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demetris-cocksleeve · 1 year

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(A/n: I got a new laptop so I can officially say goodbye to my sis's pc and get on your smut requests lmao)

(Istg my blog is just Obey me and Twilight at this point lmao; I do write for other fandoms I promise😅)

Word Count: 1,434

Summary- NSFW headcanons for our favorite boys + dick analysis

Warnings: Shibari, Creampie, Blowjobs, Throat Fucking, Choking, Belly Bulge, Tit Washing/Cumming on Chest

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Obey Me Brothers NSFW Headcanons

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Lucifer-

Dick analysis:

6 1/2 inches and girthy

He has two thick veins running along either side, leading all the way to his mushroomed tip

Speaking of tips- his is almost constantly a pretty rose shade, just in between pink and red

He doesn't like mess and that translates to his body hair as well

He keeps himself nicely trimmed -not too much hair, but not clean shaven

The exception is his happy trail; he doesn't think his hair should come above his pants waistline

NSFW Headcanons:

He loves to tie you up and watch you fall apart on his cock -the only mess he'll tolerate

Lucifer is a master at shibari

He'll have you laid up on his bed with the most beautifully crafted knots pressing just tight enough into your skin as he plows into you

His favorite way to tie you up is on your back, arms tie up and behind your head with your thighs roped to your chest

It's perfect in every way: The satin sits beautifully against your skin as it exposes your pretty, fluttering hole to him.

Let's not forget his favorite part of all- he gets to see your gorgeous face, hot with embarrassment at being so exposed mixing with the way your mouth falls in to an 'o' as he finally sinks into you

Absolutely does slow deep thrusts

He knows how torturous it is, especially after he's wound you up so tight

He is just sadistic enough to ignore his own edging just to rile you up to your limit

Mammon-

Dick analysis:

7-8 inches and thin

He has a pretty narrow base with a larger head

Not quite a mushroom tip, but still flared

His tip sits at the same color as the rest of his length

He definitely shaves, at most he'll have a small patch of hair right at his base

Other than that, he keeps it clean shaven

NSFW Headcanons:

He loves downward doggy style

He loves being able to hit all the deep spots inside you as he presses your face into the pillows with a hand at the back of your neck

His thrusts are erratic and fast

With just enough control to have that coil tighten in your belly

He might not be the thickest, but he damn sure knows how to use his length to his advantage

He knows just how to make you crumble with his cock

If you can get pregnant, you better be on the pill, because he loves cumming deep inside you, watching as it squelches out around his base

His second favorite thing is watching his cum ooze out of you

It just means he gets to fuck it back into you

Leviathan-

Dick analysis:

About 5-6 inches and average girth

He rarely trims -just enough to keep his pubes under control without having to constantly go at them with scissors or a trimmer

He has a thick vein along the bottom of his cock that spiders out the closer you get to the tip

His tip is a pretty purple shade that gets darker the harder he is

This boy has h e a v y balls

He has breeder balls through and through

NSFW Headcanons:

He loves being in your mouth

There's something about the way you sit so prettily in front of him, sucking him off as he plays a game

The lewd sounds of your spit mixing with his precum egging him on to finish this boss quicker so he can properly fuck your throat

Once he finishes the level, his hand is in your hair, holding you in place as he bucks his hips into your face

If he's super lost to the pleasure or upset, his tip is pushing down your throat, creating a bulge with each thrust

He doesn't care if you're gagging around him

Just finish him off like a good little pet, hmm?

Satan-

Dick analysis:

6 inches and thick

He doesn't have any prominent veins but it almost bulges in the middle before tappering back down near the tip

Speaking of, his tip is deep red -almost maroon

He slightly curves to the left

Does not care about hair

He just lets it grow how it was intended

It grew there for a reason, why would he touch it?

NSFW Headcanons:

He loves taking you from behind while on your sides

He can simultaneously hike your leg up and choke you at the same time

What's not to like?

Not to mention the stunning arch of your back when he slams into that special spot

Or the way your head throws back, giving him unrestricted access to the column of your throat

If he's more into his feels, he'll hold you chest to chest as he grinds slow and deep into you

He loves to cum on your ass

There's just something about the way it drips down the curve of your cheeks that has his cock standing at attention again almost immediately

Asmodeus-

Dick analysis:

He's around 5 inches with an average girth

The shaft of his dick is a pale cream color that contrasts perfectly with his pretty pink tip

His tip is extra sensitive, the slightest touch has his dick twitching

The shaft has just the slightest curve upwards

The perfect angle for both reaching all your favorite spots and for getting jerked off

Definitely shaves all of his pubes

Why would he want to hide himself when his cock is just so pretty?

NSFW Headcanons:

Asmo loves all positions, but there's something special about missionary to him

Whether it's being able to see the pleasure he's giving to his partner or them being able to bask in the perfection that is his 'o' face

Maybe it's a mix of the two (It's mostly the latter)

He lets out the most serene sounds you'll hear in your life as he draws similar sounds from you

Doesn't matter if he's giving or receiving, it'll be the best time of your life, don't you worry

Beelzebub-

Dick analysis:

A solid 9, maybe 10, inches with a monstrous girth

He has a large vein that runs down the top that splits into a 'Y' shape as it nears the head

He's got a bigger base and shaft with a narrow head

His tip is a light purple-bordering red

He lightly trims his hair every other week

Except his happy trail -He maintains that to be the perfect trail starting just below his belly button and leading down to his v-line

Luckily for you, Beel's a shower not a grower

NSFW Headcanons:

He loves fucking you against a wall or on desks/counters

Hard and fast or slow and steady doesn't really matter to him

He just wants to fuck you

Don't get me wrong- he knows how to match the mood, he just doesn't have a preference

His preference is simply being inside you

Well, as inside of you as he can get

Most of the time, you can only fit a little more than half of him in you

Even that has a borderline uncomfortable stretch

Is kind of a sadist in that he loves to push down on the bulge that forms in your stomach

Doesn't mind pulling out if you want him to

Give him the chance, though, and he's nutting inside you, tip just inside your fluttering hole as it desperately tries to pull him back in

Belphegor-

Dick analysis:

6-7 inches with average girth

Definitely has a c-shape to it

He has a slight vein down the underside

Has a couple freckles along the length

Another member of the no-shave-club

He just doesn't care if there's hair or not

If you ask, he might trim it but otherwise it's as au naturel as you can get

His tip is generally the same color as his shaft, maybe a shade or two darker

NSFW Headcanons:

Whatever positions that require the least amount of effort are his favorite

His top ones being both cowgirl and reverse cowgirl

Don't let that fool you, he's still in control

Hands griping your hips in a bruising vice as he fucks you dumb

Edging is his absolute favorite thing to do to you

It doesn't require too much energy

All he has to do is still you once he notices your bouncing becoming more erratic

If he's not too exhausted, he'll have you on your back as he relentlessly pounds into you

He really only works on finishing you once he's had at least one orgasm (refer back to the edging)

His favorite places to cum are in you and on your chest

He likes watching your chest rise and fall as you gasp for breath and seeing his cum dribble down your torso

#lucifer smut #lucifer x mc #mammon smut #mammon x mc #leviathan smut #leviathan x mc #satan smut #satan x mc #Asmodeus smut #Asmodeus x mc #Beelzebub smut #beelzebub x mc #belphegor smut #belphegor x mc #obey me smut #obey me x mc

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thegnomelord · 5 months

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For the prompt game, maybe 7 with price and m!reader. Price gets pissed off that reader almost got themselves killed on a mission to protect him. Just some lovely old man angst

Tumblr's acting up again and it's deleted my draft like 3 times so fingers crossed this works else I will cry😓 . I saw the old man angst and immediately thought of Rodolfoparras work and this so yeah. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: “Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.” “You… What?”

CW: SFW-ish, Omega John Price, Alpha Male reader, mentions of gore, kissing, angst, omegaverse.

When your file had landed on his desk he had contemplated refusing; you were a stereotypical alpha — a loudmouthed meathead with little regard for your own health, headstrong and stupidly stubborn over the dumbest shit, and with a long list of incident reports dating back to the first day you joined the army. TF141 was your last chance before a dishonorable discharge and Price, stupidly, had taken you in like the stray you were.

Safe to say you turned out to be the leading cause of his grey hairs with all the shit you pulled. . . but. . . not to the extent he expected.

Unlike most alphas, you were surprisingly receptive to taking orders from an omega like Price, and carried yourself around the others without attempting to establish the dated hierarchy. After giving you guidance, and learning how you thought, Price had been seeing serious improvement.

'Course, all of that went down the drain when you decided to charge head first into a group of enemies when Price had gotten stabbed.

"What the fuck were you thinking lad?" Price hisses harshly under his breath, eyes boring a hole between your brows. He's standing at the foot of the medical bed, watching your chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. "What the fuck were you thinking?" You better not die so he can kill you himself.

He doesn't expect you to answer, knocked out as you are with your chest wrapped in fresh bandages after the docs fished out who knows how many bullets from your torso— 16, his inner omega reminds him, 16 bullets he took for You.

He sighs, "You're a lucky muppet." Walking around the bed he places a hand on your thigh, slowly inching up to rest on your lower abdomen, dark red spots denoting where bullet wounds lie. "But a stupid alpha." He growls. It's a good thing military alphas are like walking tanks of fat and muscle, you can take a few hits, though the thought does little to soothe his omega when you lay unconscious.

He doesn't even notice he's making a small distressed sound in his chest until your eyes flutter open, squinting from the harshness of artificial lights before you notice him looming over you; something between a guardian angel and death itself.

"Price?" Your nose twitches, lungs expanding despite the ache in your chest to catch his scent, your alpha noticing the sharp acrid taste hiding his usual pine smell. "What happened?" You ask, achy as you are you manage to tilt your head enough to let out a low chest vibrating purr, seeking to calm your omega.

"What happened, it that you dumb muppet almost died!" He hisses, anger making his scent even harsher, hating himself how his omega swoons at the purr, at how you put him before yourself even when you're knocking on death's door. "Were you trying to get killed?"

You hand your head and look away. You can scarcely recall what happened, the drugs and adrenaline muddling your mind so any memory comes out like an abstract painting, but one detail remains — Rage.

A Deep.

—bleeding flesh neath your fingernails, painfilled screams silenced by your snarls—

Dark.

—the 'crack' of bone against stone as the strength behind your hands forced the skull to shatter, blood and brains splashing against your face—

Animalistic.

—desperate hands scrambling against your head, the frantic pulse beneath your tongue rapidly dwindling once your teeth dug deep enough to tear through the jugular—

Rage.

You don't remember ever being as angry as you'd been when you'd seen Price clutching his side, the bloodied blade of a knife clenched between his fingers, unknown hostiles encroaching towards him. Your omega had been injured. Your omega had been injured. And you didn't think twice, vision turned as red as his blood with a singular thought of Kill Kill Kill banging on your skull you didn't even notice you were bleeding.

Like a proper animal. Like something you've been trying to prove you're not.

"I'm-" You swallow, though cleaned, you can still taste the blood of the enemy whose throat you'd torn out, your teeth still stained red. "-sorry. I'm sorry."

"'I'm sorry' he says, is'at the best you've got?" Price presses on, coming closer and bracing a hand on your chest, his limb vibrating from your purr. It's hard to stay mad at you when you're doing this, his omega wanting nothing more but curl next to you, to share warmth and protect you while you recover. "What was going through your thick skull? Wait, let me guess: Nothing." Still he persists, not showing what he's feeling.

You hang your shoulders low and head lower still, chewing on your lip as you listen him chew you out. Something sits heavy in your chest, growing bigger with every word he says like a snowball, his anger leaving your alpha —dumb creature that it is— confused and hurt; why is your omega angry, when you protected him? When you nearly died for him? When you love him—

“Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay?" You snap, rough and angry, your gaze fixed on his. You stop purring, leaving the room too cold and silent without it. "But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.”

“You… What?”

You flinch and suck in a breath as pain flares across your body. You expected a lot of different responses, from anger to indifference to being told you're out of the taskforce. . . not that.

"Lad." Price's voice is unnervingly calm, one hand on your scruff, the other holding your chin, the sudden contact of his skin on yours fooling your alpha into letting him tilt your head to meet his eyes. "Repeat that. Slowly."

