirts , rings etc. he'd even do ur corpse paint the way you do his before a show n' would js refer to u as his little 'mini me'. it'd be so cute , he'd js like let u give him a show of u js walking around in his clothes that r most definitely way to big for u , he'd even give u a cool name like his. it would be adorable :((

euronymous who does little things like tying ur shoes or helping u with ur hair etc. you'd be ready to leave his apartment tg n' he would be all ready but then there'd be you struggling to put ur shoes on. you'd get the perfect loop before the laces would slip from ur fingers so you'd have to beg him to help tie them. obviously he wouldn't be happy ab it as he would be eager to leave but anything for you. he'd get down on one knee and start tying up ur laces for you before giving ur knee a little tap and then helping you up from his couch.

euronymous who LOVES having u at his shows. god it makes him so happy :(( he'd be so nervous especially if it was his first show and he'd be up there getting his guitar ready , before his eyes land on you. suddenly all his anxiety and nervs go away. obviously he's still a lil bit nervous than he'd care to admit especially if he'd be playing for you for the first time , scared he will mess up and scared that you'd think he was bad. but the second he does ass you and the second he notices how proud u look when he's playing , he has the biggest smile on his face. obviously he tries to hide it , he doesn't want people to know how much of a softie he is for you but he can't help it.

euronymous who practically keeps everything bottled up. he's not a kinda guy who opens up much that was til he met you. he loves staying up late with you and js having the deepest convos w u. at first he thought it was yk a little stupid but the more convos u have like that the more he finds it to help js both of u opening up to eachother ab ur problems n' js comforting eachother afterwards.

𝑵 𝑺 𝑭 𝑾 .

euronymous who makes u grind urself against him instead of doing something ab how needy u are. he will literally make u grind urself on anything no matter what it is. it could be his thigh , a pillow , even his boots for all he cares. he doesn't care how humiliated you are , he js wants to see how needy u are. he especially loves u grinding on his boots , you'd be sat there like a needy little thing , big eyes staring up at him , whilst he'd just be slightly rutting the ends of his boots against ur clit. he'd be thinking it was so amusing , just rested back chuckles leaving his lips as he just watches u squirm , n' rutt against his boots like a needy pup.

euronymous w a wax kink. you'd been pissing him off all day , whining on and on about irrelevant shit that he js didn't wanna hear. he'd told u a million times to js stop and give him space but u wouldn't. so that js ended u up in a worse situation , face down , ass up , tears streaming down ur cheeks as he js spanks at ur ass relentlessly before getting an idea , the burning candle nearby catching his eye and without u noticing he takes it and begins to drip the burning hot wax all over ur ass. obviously he'd be gentle with it (maybe) js only dripping little bits on at first , ur moans n' sobs js echoing throughout his apartment.

euronymous who doesn't want u with anyone else. you'd been w some guy. some nobody in his eyes. you'd been w him for a while. but in euro's eyes you'd been taken from him , before this 'nobody' came alone u both were so close , but now it was like whenever he saw u , u wouldn't speak no nothing. your attention would be on that guy. that was til euro finally got u n' opened his big mouth. tellin' u stuff on how you would only be getting hurt n' how he "saw" this guy with other girls. and that's when it ended u up , bouncing on his cock. taking him whole inside u , letting his cock fill u up completely. he'd made u believe all his sweet lies to the point where you'd actually fucked him. js letting ur pussy swallow his cock all the way in , every single inch. all because he couldn't stand to see someone else have you.

euronymous with a public kink. god that man would fuck infront of anyone anywhere. if he could he'd have you bent over infront of his crowd whilst he performs js fucking u to oblivion. he will literally fuck in public bathrooms , if you ever went out somewhere for like lunch and oh so "unfortunately" there wouldn't be another seat he'd have you perched on his , before he'd subtly take out his cock , n' just slip it inside u. slowly guiding u on his cock , his face pressed against ur back as he hushes u to not make any kind of noise that would draw ppl to know what you were doing.

euronymous who doesn't care if ur his bestfriends sister. you were jan's sister , jan had made it clear to him many times when he'd catch him staring at u that you were off limits. but that didn't stop euronymous. you'd come by the store and was looking for something , jan and the others were out somewhere so it was js you and euronymous. alone. he'd slowly js kinda get a conversation with you , js talking ab music and then before you knew it he'd be talking to u ab how much he needed to be inside you. fucking u relentlessy against the counter , he'd even closed down the store so he could js fuck you. your face would be pressed against the surface whilst his cock is balls deep in ur pussy , he didn't even feel bad. he'd needed u for so long and he'd do anything to get you even if it went going behind his bestfriends back.

euronymous n' faust spitroasting. at first you wouldn't be to sure. you'd always say that if u were to fuck anyone it would always be ur boyfriend. no one else. not even a threesome. that was til euronymous introduced you to faust one of his bestfriends. you'd try to convince urself you didn't want both of them. euronymous was ur boyfriend and you'd always said you stay loyal to him and js fuck him. clearly that was a lie as you now had ur mouth engulfing faust's cock and you had euronymous balls deep in ur pussy. both of them taking u like a fresh piece of meat. drool dripping down ur chin as you tried to take faust's whole cock , whilst ur hands would be gripping ur sheets as you'd try not to cum so quickly as euronymous would js be balls deep , fucking into u like an animal.

a/n : that's all i could cook up for this!! i hope it's good enough , very sorry it's not as good as i wanted it to be im js very very out of it atm but i promise the next thing I've got coming will be better!! love u guysss <3

#rory culkin #i ❤️ rory culkin #smut #rory culkin x reader #lords of chaos #rory culkin smut

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