You gaze into his eyes, so many things swirling in the blue yet you're unable to tell any of it. Slowly you breathe in, "I. . . I love you." You say, open and honest and too vulnerable for an old omega like him.

". . .oh, you stupid alpha." Price almost laughs, dimples around his mouth as he smiles. Like puzzle pieces something clicks in his head.

Before his words can feel like a slap to your face he leans in, your foreheads bonking together before you find the right angle for his lips to meet yours. He tastes like his cigars and black coffee and everything you thought he would, your body melting into his, your nose full of his scent, your brain full of him.

"Could have told me without nearly dying." You separate to catch your breaths, foreheads resting against each other, breathing the same air and only now do you notice Price is purring. It's not the same bone rattling purr alphas can produce, but just as soothing, and you can't help but giggle when your own purr causes his to become louder.

You think, maybe, everything will be alright—

"After you get better." He whispers against your lips, soft and sweet, saccharine pine scent sticking to your nose like amber. "You and I will have a long talk about safety."

Maybe not.

#Gnome's Prompt Game #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #captain john price #abo dynamics #omegaverse #alpha reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x male reader

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rookthorne · 10 months

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

Being the Angel on Bucky’s shoulder meant you were the voice of calm, of reason — it did not mean the most sinful chants would fall from your lips and render both of you speechless. Until the day that it did.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ Biker!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✰ 1.2k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✰ Fluff ჻჻჻ SMUT: Uprotected piv, hair pulling ჻჻჻ KINKS: Daddy, praise, extreme degradation, breeding

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✰ I hope I did my first breeding kink fic... justice. 👀

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ✰ Closer by Nine Inch Nails ✰ Keep It Down by Migrant Motel

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✰ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 7 — “Who's this?” — Masterlist

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The first time was an accident.

You hadn't meant to let it slip while Bucky fucked you so deep you could barely see straight, let alone think – so when it happened, both of you froze.

Bucky was mid thrust – his hips came to a complete stop, seated to the hilt in your cunt, and you whined quietly; both in embarrassment and need.

"What was that, sweetheart?" he asked, voice on the cusp of disbelief.

You paled and looked over your shoulder, gasping as Bucky settled his weight over your back, his hips tilting down only slightly so his cockhead would brush against that spot. "Nothing, I-I... please just fuck me, Bucky, please–"

"Oh, no, baby," Bucky purred, an arrogant smirk plastered on his bitten-red lips. "You need to repeat yourself for me, go on."

“I- Fuck,” you moaned, the shallow thrust of his hips distracting you. “Please, just keep going.”

“No,” Bucky growled, stopping his hips and breathing heavily in your ear. “You tell me what you just let slip, sweetheart–say it loud and clear for me.”

Stalling for a second, you braced – Bucky would hold back and drive you to the edge over and over if you didn’t do as you were told, you knew that for a fact. Was keeping it hidden worth it? You considered it, biting your lip and wiggling your hips for all your worth, which surprisingly, Bucky allowed.

“‘M waitin’, baby girl, c’mon. Tell me,” he urged.

“Fuck me, daddy,” you whispered, the fluttering butterflies cresting into a frenzy now the words were out in the open. “Please, please fuck me, daddy, need it,” you begged, a little louder.

Bucky hummed, nodding once. “Good girl, but that wasn’t what daddy heard, sweetheart. Try again.”

Fuck.

“But-”

Bucky rumbled, a low laugh in his throat that sounded dangerous. “No buts, baby–c’mon. Say it aloud for me, say it for daddy, hmm?”

“Oh, god–okay, okay,” you rushed, mewling at the lack of movement. “Please fuck me, daddy!” A sharp thrust was your reward, and you smiled, biting your lip. “Feels s’good, daddy.”

“I know it does, baby, but you’re not doin’ as you’re told,” Bucky scolded, stopping his hips again.

You whined loudly and felt your restraint slip – you needed him to move, and dammit all, why not repeat it?

“Fuck me, daddy,” you moaned, wriggling your hips as his heavy breath fanned over your shoulder. “Want daddy to fuck and breed me, please!”

The air left Bucky’s lung in a heavy exhale, like he had been punched in the guts. “God fuckin’ damn, doll,” he moaned, “hearing those words from those pretty lips? You better fuckin’ hold on.”

It was the only warning you received, and you braced.

The room became filled with the sounds of slapping skin and Bucky’s grunts and moans while he fucked you into the mattress, all gentleness and hesitance vanishing, along with his self restraint. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, each thrust forward was filling you to the point it hurt – the pain was exquisite, and you wanted more.

“Daddy! Please, more–need more!” you cried, gripping the sheets desperately. Bucky groaned and wound his fingers into your hair, fisting it and pulling your head back sharply. “Ah!”

“You want more, you fuckin’ slut?” Bucky growled, still thrusting in and out at a fevered pace. “You wanna please your daddy so he fucks you and breeds you, huh?”

“Yesyesyes! Oh, god,” you moaned, mouth falling slack. “More! Need your cum, daddy, please!”

“Oh, you’ll fuckin’ get it, you fuckin’ bitch,” Bucky snapped, changing his grip so your head was forced down onto the mattress. “You will fuckin’ take it while daddy breeds you like the good bitch you are, won’t you?”

“Yes, daddy!” you wailed, thrashing under his weight while he fucked you. “Please, feels-”

“It’ll feel much fuckin’ better after I cum, angel,” Bucky said lowly, “‘m gonna cum in this perfect fuckin’ pussy and make a mess, only to fuck it back into you–understood?”

Under the weight of his hand, you nodded as best you could, unable to form words through the assault of pleasure burning through every last nerve – that coil set to spring at any second.

“Know you’re close, baby girl,” Bucky grunted, slamming his hips forward and grinding into your heat. “You’re gonna cum for me, and then daddy will fill you up–just what a good bitch is for, ain’t that right?”

The words tore through you, and you moaned loudly. “Yeah, please, wanna cum.”

“You can, angel, let it out,” Bucky soothed, still grinding his hips down into your ass. “Gimme it all, soak daddy’s dick–show me how good it feels to be fucked, baby.”

A low whine built to a shout as your climax gripped you like a vice, your entire body pulling taut and rigid as it flooded you. “Daddy! Daddy, please!”

“Tha’s a girl, good girl–let it go, lemme feel it,” Bucky praised, continuing to thrust shallowly. “Doin’ so good for daddy, cumming like that, c’mon, every last drop for me.”

The waves ebbed and flowed until you lay limp on the sheets, Bucky’s soothing rumbled words covering you like a blanket as you came down from the high. “Daddy,” you breathed, groping for his hand, and he offered it with a wide smile.

“Such a good slut, takin’ it like that–now it’s daddy’s turn,” he said, and you giggled.

Bucky wasn’t gentle. Each thrust drove you up the sheets and punched a moan from your lungs with the force. “S’good, daddy! Wan’ you to cum in me, please,” you begged, shuddering as he nailed your g-spot with reverence and a sniper’s precision.

“I fuckin’ will, baby girl, angel–fuck you feel so good around me,” Bucky groaned, his forehead resting on your shoulder and his hair tickled your neck. “Sweetheart, please, I need t’a cum, please,” he begged, driving his hips desperately in and out.

“Daddydaddy, yes, give it to me,” you called, nodding and canting your ass up into the air to better meet his thrusts. “Breed me, daddy, need it!”

“Fuck, fuck, thank you, baby girl,” Bucky moaned, his hips faltering. “‘M gonna fuckin’ fill you up, make you pregnant and oh fuckin’ hell-” A loud moan cut him off and a warmth bloomed in your cunt. “Take it–take it, be a good slut,” Bucky growled, and you whined as a second climax pulled you under. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praised, thrusting slowly. “Fuckin’ milkin’ daddy’s cock, such a good slut.”

You laid there, still pinned under his weight, with the biggest grin splitting your cheeks. “That was so fucking good, babe,” you breathed.

Bucky laughed, his hips still moving slowly. “Tell me ‘bout it, where the fuck was that hidin’, huh? Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I… Um, well-” you hesitated, and decided to plunge on anyway. “I read books, and- And there’s, well-”

“You read porn, tha’s what you’re sayin’?” Bucky supplied, grinning down at you. You nodded. “Well, alright then,” he sighed, “I need to borrow those books, sweetheart.”

“What–why?” you floundered, turning around as far as you could to stare at his face. “Bucky, I don’t-”

“Because ‘m gonna read ‘em,” Bucky huffed, resting his weight on his arms, caging you on the mattress. “And then I will make sure you get to experience every one of ‘em.”

yes, this is coming back.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works

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xotication · 7 months

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more ken hcs, some sfw & some nsfw. (most for female bodied readers)

sfw -

• ken loves listening to you speak. especially after a long day? he just wants you to calm him down by telling him how your day has been & what you did.

• acts of service bf all the way.

• he’ll see you struggling to open something & politely remove it from your hands just to hand it back opened with a light grin on his face.. he loves being helpful to you sm.

• even when you’re with family, he never stops to ask if anyone needs help. he’s gonna occupy himself with work one way or another.

• he loves brushing your hair after showers, before you go out, or even before you style it. he thinks it’s so cute :(

• always has an arm around you or on your thigh, no matter what.

• learns how to remove makeup bc you fall asleep with yours on sometimes..

• def the type of bf to stand in front of you if you’re arguing with someone. like he’ll let you talk as much shit as you want.. from BEHIND him. whole time he’s staring down whoever you’re arguing with.

• takes so many pictures of you. he doesn’t care what you’re doing at all, anything & everything you do is picture-worthy in his eyes. his whole camera roll is made up of you, random pictures of nature he takes, & more you..

• he once told you that you look like a cigarettes after sex song & you bawled your eyes out.

• constantly cancels plans with others to make time for you.. his friends hate him for it but, who cares?!

• quiet in public, chaotic behind closed doors..

• you tell him you like a certain snack or drink once & the next day the fridge/pantry is stocked with it, no doubt.

• gets a kitten because he gets lonely when you’re away he thought it’d make you happy..

• keeps plenty of polaroids of you in his wallet, car, phone case.

• buys anything that reminds himself of you when he’s out running errands & such.

• has abt 3 or more tats of your name idc.

• stops mid video game to text you back.

• puts his hand in your back pocket.

• let’s you do his makeup when you’re bored.

• genuinely asks you to paint his nails, even offers to pay for yours so you can match.

nsfw -

• he’s sosososo gentle with you.

• fav position is missionary bc he adores your pretty face sm.

• ken is AMAZING with his hands..

• you can’t count on two hands how many times he’s made you cum with just his fingers. he knows exactly how to make you feel good.

• i personally think ken sits at a nice 7 inches. like on the dot. not huge or anything. perfectly thick nd everything. he knows how to fucken USE IT. he’s constantly asking how much more you can take..

• bruises your hips & thighs..

• leaves handprints all over you.

• loves loves loves to cum on your belly or your tiddies. he can’t count how many pics he has of you completely fucked out with a load on either body part. he uses them frequently.

• he makes noise, but not too much. most of the time he’s just trying to talk you through your orgasms.

• “i know angel, i know..”

• “doing so good baby, you look so fucken beautiful like this”

• “so deep inside you, i don’t even wanna pull out..”

• chokes you when he feels really really good & forgets his morals just a little bit :3

• bites your neck nd lets blood spill from the wound bc he thinks the shade is beautiful on you.. eventually he’ll lick it up.

• watches it go in n out.. loves to feel the bulge in your tummy.

• when you give him head, he’s always moving your hair out of your face so he can look into your eyes, just for him to push your head down & watch them roll back when you choke.

• when he’s had a long bad day, he gets mean sometimes & makes you beg him to make you feel good.. nd if he doesn’t think you did good enough, he’ll make you watch him jerk off :((((

• won’t even let you get near him either, bc you “don’t deserve to touch him”

• loves to quiet your moans with sloppy wet kisses.

• let’s you sit on his dick & fall asleep while he’s gaming :3

• TIDDIE SUCKERRR LOL.

• sends you nut vids whenever tfk you ask with no hesitation.

the end!

#anime #manga #fanfic #fluff #headcannons #kaneki ken #kaneki x reader #tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul re #kaneki #x reader #kaneki smut

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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 1 year

Note

I love the fact that you’re writing about different characters that Mads has portrayed <3 Duncan Vizla is a personal favourite so I was wondering if you could write something about protective! Duncan Vizla? Maybe they capture her and he’s ready to wreak havoc upon them? Hurt / comfort with a bit of make up smut? Only if you can though, no pressure or worries <3 your writing is amazing!

My Saviour

SUMMARY: Duncan goes out with his love Y/N, and she encounters a moment in her life she thought would never happen, but Duncan comes to the rescue and ensures that she feels safe and loved again.

PAIRING: Duncan Vizla x fem! reader

WARNING: 18+, mentions of non-con (brief mention no further details), SMUT, female receiving

NOTES: since there is a scene with a brief assault mentioned, please skip this piece if you don't feel comfortable reading it. Your mental health is more important to me than anything <3

Duncan is protective. Simple as that. He was trained to kill others for a cash prize and honor, among other assains, throughout his whole life. But now, with his life settled in a cabin in the woods and his partner Y/N it puts a brake on his former life and builds anew. His protectives and killer instincts go in overdrive when he is out with you, whether in a coffee shop, shop, cinema, or anywhere you want to go.

His hand is on her 24/7. When going out, he brings the most miniature gun in his coat, just in case. His eyes are razor-sharp, watching the environment around him and then gradually relaxing with his adoration. Sitting down at the coffee shop, the night cascades as the two lovers talk to each other, noticing only their coffee cups gradually empty.

'We should get going. It's already 8 pm.' Duncan proposes, peeking down at his watch. 'Sure, I'll just go to the bathroom.' Y/N answers, standing up and strolling toward the washroom.

Duncan oversees her enter the facility, patiently lingering. Y/N enters the bathroom gazing at the slight corner of the facility, her gaze hooking onto the frail leg. Kneeling down, Y/N asks carefully, 'Are you okay?' The woman gargles out a response as footsteps transpire from the same place.

'What the?' before she could finalize, the door barged open as a robust man grabbed Y/N by the throat, slamming her against the tile wall. Y/N seizes her hands on the assaulters' steel grip. She twisted his skin as Duncan instructed her before

'Remember you twist, under, and-' 'And what?! Shit, what did he say next?!'

Her mind raced with no end and no solutions. The man's uninvited hands started to travel up her leg, inching slower to her middle. Squeezing her tights together, she shouted as much as possible, 'Dun-!'

The door opens with a deafening smash. Duncan saw the sight he did not want to see her in. Ever. His love attacked, and he did not see it coming. Her teary eyes pleaded and reached out to him, wanting to be saved.

'Y/N. Close your eyes.'

Obediently shutting her eyes, Y/N saw darkness and heard revenge being delivered. The twist, crack, and stab was heard as the assaulter weak pleads died down with him.

'Open, dove.'

Peeking up, she saw her protector, his hands stretched towards her, offering her help to stand up.

'The girl.' Y/N feebly voiced, looking behind him and noticing the woman slowly stand up and walk out.

'Do you want me to call an ambulance?' she added. The girl turned her head towards them calmly. 'No, no, thank you. F-Fo-for saving me.'

Duncan brings his alert to his dove, and Y/N witnesses his eyes. The warm grey tones disappear, and solely endless deep black has taken over his eyes. From that moment, she knew that he was back in his old ways. And for the first time, Y/N felt her soul shaking.

'Let's go home.' he ordered while they slowly strolled out. Duncan letting the personnel know what happened.

later on

In the cabin, Y/N sat on the couch, observing Duncan tending to her wounds, soothing hands touching her skin, taking each twitch and painful whimper into account.

'Do you want to talk about it?' the question cut the silence of the atmosphere bringing Y/N back into her state she almost forgot. His gaze turns to her, and she feels her soul shake yet again, feeling safe with her protector. Her eyes prickle with tears, and her lips quiver with missing and broken words lost on the tongue, hands reaching for his grasping softly, shaking with the possible future that might have happened if she didn't go the bathroom, remembered all of the things Duncan showed her or if she didn't have…him.

'I went into the bathroom---saw the girl asked if she was okay---and the man jumped out of the stall and grabbed me by the neck and touched my legs…Nearing closer to my…' Y/n hushed words feeling Duncan's grip tighten around the opposite shaky hands.

Duncan watched her clutch at each tear and escaping word she spoke. At the same time, his heart and brain pushed him internally, not checking up on her earlier, not killing the piece of shit on the spot that does those things for fun. Duncan never thought he would have someone to call his family and home as well not having this level of protectiveness drug his veins to the level where he wanted to burn the world for her if she said so.

But for now, he will worship her in the way he knows best. Duncan littered her face with kisses soft as the feathers touch, removing the slaty tears, hearing the whimpers turn into soft hums of satisfaction. 'I will remove all of his traces. He doesn't exist anymore. He can NOT hurt you anymore. I have and will protect you, and I will re-write my wrong for tonight. Will you let me worship like you deserve?' Duncan inquired, seeing how her eyes softened with affection, a smile peaking on her face.

'Yes, please.'

Duncan opens her legs slowly, kneeling in front of her and her core. He begins kissing her inner tights while his hands massage the legs gently enough to hear the hums he wants.

'If you want me to stop-' 'No, no, continue, please. I need you.'

Hearing those words, Duncan desired nothing more than to kiss until the oxygen ran out of his lungs, but he suppressed his needs putting hers in front. His breath tickled her core, twitching at the effect. Nearing close, not losing sight of his pearl, he starts to kiss her soul. The movement is pleasantly slow, slow enough for his dove to relax and intertwine her fingers into his ash-grey hair. Her legs opened more, placing them on his shoulder. His tongue brushed up and down against the folds, the juices cascading down and into his mouth, making his blood run wild. The 4 days shaven bread scratched gently on her tights as whimpers filled his ears.

'Right…there…' she said, grasping his hair tighter.

Duncan continues his actions as his nose presses on her clit, eliciting a suppressed moan. Duncan stops to speak five words.

'Don't suppress your voice, dove.' and starts again.

Y/N moans loudly, not letting the moans and pleasure be suppressed anymore. The wooden walls held the moans and gradually layered more and more in the bedroom. Duncan's nose pressed a bit more, and his tongue played with her folds mixing his saliva and her juices together. The love-filled actions continued while Y/N grasped harder on his hair, tighter and more painful, until there was no grip, and her climax crashed on his lips. Duncan stopped pulling away, massaging with his hands her inner tights, prolonging her stimulation as it died down to the tiniest fraction.

'How are you feeling, darling?' Duncan inquired, hoping he helped in some way.

With Y/n's shallow breath, she happily replied, 'Most definitely better. Thank you, Donut.'

Kissing her tights, he promises 'Always.'

If you liked it consider leaving a tip!

#duncan imagine #daddy duncan #duncan x reader #duncan vizla x reader #polar netflix #polar x reader #polar movie #polar imagine #polar #netflix x reader #netflix smut #netflix imagine #netflix #imagine #smut imagine #mads polar #mads mikkelsen #requested imagine

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doyawalker · 10 months

Text

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind #7

chapter 6.

contains swearing

previous chapter

taglist: @parkinglot-nights

C’est La Vie, I Guess

You simply stared at him, the world around you slowing down as it was only his eyes you could focus on. And suddenly you were taken back to that one night in the mid of June, the last time you had seen him and the feelings exploded in your stomach. The pain of never feeling good enough, the desire for his attention, the self-doubt that had slowly but surely made its way into every little corner of your consciousness. Everything was crashing back down onto you as his eyes continued to stare into your soul and it was too much.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you finally forced yourself to look away, your cheeks burning up because you felt so vulnerable like a prey bowing down before its predator.

The wound that had been slowly ripped open before was now bleeding again, as you were confronted with your past and the feelings you had obviously only stored away somewhere deep in your heart instead of actually getting over them.

Your stomach was turning in a funny way, confirming the rollercoaster of emotions you were going through and it was only until you heard his voice again that you finally snapped out of it.

“So, do you mind telling me about what’s going on with you and Tae?”

His voice was low, sounding huskier than usual, and as the words slowly seeped into your mind, the world picked up its normal pace again.

“Why do you care?”, you ask, looking back up at him. He was still way too close, his body almost hovering over you, and upon hearing your words he propped up one hand beside you against the wall, inching even closer.

“Because Tae is one of my friends.”

“Then why don’t you go and ask him?” He furrowed his brows together, the tip of his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. Normally he seemed amused by your answers but now he wasn’t showing any sign of humor. There was just this dark shadow cast over his eyes.

“I want to hear it from you.”, he said, his voice dropping another octave lower.

Your heart picked up a new speed, your hands were starting to feel clammy.

“Why?”, you croaked, unconsciously holding your breath, the air around you so thick from the tension that it was almost unbearable.

A moment passed.

He took a deep breath in.

“Because maybe I made a mistake back then.”

It took you two, maybe three seconds until your mind finally picked up the meanings of his words.

And when it finally did, the peng you felt in your chest would have made you stumbled back if it wasn’t for the wall behind you supporting you.

Him making a mistake? Him…regretting? It sounded too good to be true. It couldn’t be true. He was lying. He was lying to you again.

And as he kept looking at you, awaiting your reaction, a new emotion flared up inside of you. Anger.

Anger at his audacity, anger for coming back into your life, anger at how he left you two years ago, anger at yourself because you couldn’t understand why you still felt so drawn to him.

Pulling your brows together, new-found confidence washed over you as you straightened your spine, your gaze now challenging his.

“Isn’t it a bit too late to realize that? You really think I’m gonna believe you?”

You got him. You saw it in the way his eyes widened for a split second with surprise before he composed himself again. He had expected a different answer, it seemed.

“Why would I lie to you?”

You scoffed, his remark bringing your anger to a new level.

“So you still don’t remember what you did back then, do you?”, you said, your voice getting louder, as you pushed your index finger against his chest, underlining your words. “What kind of sick game are you playing here? Do you really think I’m gonna be that stupid to let you play with me, just because I met you again literally three days ago?”

His expression started to change, as a similar emotion to yours flared up in his eyes.

“I’m not playing games, I mean it.”, he said, but his argument was weak.

“Do you really think you can just sit there, act like nothing ever happened, like we’re the best of friends and expect me to fucking play along with that, what the fuck?”

Your voice had turned into yelling, as you couldn’t stop your feelings from gushing out of you, the alcohol probably not helping.

And you hated it, but as you ranted on you couldn’t stop your eyes from becoming blurry, the sight of him in front of you slowly turning hazy.

“You can’t even remember what you did to me, for fucks sake!”

It was the last straw, the last realization that tipped you over the edge, as you stood in front of him, glaring at him like you wanted to murder him.

A few people were walking past you, whispering something you couldn’t hear, but you didn’t care anyway. If he didn’t want a scene, then he shouldn’t have created one.

But suddenly his demeanor changed.

He took a step back, creating much-needed distance between you two, the expression on his face relaxed, as he tilted his head to the side.

A thousand insults clouded your mind, but as he looked at you so calmly, obviously not impressed by your emotional outburst, they slowly lost their power.

He simply looked at you, his dark shadow from before now gone and replaced with something you had never seen on his face before.

Sympathy.

“Why don’t you tell me what I did wrong?”, he asked, his voice softer.

And your anger fizzled out as fast as it had taken over you, leaving you once again only with the pain and embarrassment of laying your emotions out so easily in front of him, as if you couldn’t control yourself.

What was he doing to you? Why was it so hard for you to compose yourself in front of him?

You wanted to go.

His presence was too much, too confusing, too painful.

You shook your head in disbelief, your gaze focused on a spot somewhere behind him.

“What does it change if I tell you? If you can’t even remember it.”, you said, your voice sounding weak and you knew you had to get away.

So you left.

Pushing past him, you fled towards the stairs, your mind racing with thoughts about what just happened. You had to find Tae or Sori, you shouldn’t have left without them.

Maybe this wouldn’t have happened then.

As you reached the stairs, you heard him calling out your name from behind you, but you didn’t look back.

You couldn’t.

He was in your past, after all.

In the beginning, you had always wanted to talk with him about your feelings. As soon as the power dynamic between the two of you had changed and you started to develop feelings for him, you noticed whenever he was being distanced or cold. You noticed the way he ignored your texts, how he declined your calls, telling you he was busy, only to call you up at night to meet at your usual spot. And at first, you had confronted him. Had told him how it hurt you when he was treating you this way and he kept going on and on about how he didn’t mean to hurt you, how you two were going to figure it out, how much he liked you. But as time went on and he became even colder and your complaints even louder, he started to blame it on you, calling you too emotional, saying that you couldn’t control yourself and that you were the reason the two of you had so much trouble.

Whenever you called him and asked if you could meet up and talk, he always sighed, thinking of some excuse to get out of it. And so you stopped talking. You accepted his calls, agreed to everything he said, did as he wanted you to, just so you could enjoy the few moments of attention he would gift you with.

Maybe that was the reason why the encounter with him at the party upset you so much. You had shown him your feelings again, openly and honestly. And he didn’t deserve that.

You had escaped the party immediately after almost sprinting down the stairs back into the living room. You had pushed yourself through the crowd back out front through the entrance, your feet carrying you back to Taehyung’s car on their own. And when you finally arrived there, you called Sori.

When they came running to you, you were already crouching down beside Tae’s car, tears silently falling out the corners of your eyes and when Sori pulled you into her chest to hug you, the two of you sat there and you cried for minutes.

You had told them what happened, as Tae maneuvered the car out of the parking space, bringing you back home safely.

That was Saturday.

Now it was Tuesday.

You had skipped the gym on Sunday and on Monday you had gone later on in the day in order to avoid him.

But you knew you couldn’t run away from him forever.

And as you walked down the street that led to your university’s campus, anxiety started to creep up in your stomach. Because your next course in migration policies was a course you shared with him. He had told you his schedule - unasked - at the gym on Thursday and now you knew that you would see him every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. How delightful.

Dragging your feet across the floor of your major’s building, the anxiety turned into an unbearable feeling of doom the closer you got to your classroom. Maybe he wouldn’t show up? Maybe he wouldn’t talk to you? Maybe he did finally get the message? Or maybe you had just seemed straight-up crazy to him when you had yelled at him and he would forever avoid you? A dream come true.

As you entered the room, a bit of the weight resting on your shoulders got lifted, because he wasn’t there yet. Searching for the perfect spot to sit in the back of the class, you threw your bag onto the desk, your eyes wandering over the few other attendees that had already gathered. You didn’t recognize any of them, but you did notice how small the room was. This course wasn’t a lecture, it was a seminar, with group work and presentations and everything annoying that you dreaded most of the time. Especially when you knew that Jungkook would be in your class.

Slowly unpacking your things, you sat down in your chair, making sure that your bag was covering some of your body and face, as you opened your laptop in front of you.

Only two more minutes until class started.

You took a deep breath in, rolling your shoulders backward, trying to relax your mind, as you pushed any thought of him or the weekend to the side. It wasn’t worth it.

But of course, as if the universe was trying to change your mind, he walked into the room the next moment.

His curly hair was loosely tamed under a baseball cap, his muscles for once not covered in a tight shirt but with an oversized pullover, grey sweatpants making it seem as if he had just gotten out of bed. And maybe he has because there were some darker circles under his eyes that usually weren’t there.

Grabbing the strap of his backpack, he stopped at the entrance of the room, his gaze wandering through the class.

God, please no. Please don’t.

Sinking deeper into your seat, you tried to hide your face even further behind your laptop screen. It didn’t seem to work.

Because as you silently begged for him to sit anywhere else, his feet moved toward you, his broad figure letting itself fall into the empty chair next to you, his now-familiar scent filling your nostrils immediately.

Cursing at him silently, you chose to ignore him, the empty Google doc in front of you being so interesting that you didn’t even throw a glance in his direction.

A few seconds passed by, as he laid down his laptop in front of him on the table, his giant water bottle standing next to it.

And then he broke the silence hanging between you.

“Hi.”

His voice was only a whisper, as the professor had already entered the class, starting to talk about the course’s syllabus.

You didn’t answer.

“Can we talk?”

Pressing your lips together, you focused on a spot somewhere on the blackboard.

He leaned closer to you.

“Y/N, please. I want to apologize.” “Don’t.”

Your voice sounded harsher than intended, your eyes still not looking over at him.

You had heard him talk about apologies often enough by now. You honestly didn’t need one. All you needed was for him to leave you alone so that your life could finally go back to normal.

But he was persistent.

“I don’t need your permission to apologize, you do know that?”

The audacity.

Your eyes finally snapped to his face.

“You sure talk about apologizing a lot for someone who still hasn’t said a single ‘I’m sorry’, you know that?”

He eyed you carefully and something was different about him. It was still him, but he was missing a part. His confidence. The cockiness in his eyes and voice, the challenge. He almost looked pitiful.

You averted your eyes, trying not to let yourself be deceived. He could be acting after all. He sure was good at that.

“So, let’s form the groups for this semester’s presentation work.”

The professor’s voice cut through your consciousness, making you sit up straight in your chair, as you eyed your classmates one more time.

You had to be quick in finding a partner, otherwise-

“Yes?”

The professor’s voice rang out again, as she pointed toward you.

No, not you. Next to you.

Turning in horror, you looked at Jungkook’s raised hand, his body casually leaning back in his chair, as he spoke absolutely nonchalantly.

“I want to work with Y/N.”

Pointing at you, he didn’t even acknowledge the way your mouth fell open in shock, your heart somersaulting in your chest amidst his words.

What the actual fuck?

“What is wrong with you?”, you hissed under your breath, your feet hitting him against his shin.

His face distorting in pain, he finally looked at you, his brows furrowing together.

“I want to talk to you. And since you are ignoring me, I have to find a different way, right?”

“You’re such an asshole.”

He scoffed in amusement and there was his cocky side again. He didn’t hide that very well after all. You knew it.

“Besides, there’s no one else in this class that I want to work with.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Nope. But I just made it yours.” You glared at him, pointing your index finger at him.

“I promise you, we will talk about this group project and this group project only for the whole semester, and…”, you leaned closer to him, your eyes burning themselves into his. “I swear to god, if I get a bad grade because of you, I will hunt you down.” “Sounds promising.”, he answered, a wide grin spreading over his tired-looking face.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you let yourself fall back against your chair, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“God, help me.”

Class flew by, mostly because you took so long to accept the fact that you were stuck in this group work with Jungkook, and when the professor finally let you go, you packed your stuff up hectically, not even wanting to give him the chance to talk to you more than necessary.

“So, when are we meeting for the first time, groupmate?”, he asked, throwing his backpack over his shoulder, watching you struggle with the zipper of your bag intently.

“Shut it.”, you mumbled, cursing under your breath, almost ripping your bag apart as you tried to close it forcefully.

“Let me.” He stepped closer to you, his hands pushing yours aside gently as he grabbed the bag with one hand and the zipper with the other. Pushing the metal back a few millimeters, he then pulled it back forward with ease, closing the bag in a second.

Sighing, you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, as he let go of your bag.

He really looked exhausted and for a second you wondered why. The bags under his eyes acted as evidence for sleepless nights, undoubtedly. Maybe he had company over. The blonde girl from the party perhaps?

“Thanks.”, you murmured, your lips pressed together to a thin line, as your thoughts wandered to a picture you’d rather not think about, making you turn around on your heels, ready to walk off.

But he didn’t mean to let you go so easily.

You shouldered your bag, back already facing away from him, when you felt his touch on your arm, his hand gripping around it and gently but surely making sure that you stayed in place.

Glancing over your shoulder, you were ready to throw an insult at his head, but he was faster.

“You’re right. About me not apologizing. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to do that.”, he began another unreadable expression painting his face.

“But I’m sorry. For what happened on Saturday. I shouldn’t have pushed you so far, it was a shitty move.” He seemed genuine. Maybe he was. And maybe you did actually need that apology at least. Because as he finally said those words to you, for the first time in forever, your body relaxed a bit, no longer trying to wriggle out of his grip.

You stood there for a second, unsure what to do, waiting for him to dissolve the situation, but he simply stared at you, his words still lingering in the air between you.

Looking away, you slowly removed your arm from his hand, your skin feeling hot where he had touched you.

You felt like you couldn’t get any words out, didn’t know what to say to that either way, because he was right, it had been a shitty move, so you just nodded at him in acknowledgment.

“Give me your phone number.”, you said, getting your phone out of the pocket of your jeans. “For the group project.”

This was your peace offering to him. No more fighting as long you purely concentrated on your work.

A grin flashed across his face, as he pulled his phone out. “When do you have time to meet?”, he asked, as you typed his number into your contacts. It was a new number. You still had his old one. Not saved but it was still there with his chat. Why? You didn’t know either.

“I’ll text you.”, you said, looking back up at him. He was still smiling.

#bts ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #bts fic rec #jungkook #jungkook fic #out of sight out of mind

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misguidedghoststories · 10 days

Text

Chapter 7 ~ Jason Todd

No data found.

Jason's face contorted in frustration, with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw. The sound of his groan echoes through the Batcave, followed by the sharp thud of his fist hitting the Batcomputer. The bright lights of the computer screen cast a blue glow over his features. Spinning around in the swivel chair, he ran his hands through his tousled and unkempt hair. For a few days now he had been searching for any information at all about the gang that robbed the jewelry store that night. His frustration and exhaustion were tangible, like a heavy cloak weighing down on his shoulders, as he desperately combed through every bit of data in hopes of finding a lead on the person he fought that night.

“I hope our paths will cross again, Robin.”

Those words continued to reverberate in Jason's mind, haunting him with their impossible familiarity. His head was spinning as he struggled to make sense of what had happened.

He wasn't supposed to be out that night, his mentor Batman had explicitly told him to stay home and let his wounds from a previous mission heal. But Jason was never one to follow orders, so determined to find something to do he ventured out alone. Not only was he injured but he hadn’t been expecting to find two metahumans.

It took a few days for his mind to untangle the haze of confusion and disbelief. The voice that had spoken to him was undeniably familiar, and yet impossible at the same time. Jason couldn't wrap his head around it, but deep down he knew without a doubt that it was Ashe's voice. The realization sent chills down his spine, as if he had just stumbled upon a ghost from his past. How could this be real?

For days, he had poured over countless files and data , scouring every inch for even the slightest clue. But despite his efforts, he came up nearly empty-handed. A few blurry images from nearby security cameras were all he could find, providing no real leads or answers. The jewelry store's surveillance system had been expertly disabled, leaving no trace of the thieves. This was no amateur job; it was a meticulously planned and executed heist. And yet, it left him even more perplexed. Last time he checked, Ashe wasn't some highly skilled criminal.

“I guess a lot could change in a year…” Jason muttered to himself, his words echoed off the Batcave walls.

The sudden appearance of Alfred sent a small jolt of surprise through Jason, disrupting his deep thoughts. The butler's quiet footsteps had gone unnoticed until he spoke. "Master Todd," Alfred said with a hint of concern in his voice. "I just received word from Master Wayne. His current excursion has encountered some unexpected difficulties and he will not be returning for a few days."

Jason nodded, processing the information as his eyes flicked over Alfred's sharply tailored suit and calm expression. “Where is he?” He groaned.

“He failed to mention.” Alfred's keen eyes narrowed as he scanned Jason up and down, his suspicions rising. "I couldn't help but notice that some medical supplies have gone missing," he stated with a hint of accusation in his tone.

“Hm, weird.” Jason shrugged nonchalantly, trying to appear innocent as he turned back to the computer. He knew exactly where those supplies had gone - he had taken them to patch himself up after the fight.

However, Alfred wasn't easily fooled. With measured steps, he made his way to the Batcomputer. "Do you require assistance tending to any wounds, Master Todd?" His tone softened from reprimand to genuine concern.

Jason met Alfred's gaze briefly before looking away again. "No, I'm fine Alfred," he assured him.

He paused, his mind racing as puzzle pieces clicked into place. There was only one other person Jason could think of that knew Ashe and might know where they were. With a determined glint in his eye, Jason declared, "I am going out tonight."

With a sense of urgency, he sprang to his feet and snatched his jacket and his backpack. He strode confidently towards a sleek, black motorcycle parked nearby. “Don’t worry, I’m just following up on a lead. I’ll be back in a couple of hours!” With a twist of the key, the engine roared to life. As he revved the throttle, a smile lit up his face. And with that, he peeled out of the Batcave, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

- - -

With a low rumble, Jason Todd parked his motorcycle and swung his leg over the seat. He unclasped his helmet and ran a hand through his dark hair, feeling the familiar buzz of nostalgia coursing through him as he stood in front of the old market that had been his home for years. It was a bittersweet thing, being back here after so long. The last time he had set foot in this place was also the last time he had seen Ashe, the memories still fresh in his mind like they had happened just yesterday. But things hadn't ended well then, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as he stepped closer to the entrance.

With a weary sigh, he hoisted himself over the rusted fence and landed on the other side with a thump. He cautiously made his way through the overgrown weeds and broken glass, towards the dilapidated grocery store. Stepping through the back door, his heart sank as he took in the sight of children milling about the empty space. There seemed to be more kids here than when he was living here before. He scanned the room, looking for a familiar face.

And then he saw the freckled face little boy, “Hey Theo!” Jason called out.

The boy paused for a moment with confusion etched on his young face, but recognition quickly set in and he eagerly ran towards Jason. “Hey Jay! It’s been forever. I missed you. Oh hey, cool shoes. Where have you been though?” Theo immediately was very excited.

Jason reached out to settle the child, his palms resting softly on the boy's shoulders. “It’s good to see you, kid.” His deep voice was gentle but firm as he continued, “Listen so I need some information. Do you know where Ashe is?”

Theo's eyes widened in surprise and fear, and he adamantly shook his head no.

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Jason stared at the boy. “Are you sure? It’s important, they could be in danger.”

The child fidgeted nervously, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. He rubbed the back of his neck. “They told me not to tell nobody. Ashe said it was really important that I don’t tell nobody about them. But… they have been gone a few days now.” He said in a hushed tone.

Jason could see that there was more to the story than what Theo was letting on, and he knew it was important to get to the bottom of it. Jason kneeled down to Theo’s level “If you know anything, Theo, then you need to tell me.”

The child nodded, “Ashe went and joined this gang thing.” He whispered, as if afraid of being overheard. “I don’t know nothin’ about it but they pay Ashe and Ashe brings stuff to us. Food and clothes and whatever. They drop it off in the alley and I give it out to the kids. They said the people they deal with is real dangerous and I shouldn’t ask about it.”

“But do you know where they are now?” He pressed, his tone urgent and determined.

“That’s the thing.” Theo looked down to the ground. “Ashe said they would be back in a couple days but it’s been about a week now. I don’t know where they are but they left Gotham and went somewhere else.”

Jason stood up and nodded, “But you don’t know where Ashe went?”

Theo shook his head no.

Ruffling the kid’s hair in an affectionate gesture, Jason flashed him a reassuring smile. “Great job Theo, that's all I needed to know. I’ll see you around.”

Jason stepped out into the cool, crisp Gotham night air, shivering slightly as a gust of wind brushed against his skin. He quickened his pace, making his way back to his motorcycle parked just outside the building. Pulling out his phone, he began scrolling through various online news sources, scanning for any reports of metahuman activity outside of the city. After a few minutes of searching, he let out a triumphant "Gotcha!" as he pulled up an article from earlier that week.

"Metahuman Criminal Activity Stopped By Vigilante Nightwing" the headline read in bold letters. Jason's heart raced with excitement and determination as he read through the details of the incident, mentally preparing himself for his next mission.

#dc comics #dick grayson #dick grayson x oc #jason todd #jason todd x oc #robinsandash #batfamily #fanfic #7

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thoughtsandbones · 7 months

Text

The flesh you thread between my blood and bones slows down the pendulum of death

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!MedicDoc OC (codename: Blue) 💀💙

WARNINGS: Mention of profanity, scars, fluff, anxiety, medical inaccuracies, surgery, blood, gore and just getting the POV of our friendly neighbourhood masked menace.

Plot: Doctor Ruhari Hari Kaur (OC is South Asian ☺️) joins the 141 again, but this time as their doctor. After the betrayal of Shepherd and Graves, Task Force 141 begins their hunt on his whereabouts and locating Makarov.

PLEASE reblog and like! Hope folks are enjoying the series, I am building up characters and plots, cos I have a lot ideas and just been enjoying writing :D

Song inspo: Don't Fear the Reaper - Tom Jones, American Idiot - Green Day, After Dark - Mr.Kitty, 1973 - James Blunt

I grew up with the OG MW2 game, so there are some references to the old one, so kind of a mix of both the OG and the new timeline... (Also I'm ignoring the OG Shepherd betrayal and keeping in line the one with the new timeline..)

spelling and some grammar mistakes as I am bad at times... :/

(FYI: bold sentences... that are like this... are supposed to describe redacted data/info to the plot... ;] .. )

Please do let me know how you all are finding this fanfic! :D

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14 and PART 15 I

Part 15 II

Ghost stared at the yellow sign reading in black NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT on the white double doors that led to the operating room where Soap had been wheeled in by both doctors, surrounded by other medical staff.

As he walked behind them when they rushed ahead he heard them shouting all sorts of medical jargon. You were so calmly ordering for mLs of drugs with too many Zs. He looked down at his skeletal gloves, the fake bones once white now stained red with Johnny's blood.

Looking up again at the sign he thought of you. How your hands would also be bloodied, pouring deep into Soap's body, mending him.

You gotta save him he pleaded in his head. He couldn't lose Soap, not now. Not after what they had been through together in Mexico, Chicago... now this.

'C'mon Lt!' Soap's words rang through his skull. Guilt flooded his chest as he remembered moments of how blunt he had been to Soap...

Squeezing his fist tight, Ghost sighed and then walked down the corridor until he found himself a chair in an empty room and plopped the chair right outside those double doors. Sitting down, Ghost winced with pain, the cut sobbed as he sat down and moved his torso.

"Fuuuck" He growled quietly.

Leaning back, he shut his eyes letting the darkness wash over him.

...

Soap was lifted onto the surgical bed. As you and Peyton scrubbed in, the nurses dressed him. Through the window of the scrub room you watched as he was intubated, his bloodied clothes discarded in the yellow hazard bin.

Once scrubbed and prepped, you assume the lead role in the surgery. Neuro was your speciality, this was a spinal injury. This is your arena. Closing your eyes, you breathe in.

"It's a beautiful night to save lives" You say, opening your eyes. Peyton eyes crinkle, a sign she was smiling under her medical mask.

"10 blade" You say and the nurse gives your instrument. You place the edge of the blade two inches above the bullet wound, applying pressure with your index finger you slide the blade across the skin unveiling the flesh beneath.

"Suction" Peyton says and she moves in with the machine that gargles up the blood from the exposed muscle

Peeling back the muscular layers you clamp down areas needing support. Soap's lumbar was one display. No major damage could be seen.

"Bullet must've missed the lumbar" Peyton says

"L1 clear" You say inspecting the upper lumbar region, with your blade you move down

"L2 clear"

"Suction" Peyton says

"L3 clear" you say and then move down

"Suction"

As you looked around L4, there was a sudden gush of blood and the monitors started beeping rapidly

"Found the bullet" You say "Clarissa, Kerrison rongeur" holding your left hand up whilst holding the area with your blade as Peyton continued suction. The beeping subdued.

"Need another pair of hands for this" You say

Peyton gave the suction pipe to the nurse on her right and then took hold of a clamp and forceps.

Cutting away at the connective tissue and muscle you peel the layer as Peyton grabs the shrapnel

"Hard part now.." She said after depositing the shrapnel in dish

Rapid beeping started again. You and Peyton both move together, suction, cutting, threading and assessing any damage to the surrounding nerves.

"Pulse at 120" Clarissa said as she took hold of the forceps from Peyton

"Shit" You say as more blood gushed from the wound which was quickly slurped away from the suction pipe.

"Sutures" Peyton said and she began to sew up the first damaged nerve.

There was a increase in beeping

"Pulse 150"

"Let me do it" You say and Clarissa swiftly gives you a new set of sutures.

After adjusting yourself you look down "Surgical microscope please" And the microscope was brought down to your level and adjusted to your eyeline.

Focusing your eyes through the lense you begin to graft the a new nerve from the damaged nerve, cutting the damaged part and sewing the ends.

This was your element. Fixing the broken. Mending the hurt.

After 5 hours of intense surgery, you and Peyton were nearly finished. The beat of song playing off the speaker was echoing across the walls of the OR. Nodding your head along to the drum of Green Day's American Idiot as you finished suturing the final layer of Soap's skin.

"Nice finish" Peyton said as she cleaned the area "Stats are good" she added looking at the various monitors that beeped rhythmically along with the music.

"Pause music please" You said, one of the nurses pauses.

You cut the last suture and place the forceps onto the tray held by Clarissa.

"Good job Dr Kaur" She said nodding at you. You nod back and return to admire the handiwork which was being dressed by Peyton and another nurse.

"He is stable and stats are looking great" Clarissa says as you eye the monitor. You turn to her and smile, putting more effort to crinkle as your mouth was hidden behind the mask.

"We will take him back to the ICU just for observation" Peyton said as she moved over from Soap to you and Clarissa.

"I'll help take him" Clarissa said "Well done"

"No thank you" You say "Thank you everyone" You say loudly to the rest of the medical team all who respond with a cheerful thanks back.

"I'm gonna head back" You say

"I'll keep you updated, and let you know when the team can see him" Peyton says taking her gloves off as they left the OR, she tapped you on the shoulder and walked off.

Taking off your surgical cover, masks and gloves you wash the grimy sweat off your hands. The smell of strong disinfectant soap filled your nose.

Leaving the scrub room you walk off back towards the double doors where you had rolled Soap in. He was okay now. Had to wait until he was awake to see if there is any nerve damage to his legs...

Checking one of the clocks on the hallway you realise it was 11:49am, you longed for a hot shower and then the comfort of your bed. Walking through the double doors, midway through yawning you were met with a giant man sat in the middle of the hallway. The skull face gave you a jump. It took a few moments to register that it was Ghost.

"Lieut-"

Ghost leapt up from his chair and nearly toppled you over as he confronted you

"Is he alright? Did he make it?" He blurted, his eyes widening at you.

You stare back into his eyes, only just able to make out the blue iris.

"He's okay." You say, reaching your right hand up to to his shoulder.

"His legs, said somethin' abou' his legs" Ghost huffed at you

"Ghost, he is stable and in the ICU, regarding his legs, we will have to wait until he wakes up to assess any damage." You to him calmly

He takes in this information, your calm demeanor. Of course you know what you are doing he thought to himself

"Are you okay sir? You ask

"I'm okay" Ghost said quickly.

You look at him curiously, there was something off about him.

"Okay then.." You say moving away from him.

Ghost moves towards the chair and picked it up with his left arm, the sudden weight made him wince and groan as his unattended wound stretched and weep as he moved.

"Fuuck" He whispered to himself as he set the chair back down and placing his right hand over his wound on the left side of his waist.

"Lieutenant what happened?" You say rushing over to him

"Nothin'" He said trying to push you away. You scoff at him and roll your eyes.

"Ghost, I'm in no mood for bullshit" You say sharply at him. Ghost looked at you, eyebrows narrowed, your eyes slightly red and clearly tired.

He was being rude again.

"I got a nick" He said motioning to his wound looking at your stern face, eyes narrowed. Clearly annoyed. "Can you patch me up?" He asks, your stern face relaxed, softened.

"Right, come with me" You say letting out a big sigh and head out of the RAMC building and then back to the infirmary in Building 2.

Turning the light on you spritz the med bed and give it a quick wipe.

"Get your vest off" You say plainly to Ghost who follows your command. He unties the straps and then sets his vest aside. Attempting to take his hoodie off but he couldn't as the wound caused him to wince further.

"Need some help?" You say as you look over to Ghost who was clearly struggling.

"Alrigh' then" He said and braced himself as you walk closer to him, bringing your hands to his body, rolling the hem of his hoodie slowly and carefully.

Ghost winced again as you went near his waist.

"Might have to cut it off" You suggest looking up at him.

"Go on then" He mumbled, the edge of his mouth curved slightly under his mask.

Grabbing a pair of clothing shears, you cut the hoodie off Ghost, revealing a damp black shirt underneath, his bare muscular arms on unveiled. You look at his waist, and see a patch of dried up blood, parts of his shirt clung to his skin dried and wrinkled.

"Sit on the med bed please" You motioning to the bed and then you walk off to the bathroom to wash your hands. Sleep eludes you. Drying your hands you head back to where Ghost was, who was now sitting crouched on the edge of med bed.

Putting on a pair of gloves and grabbing a stool with your foot you slide close to Ghost, and lift the t-shirt. As suspected the parts that clung to the skin where dried stuck to the wound. An impromptu weak bandage.

"Gonna also have to cut your shirt around the wound, it's dried to the gash"

Ghost looked down at you.

"Can't you bandage it?" He asks and the expression your face held clearly showed he asked a stupid question.

Your look of disbelief subdued, and grabbed the scissors. Ghost's heart quickened. He didn't mind being shirtless. But not when he has been in the field with limited availability to shower, smelt like shit and especially in front of a woman he was interested in...

"Wai-" Ghost began but he was too late, you began to cut his shirt off him, exposing his sticky sweaty scarred skin.

As you cut away at the fabric you notice various deep pink and white scars adorned on his chest and abdomen. Dirt had built up in areas, but it was expected. A shower is the last thing you need in the field.

Grabbing some saline water and a towel, you wash away dirt surrounding the remaining cloth covering his wound. Gently, with your gloved fingers you peel the cloth away revealing the gammy wound. Inflamed and dirty.

"Lift your arm" You ask and Ghost does so and watches as your pour more saline to the wound, his eyes focused on the precision placement of your fingers on his waist, not ogling him.

He slightly winces as your fingers graze over a sensitive area. As you examine the area, you notice it was bumpy, sand had gotten into the wound.

"This area is very inflamed. Lie down, it'll sting as I clean it" You say gently

Ghost shuffled back and then. laid down and then turned his head to watch as you focused on cleaning his wound, your concentration unwavering as you focused on the task at hand. He noticed the lack of talking, just blunt and no joy. But then, you did just finish a 6 hour surgery.

He gazed at your tired eyes, noticed how you rapidly blink every now and then, your mouth pursed, no smile on show. You grabbed some small gauze and wiped the wound.

"This is going to need stitches" You say

"Hmm" Ghost mumbled "I'll let you get to work, I'll just be here" He adds

You laugh slightly and then finish cleaning the area before starting to suture the two layers of fatty tissue and muscle, pulling the flesh together again, wiping away any blood with clean gauze.

Ghost felt himself slip into the bed beneath him as you got to work, focusing on his breathing; in for four, hold, then out slowly for four. Drifting away, away from the chaos of the last 24 hours. Away from the chaos that still looms ahead of him.

<CUE FLASHBACK> 23rd August 2010 Ashfield Base, mess hall "Sergeant Riley" You said as you plopped down opposite your superior in the mess hall with your lunch, the hall was mostly empty, the radio played on the speaker overhead. "Cadet" Sergeant Riley said not looking up from his cup of tea and half-eaten sausage roll. "C'mon sir, you know my name" You quipp at him as you take a bite of your pizza. Simon looks up from his cup and stars at you, your eyes widened and the grin appeared on your face. "Cadet Ruhari" He sighed looking back at his sausage roll. "Cadet maybe no more" You say cheerfully Simon looked up quickly "What do you mean?" He asked "Captain asked if I wanted to come join full time, commit proper into the army." You said "Ah" Simon said quietly "Ain't you got some good brains for uni?" He added and looked at you as you shrugged "Maybe can do it later, but I do enjoy this" You say motioning the space around you. "Nothin' enjoyable about war" He said sharply You were taken aback "Of course not sir, I just meant as in discipline, camaraderie and the protection of one's country" "Hmm" Simon mumbles giving you a slight cold stare with his sharp blue eyes. In that moment of silence, the radio station at base start playing 1973 by James Blunt. The echoes of the piano filled your body and you began to twiddle your fingers to the beat of the drum. Looking at Simon you start to grin, he looks up at you as you begin to mouth the lyrics: Simona.. you're getting older Your journey's been etched on your skin... "Simonaaaa" You sing quietly and giggle Simon gazed at your joyous smile as you continued to mouth the lyrics of the stupid song that made a twist of his name. He watched on as you exaggerated the 'mona' part of Simona and laughed along with you. Simon knew the Captain was going to offer you a place in the army, but he had hoped you would decline. Going out in the field changes people. Changes the best of people. Turns them into someone else. Would you still be the same after you see the horrors of war? Simon wondered as he watched you finally finish the now cold slice of pizza. He would hate to see that beautiful smile disappear.

#modern warfare fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x doctor #simon riley x reader #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x medic #cod mw soap #fan fic ideas #angst #modern warfare ghost #x oc #ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x original character #modern warfare fluff #cod fluff #cod mw2

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hottpinkpenguin · 1 year

Text

Joel Miller X Fem!Reader - Last of Us - Part 9

A/N: read part 1 ! read part 2 ! read part 3 ! read part 4! read part 5! read part 6! read part 7! read part 8!

Taglist: @midgetpottermills @casssiopeia @flyingmushroomss @amethystwonders11 @hiphopdancer101universe @kiszkawagnerwhore @littleshadow17 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @alm0501 @ch4rcuterie @lodeddiperrodrick @amandalove1355 @laurathefahrradsattel @moshpot24x @middleof-thenight @kettlechips3 @happymakercollectorsworld @alainabooks143 @mikariell95 @superbreadsoull @twd-rocks-blog @livmadsen11 @sage-bunn @emmy626 @somenerdyuserr @vitavenio @yjnicks @littleshadow17 @honeybunzzzz @thenovelcarnival @shypositivitywritinghorse @kik51199 @lovelyygirl8 @adriennemichelle98 @imobbssed @sofsofsposts @axshadows

Warnings: dark themes; substance abuse; post-apocalyptic dystopia; death of reader's minor child; probably a lot of non-canon details since I've never played the game; not proofread; spoilers if you haven't seen the show/played the game Word Count: 2473 Abbreviations: QZ = quarantine zone; FDRA "Fedra" = Federal Disaster Response Agency

---

You smiled, placing the dark eyes and deep voice of the man who rescued you instantly.

“Damian!”

Seized by a sudden rush of emotion to see him alive, you wrapped your arms around his neck, wincing at the dull throb in your ribs and carefully avoiding the sling he had around one arm.

“Y/N, it’s damn good to see you up and about. I really thought you were a goner there.”

You released him, feeling flooded with gratitude. He’d been the one who’d found you in the stairwell and carried you all the way back to the QZ. On top of blowing up the propane truck the night before, you now owed Damian your life twice over.

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” you agreed congenially. Damian looked cheerful, albeit worn out. In addition to the arm he had hanging limply in a sling, one side of his head and neck was covered in a bandage damp with what appeared to be a mixture of blood and vaseline. He caught you eyeing the wound.

“Burns,” he clarified, dropping his gaze. You nodded, forcing your eyes back to meet his. He’d be scarred for life, you realized with an uncomfortable twinge of guilt, and partially because of you.

With your eyes no longer on his burn, you noticed that he was wearing a pack, freshly restocked judging by its size, and he had a full ammo belt slung sideways across his chest.

“Damian, you’re not seriously going back out there, are you?”

The remnants of a smile melted from his face.

“We gotta get the girl, y/n. Everything depends on it.”

The gravity of his tone signaled to you that Damian knew about Ellie, just like you and Marlene.

“That’s ridiculous, you look like you’re fresh out of a warzone.”

Damian’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, his shoulders puffing up a half inch.

“Wars don’t stop on account of the wounded,” he replied blandly, although you saw the flame of conviction simmering in his eyes. Like Marlene, Damian was a true believer. He would die for the Fireflies and their cause. And Ellie was more than that. Ellie was everything.

You swallowed thickly, remembering that you’d let her walk off into the open city alone.

“Well, fuck, I better get dressed too then.”

The words were out of your mouth and your decision was made before your mind had caught up with your body.

Damian chuckled darkly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, y/n. I may look a little on the well-done side, but I’m not hours off of a near-death fever with three broken ribs.”

Three ribs, you noted idly. You’d assumed two.

“Yeah, well, I’m the whole reason she’s out there by herself anyways.”

Regret threatened to turn you inside out. You couldn’t meet Damian’s eyes.

He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“You made the best decision you could. We’ve all been there. Marlene included.”

Damian gave you a sympathetic smile. His compassion made you hate yourself all the more.

“How’re you gonna find her, anyways?” you asked, itching to change the conversation.

“Not a damn clue. I got lucky with you. Caught a glimpse of you two from a roof a few blocks over. You were moving so slowly I was able to catch your trail pretty easily. Must have missed the girl by only an hour or two.”

You nodded, chewing on the inside of your cheek as he continued.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky twice. There’s realistically only so much ground that Ellie could cover in a day. Plus we know she’s headed for the QZ. So we’ll start by sweeping the blocks directly between where I picked you up and the wall, and we’ll go from there.”

Damian’s false optimism was difficult to hear. It drove the spike of regret deeper into your chest.

“Three pairs of eyes are better than two. I’m coming with you.”

You squared your shoulders to Damian, expecting him to argue. He gave you a long, thoughtful look before he shrugged.

“I know you won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, so I’ll save my breath. Here, take this-” he handed you the fully loaded backpack from his shoulders “-we head out in ten minutes.” He gestured to the end of the hallway - presumably the exit.

The pack was much heavier than what you were used to carrying, and the strap pressed uncomfortably just above where your ribs hurt. You grit your teeth and readjusted the supplies on your back, trying to find a comfortable position. With the added weight on your back, you were acutely aware of how weak you felt, your body’s reserves sapped by the infection you’d only just managed to kick. The rational part of your mind raged against you for volunteering for another run when you were quite literally just off your hospital bed.

“Y/N, listen to me.” Damian caught your arm gently as you went to walk by him, his voice low. “This time, if you fall behind, I can’t carry you back to HQ.” You nodded grimly as he released your arm, sidling past you to re-up on supplies.

As he rounded the corner and disappeared from view, you had the bleak thought that maybe the only reason he’d bothered saving you was because he’d expected you to be able to tell them where Ellie was. You tried to brush that speculation from your mind as you heaved the pack up higher on your back, wincing as your ribs wailed in protest, and walked in the opposite direction. Back out into the open city that had almost killed you.

*****

“God damn it.”

Joel swore to himself quietly as he peeked out through the emergency access door hanging askew from its rusted hinges. Unfamiliar with the T tunnels, he’d ended up making a large arc, skirting the wall of the quarantine zone, rather than the straight shot into the city he’d hoped for. In the distance, he could see the bright halogen searchlights that marked the main gate.

It was a dismal night, cold with a heavy rain. Joel flicked off his flashlight, heaving against the metal door with his shoulder until it budged enough to let him out. As soon as he stepped into the rain, he felt a bone cold chill settle over him.

Based on his mental map, his route miscalculation had landed him about fourteen blocks northwest of where the spot Marlene had last seen you. Even though Joel knew the chances of finding you exactly where Marlene had left you were slim to none, it was all he had to go off of.

Resigned to his fate, Joel zipped up his rifle underneath his jacket to shield it from the driving rain. His hair was already plastered against his head, rain streaming down his face in rivulets and dripping off his jaw. His supplies would get soaked if he didn’t get out of the rain quickly.

Running his gaze over the nearby buildings, a sudden flash behind a nearby car caught his attention. He froze, eyes narrowing, straining in the dark to make out whatever caused the flash. He saw it again. A brief flicker of light glinting off metal.

Unable to see through the rain and the darkness, Joel crouched down, hovering his weight on the balls of his feet to avoid touching his knees to the wet pavement. He wiped away the moisture as much as he could from his face, yanking up the hood of his jacket. Another flash.

He’d have to get closer if he wanted to see it.

He picked his way carefully over the wet pavement, trying to stay out of sight for as long as possible. Caution was the order of the day this side of the wall.

As he moved closer, Joel recognized he was looking at a person, dressed in a waterlogged red hoodie. They leaned against the underside of an old Mitsubishi that had been flipped on its side; their head peering around the corner of the vehicle. They were tossing something up in the air that was catching the dim, diffuse light from the QZ gate. That was the flash he’d seen. Whoever they were, their eyes were glued on the QZ. They didn’t see him - didn’t suspect anything to be moving behind them. Rookie mistake.

Joel snuck close enough to rest the slender muzzle of his rifle at the base of their neck.

“Don’t scream,” he commanded, his voice low.

The person froze, the switchblade they’d been tossing up in the air clanging to the pavement.

“Who are you?” he asked. The person’s hands went up in a gesture of surrender. Small hands, he noted. Small, with slender fingers. A woman’s hand, probably. No, a girl’s.

“I’m looking for the QZ,” came the girl’s reply.

“You blind or something? You’re staring at it.”

A moment of silence passed between them, only the sound of the pattering rain filling the seconds.

“I’m looking for a way in.”

Joel caught the girl’s meaning. She was trying to sneak in.

“You infected then?” he pressed, cocking his rifle. If she was infected, he’d drop her right now. This was turning into a delay he really hadn’t bargained for.

The girl scoffed at his question, shaking her head.

“No, I’m not.”

There was more to the story. Joel could hear it in her voice.

“Then why don’t you walk in the gate?” he asked. Even though FDRA didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet to refugees, he couldn’t think of too many reasons someone would try to sneak past the main gate unless they were concerned about failing the medical screening.

“I’m not infected,” she repeated, although Joel heard the same hint of unshared details.

He exhaled through his nose, dropping the muzzle of his gun, zipping it back up underneath the protective layer of his jacket to keep it dry.

“Then use the main gate.”

The girl turned to face him. She looked pale and wiry thin with dark, wide-set eyes. There wasn’t a trace of fear in her expression.

“I can’t use the main gate,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

Part of Joel wanted to ask why; part of him wanted to turn around and leave her. He had other business to attend to. A memory of you smiling sweetly at him over a cup of coffee in his kitchen drifted across his mind, underscoring his antsiness to leave.

“You can get me in.”

The girl’s statement wasn’t a question. More of an observation, with a hint of command.

“No, I can’t. You say you’re not infected, then walk yourself up to the gate and let FDRA process you in like the rest. I’m not smuggling you in, no way. Besides, I’ve got shit to do.”

The girl stood up, sensing Joel was about to leave. She was shorter than he’d expected; she barely came up to his armpits. Not like Sarah, who’d been almost as tall as him by her fifteenth birthday. For the second time in as many seconds, the image of another sweet smile - his daughter’s this time - ricocheted through his head. The girl in front of him looked to be about Sarah’s age. Joel’s heart twisted in knots with an obligatory sense of duty to protect her.

“Then take me with you,” the girl insisted.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Open city’s no place for a kid,” he replied weakly. He sensed this kid was no stranger to the open city, and all the risks it entailed.

“I’m not a kid.”

“You sure look like one.”

“I’m not a fucking kid.”

Joel chuckled. She was spirited, he had to give her that.

“What’s so funny?” she challenged, puffing her chest up. The action made her seem all that much younger.

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Whatever was going to happen, he couldn’t stay here any longer.

“Alright, kid, here’s your options. You can stay here or go through the main gate. Good luck.”

Joel turned on his heel with every intention of leaving her, despite the guilt gnawing at his chest.

“What about going with you?”

She was following him, her soaked shoes squelching in puddles on the pockmarked pavement.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t afford to be slowed down.”

“I won’t slow you down. I’ll keep up.”

Joel tried to ignore her as he surveyed the area, trying to get his bearings. The rain was beginning to lessen, although he was already thoroughly soaked. Behind him, he heard the girl’s sopping footsteps keeping time with him.

“Where are you going, anyways?” she asked.

“Out.”

Joel hadn’t banked on the girl following him without an invitation. The last thing he needed was someone else to take care of.

“Why?”

He ignored her, stepping over a downed power line and flicking on his flashlight. They were far enough away from the QZ wall that they’d lost the benefit of reflected light.

“Why are you going out there?” she pressed.

“Looking for someone,” he replied flatly. He could feel a headache beginning to pulse in his temples.

“You think you’ll be able to find them?”

The girl’s incredulous tone bit deeper than Joel wanted to admit. The longer he’d been on this rescue mission, the more and more unlikely it seemed that he’d actually find you. He was committed to seeing it through primarily because he couldn’t let himself consider any of the alternatives.

The rain had slowed to a thick mist, hanging like ghosts in the dark spaces between the buildings.

“How do you exp-”

“Listen, kid, if you’re going to follow me I can’t stop you, but I won’t have you yammering on the entire time. You’re going to get us killed.”

His voice was sharp as he rounded on her. Her mouth snapped shut, but her eyes burned like coals at Joel’s chiding tone. After a moment of defiant silence, she nodded once.

Joel sighed heavily as he resigned himself to what she’d already decided: Joel Miller was a party of two now.

“What’s your name?” he asked as he turned to keep walking. They came to an intersection; Joel chose the southeastern-most road option, tracking their progress in a bird’s eye view mental map.

His plucky travel companion stayed quiet for a beat too long before answering with what was obviously a lie.

“Jaime.”

Joel ignored the lie. He knew a thing or two about keeping secrets himself.

“I’m Joel.”

Another silence.

“What’re you doing out here all alone anyways? Aren’t you a little young for that?”

“I thought you told me to be quiet.”

He shot her an amused glance out of the corner of his eye before he nodded in surrender. They let the quiet mist envelope them as they made their way deeper into the city…

read part 10 here **let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters! ty to everyone showing this series so much love! <33

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal imagine

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savage-kult-of-gorthaur · 1 year

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HARDCORE '82 -- PLAY FAST OR DON'T.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on a bootleg pressing of the 11-song, 1982 "American Style" demo, and the only known demo, by American hardcore punk band DEEP WOUND. Recorded in J's Basement. Deep Wound copyright © 1982.

TRACK LISTING:

1.) "Pressures" 2.) "Training Ground" 3.) "Deep Wound" 4.) "Your False" 5.) "Your Head Is In Your Crotch" 6.) "Dear Sister" 7.) "Patriots" 8.) "Never Let You In" 9.) "Adults" 10.) "Dont Need" 11.) "Vidio Prick"

Westfield, Massachusetts hardcore punk.

Source: www.discogs.com/release/6489042-Deep-Wound-American-Style.

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arteastica · 7 months

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early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (13)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.7k

“I mean, if that’s something you’re comfortable talking about.” You rushed to add, fearing your question might open old wounds. “We don’t have to talk about it if-”

“No, it’s fine. You told me about your family, it’s only fair that I tell you about mine.” His eyes scanned the ceiling, as if trying to find the starting paragraph to a really long, complex story. He then took a deep breath and said: “My father, his beard was always unkempt and so was his mustache.” You chuckled lightly, tickled by the unexpected and rather random beginning he chose for his story. “He disliked loneliness. Not only when it came to people, but also objects. He didn’t like it when things looked lonely. If he passed by a bakery and there was only one loaf of bread left at the end of the day, he would buy it even though we had enough at home. If there was a book alone on a table, he would place it in a group with the others.” If your eyes hadn’t been glued to him the way they were, scanning every inch of his face, trying to read all the sentences you knew he was purposely leaving out of his story, you would have missed the way his lips twitched as they tried but failed to compose a smile.

“He rarely got drunk, but when he did, his habit of bringing lonely things home would only worsen. One time, I woke up in the middle of the night, startled by a noise that to my sleepy 8-year-old self sounded like a woman crying.” He said, as you shuffled against him, having no clue where this story was going. “Scared, I looked out the window only to see my father trying to push a cow inside the house.” You opened your mouth in disbelief. “He said the poor animal was all alone in a field, looking like it could use a friend. The next day, he had a hard time explaining to our neighbors that he wasn’t trying to steal their cow.”

“Well, that alone tells me a lot about him.” You said, the thought of a perplexed, golden-haired boy in his pajamas, and an equally confused thousand-pound cow being forced through a small door in the middle of the night making you chuckle. “What did he do for a living?”

“He was teacher.”

“Let me guess, History.” His eyes widened, head tilted to the side, asking you to explain your deduction as well as the conviction present in your voice. “I mean, that would explain a lot of things, including your love for History as well as all these books.” You said, pointing at the shelves that covered the walls of his room.

“These are not books. The ones in my office are. But these… these are just things I write.”

“All of them? You mean as in journals?”

He nodded before explaining: “Writing helps me clear my head, especially after expeditions. When we come back from a mission, time moves on and so does life, at least for those who survive. But what about those who don’t?” The question seemed to be directed at the air and not particularly at you. “What about those who never make it back home?” He paused for a moment, seemingly letting the taste of those words linger on his tongue like bitter lemon, before continuing. “When my men die out there, they are not really left behind. They are forever immortalized in the pages of these journals. It’s my way of remembering them, of making sure their sacrifice doesn’t go to waste.” Your eyes paced around his room, things slowly taking on a whole new meaning, and you wondered how much anguish and sorrow were trapped in the pages of those journals. “They stay behind and trust us, the living, to go on and find meaning in their deaths.”

You stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace without speaking, but simply, quietly understanding. Understanding that writing was his way of finding meaning, of making sense of it all. Understanding that a scout’s life was never easy, you knew that from the get go, but it was then and there where you finally and fully comprehended the dimensions of the position you held, the implications of the path you had chosen. And, when your vision started to get blurry, and your mind, to wonder if one day you would become a character in one of those dreadful entries, you decided it was time to change the topic.

“So! Your father was a teacher.”

“Yes, and I was in his class.” He paused for a moment, the space he decided to leave between each word, as well as the calmness in his voice, reminding you of trees after a violent rainstorm, battered and partially uprooted, but still standing somehow, or at least trying to. “One day, he was talking about how humanity was forced to take refuge within the walls to protect themselves from the Titans, and how that bought them 100 years of peace.” There was something about his voice that took you back to a rainy day, ten or fifteen years ago, sitting by the classroom window, only that this time your head wasn’t propped on your hand, your pencil wasn’t tapping on the desk, and your mind wasn’t lost somewhere far away, wondering when you would be able to go home. Because this time, the commander was the one speaking, and his voice, while monotonous and gentle, had the spark required to narrate the longest of stories without losing the audience’s interest in the process. A rare skill you had known only one more person to have: Hitch. That, paired with his ability to explain complex things, made you think he would make a great History professor; and you couldn’t help but wonder how different his life would have looked like had he chosen to follow his father’s footsteps.

“In doing so, any records of our earlier past were lost for all of time.” His voice pulled you back to the present, and you nodded, both to signal you were following his story, and to shake the vivid pictures that had started flooding your imagination, vivid pictures of him coming home after work to a warm dinner on the table, to his family, to a beautiful house in some small village or to a cozy cabin in the middle of some quiet forest, instead of this lonely office trapped between walls of cold stone. An alternate reality where he wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, startled by nightmares of titans tailing behind him, trying to devour him and his men.

“At least, that’s what we’re all taught.” You looked at him, your brow furrowing in suspicion, sensing there was more to this story. He seemed to be trying to decide what he would say next. Or whether to say it at all. And before you could tell him it was okay if he didn’t want to say more, he decided to continue. “I… having doubts of my own, asked my father a question. At first, he evaded answering and ended class as normal. But after we got home, he answered my doubts. He said the history books given by the government were full of contradictions and mysteries.” Something about that last line reminded you of a conversation you had with your own father a while ago, about those government conspiracy theories he was so intrigued by. But you didn’t want to interrupt, so you just nodded and let the commander go on.

“My father continued to tell me more, and even as a child, I was astounded. You see, there’s a reason he didn’t tell that story to the entire class, but I wasn’t smart enough to know.”

“You told the story to someone else.”

He nodded. “To other neighborhood kids. And one day, the Military Police came to question me.” He was looking straight into the fireplace, as if having a staring contest with the flames. Almost as if someone was standing in the middle of the flames, staring back at him, and he wasn’t allowed to break eye contact. You thought about the scenery reflected in his eyes. The blue in his eyes mirroring the bright, red fire, as well as glimpses of an emotion he had never displayed in front of you before. Slight anger, maybe. “My father didn’t come home that day… And I haven’t seen him ever since. He died in some accident in a faraway town. Or so I was told.” He added, sadness scattered around his eyes like stars in the dark night sky.

His words reverberated inside the silent room, spreading across the available space, reaching every corner, and stabbing every inch of your heart in the process. You had somehow deducted his father wasn’t around anymore, so when he started narrating the story you hadn’t expected it to have a happy ending. This, however, was way beyond your imagination. This was downright traumatizing, another level of disturbing for sure. And you felt horrible for asking him to pick at a wound that had barely even scabbed at all. But you also knew that his father hadn’t died in an ‘accident’. “Based on what I knew-”

“The government. He was silenced by the government.” You concluded, words leaving your mouth at the exact same time the thought was born.

He nodded again before continuing his story. “One hundred and seven years ago, humanity that fled into these walls… The king had altered their memories to make them easy to rule. That was my father’s theory.” You had never listened to this part of the story before. It was as if important pages had been ripped off the history books you studied at school. And the whole sensation was very odd. It left your mouth dry and your skin shivering. It was like finding there was an alternate ending to a book you had read a hundred times. One you never knew existed. A darker one.

He didn’t say anything, and you felt he was giving you time to process everything and reach your own conclusions.

“Because if he hadn’t done that, civilization within the walls could never succeed.” You finally said.

“Exactly. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been thinking… Why did my father have to die for nothing more than getting close to the truth?” He asked, and you knew this time he wasn’t talking to the air nor to you, but to himself, his voice and the emotions behind it raising like water reaching its boiling point. “Even those in the government would believe what they’re doing is just. However, I realized one thing about them: What they’re trying to protect is not humanity.”

“It’s their gardens, houses, and land.” You completed the sentence before he could, having lived far too many years around them to know what their most precious possessions are.

“If anyone dares threaten their authority, they’ll be silenced, whoever they are.” The hand that was intertwined with yours tightened its grip on your fingers. “In the end, there was nothing to justify my father’s death. In the end, my father was killed by human greed.” His knuckles went ghost-white. “And by the foolishness of his own son.” Still staring into the dancing flames before him, you noticed he had the eyes of a man whose future resembled a dead-end street. The eyes of someone who was tired of seeing seasons die one after another, knowing that his father would never come home. The eyes of someone who was tired of seeing tomorrow die even before it came. The eyes of someone who spent a whole life dreaming upon days that would never return, dreaming of a person he would never see again. And you wondered if it was his father whom he saw in the flames, or was it a younger version of himself? Or maybe, he saw memories of happier days. Memories of a past he would never be able to go back to, along with scenes of a future he would never be able to move on to. Because his legs remained forever trapped in the heavy muds of regret.

“Before I knew it, my father’s theory became true inside my heart. Now, my mission in life. It’s to prove my father’s theory once and for all.”

You wanted to string together the right words, one by one, until they formed a bridge that would lead you closer to him, so he wouldn’t feel so alone. Because, even though your bodies were pressed so closed together, you could tell his soul was lost somewhere far away, somewhere dark, somewhere lonely. And you knew his father would have hated it for him to feel that way.

You stayed still, silent, and slightly mad at yourself for not being able to say something to him. The night is always dark if no one holds the light, so you wanted to hold it for him. You really wanted to. But you were astounded and overwhelmed by all the information, both about his past and about the reality you all lived in. His father’s theory, if true, would change the world as you knew it. As everyone knew it. A possibility that, if true, would change everything.

In the end you made peace with the fact that you weren’t wise enough to know what to say, and opted for gently wrapping your arms around him instead, pulling him closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck, hugging him as tightly as you could. If you couldn’t tell him, you would show him. If words were beyond your ability, you would make sure actions weren’t. He immediately responded by tightening his arms around you and pressing his nose against the top of your head, where you could feel him breathing heavily. He took such a deep breath that, for a moment, you thought he was going to cry. But no, you knew he wouldn’t, that would be nearly impossible. Because at this point, given the rate of pain he had been enduring for years, at that rate your eyes would run out of tears before your heart could let go of the pain.

As your head rested against his chest, in such proximity to his heart, and as its beating told you more about the pain he had been living with for all those years since his father’s passing, a question popped up in your mind.

“The basement. In Eren’s house. It has something to do with this. Doesn’t it?” You spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Intel suggests that the basement of Eren Yeager’s home in Shiganshina holds a vital secret regarding our enemy. That’s our destination. By getting there, I can prove my father’s theory. I know it.” He held your hand tighter. “I just know it.”

His words carried the exact same conviction they did during meetings when planning strategies or during expeditions when giving commands in the field. Only that this time they were infused with something else, a certain vulnerability. A vulnerability that, along with the violent beating of his heart against your ear, explained to you why he was so committed to the cause. Why he had decided to give his entire life to the Survey Corps. It all made sense now. You understood that it had less to do with freeing humanity from the walls, and more to do with his late father.

As his heartbeat lulled you to sleep that night, your mind became flooded with thoughts of the basement and the secrets that could be hidden there. If there was something hidden at all, in the first place.

next chapter

taglist: @elnyrae @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee @velouria17 @gassytritis @goddessinsweats @nube55 @jeanboyjean

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irisjaxx665 · 1 month

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in the past couple years, ive been working on getting better with talking about my traumas. at this point the only people i havent talked to about everything are my parents. i dont cry as much now, talking about it though.

before colorado, my parents, their son brett, and i lived in Oklahoma. He, while biologically my full sibling, never acted like a brother towards me. from when i was age 11 til 13 He molested me and threatened my life many times. so i hadnt called Him a brother since i was 10. this, they know and the molestation stopped though the threats and insults didnt until we cut contact when i turned 18. but when i was 7, i met my first and, for years, only friend, who i fell in love with, and who became a better brother to me than i had ever known. i never brought him to my parents house, and this they dont know. His name was Nikolai, he was 11 then. i loved Him with all that i was or ever would be and He saw me as His little sister. so i swore to be the best little sister anyone could have. He loved mardi gras and wanted to go to new orleans when He got older. He taught me kickboxing and russian, i taught Him ballet and what limited german i knew. we talked about everything and nothing, and i felt like someone cared about me, instead of just caring for me. we swore oaths, bound in blood and fire and the passion of innocence. we swore to join the marines when i hit 18 so we could serve side by side. we swore to keep no secrets to each other. we swore that a pain to one would be a pain to both. we swore to name our firstborns for each other, and name the other godparent when we found our loves. we swore to get matching tattoos. we swore to fulfill bucket lists together. to see the world together. He taught me how to clean my wounds when i learned what hate was, aimed towards myself like a grenade with my name etched on its face in every language. He taught me how to protect myself against the animals that roamed our woods and climb trees and swim the rivers around us. He picked me up and cleaned me up after my suicide and overdose attempts in my tween years. He taught me the names of the stars and how to follow their dance. He told me every quote and phrase that has lodged itself in my head and in my veins and on my bones. He let me cry and be afraid and be myself without telling me that i had to be ashamed of who i was, or that i had to change.

on march 25, 2014 i found His body, after getting home from a spring break trip with my parents. since then, the only other real brother ive had has been Caine. everything gets very hard every year, around His death and His birthday in december. in april is when i was raped by the cop. that may is when i found i was pregnant, and got clean of heroin. january of 2015 is when i had and lost my twins. winter isnt kind to me. between my mental and physical health, its taxing.

this year, when Pond and i get home from our honeymoon, ill be 10 years clean almost to the day. the twins wouldve turned 9 this past january. and Nikolai would have turned 27. i still feel so weird knowing im older than my big brother. my one true fear is losing the people i love. and since i was young ive had memory issues. and as every year passes, i can feel im losing a piece of Him. i can barely remember His voice now. i remember His eyes. i remember the feeling of getting to be in His arms, in a hug, sleeping, sobbing, fighting. i remember His scent. He always smelt of the forest and the river and freedom and joy and safety. meeting Caine in colorado, i saw Niki in His heart. i saw Niki in His strength, His peace, His power, His voice, His arms. He taught me how to trust again and taught me not to be ashamed of my scars. because somehow the gods still havent taken me and thats why i wear them. and we talked about everything and nothing. then i met Pond, and in His eyes, i saw Niki again. Pond has Niki’s eyes. rich, deep, honest, loving, passionate, beautiful eyes. and He knows every inch of me. every scar, every freckle and hair of me. and somehow, He loves me. though i could never understand. and these men ive loved in my life mean worlds to me. i just wish i could give them the worlds they deserve. instead, all i can do is all that i can.

#me #personal rant

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ivystoryweaver · 10 months

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Decadent chapter 7

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Summary: Miguel doesn't want to hurt you anymore, but you don't want him biting anyone else. Which of you is more stubborn?

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara from the film Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse x female reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Notables: NSFW. 18+, angst, cursing, arguing, smut. p in v, oral - f rec. biting, bondage, wounds, blood. lots of twisty feelings. not beta'd.

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

Breaking your kiss, he caged your face between his forearms, pushing into you with searing, deep thrusts.

"Can't ever get enough of you, mi amor," he whispered, staring fervently into your eyes.

Caressing his face, you slid one leg around his waist, urging him deeper. "I know, Miguel, I..."

But you couldn't tell him. So you kissed him again.

The next two weeks went by in the same fashion. Miguel never said anything else about his daughter, his feelings or anything else personal. The temptation to fall into your eyes the last time he was in your bed wrecked him. The tender way you made love to him, the concern in your soft gaze over the loss of his daughter - he started to wonder how he could keep his frozen heart from thawing.

He had to change before he could really let you in. He had to be better, and leave the monster behind.

So you went back to the way you started. Every evening before you left for the day, you found yourself bouncing on his cock, bent over his desk or on your knees for him.

Weekends were the same - you called your aunt, did the usual in your apartment, and even went out with a new friend.

That friend, who was actually a neighbor, encouraged you to tell the truth about your feelings. You hadn't admitted who your feelings were for - simply that you found yourself in a situation where you wanted more than just sex. Although the sex was so good, you had no intention of giving it up.

Then one fateful day, you opened your mouth and sent everything right to hell.

Miguel was in a particularly feisty mood, and you had come to learn, it was likely because he had not fed. You knew for certain had had not tasted any of your blood recently. So either he found another source, or, from what you could tell, he was ravenous.

Your thighs were spread wide across his lap - skirt bunched up at your waist. He had taken a break from shredding your clothing, preferring to return to your sexy little stripteases. But today, he was too hungry, so he was already inside you by the time his fingers yanked your blouse over your head and tugged down the cups of your bra.

You were always wet and ready for Miguel's cock, but he'd taken you so suddenly today, you were still getting warmed up, causing you hiss in slight pain as the tip of him pushed inside you.

"Wait, it's too much," You panted, gripping his shoulders to hold yourself up.

Knowing he could get you soaked in a matter of seconds if he wanted to, Miguel opted for something different today.

"Come on, baby," he coaxed squeezing your hips and moving your much smaller body back and forth over his tip. "Let me in. So tight for me. Gonna stretch you out."

"Fuck, yes, Miguel..." you moaned, already wetter from the sound of his voice.

Pulling you down over his cock, Miguel didn't thrust upward, but used his forceful grip on your hips to fuck you down on him like a toy.

Feeling every inch of his dick plunging deep inside you filled you so good, the slight sting of the sudden way he'd grabbed you and speared you, yielding to a hot, building pleasure.

"Good girl. Squeezing me so tight." His voice rumbled deep in the expanse of his muscular chest. Then he let go of you and leaned back in his chair.

You knew what he wanted. Now that you were soaked and full of cock, he wanted you to ride him. Pressing your palms down on his chest, you pushed yourself slightly upward and then let gravity slam you back down. Slowly at first, just to see him twitch uncomfortably. Then you started to bounce.

Releasing a groan of pleasure as you worked yourself over him, Miguel rid you of your blouse and bra entirely, eyes flashing a wild ruby as he watched your tits jiggle - your nipples hard and begging to be sucked.

The thought of sinking his fangs into your soft flesh overwhelmed him, but he promised himself - no more. Not with you. He had to stay focused on the research, so maybe he could be someone you could actually love someday. Fucking you every afternoon was just a bonus you both so clearly enjoyed. But no more hurting you.

You felt so good, deliciously wrapped around him - he knew he would finish before you at this rate. The slide of your hot, wet cunt over the length of him was like nothing else. Never had he craved anyone the way he craved you. Pushing his thumb in between your joined bodies, he found your tender bundle of nerves, sending your back arching as you wildly moaned.

"That's my girl," he breathed, one hand cupping your breast and pinching your nipple.

"Miguel..." You were so close, and you wanted him to feel as good as you did. "Bite me," you encouraged, interrupted by your own cry of pleasure. "You can bite me. I know you're hungry."

Despite his impending orgasm, and your current one, Miguel jerked his hands away, gripping your hips and holding you still.

"What did you just say?"

Too drunk on his cock, and painfully suspended between the roar of utter bliss and the sudden stop, you tried to rock your hips. But it was no use because he was too strong.

"Please," you whined, clenching him tauntingly. "I know you want to. Let me come again and then you can have me."

Almost subconsciously, the tip of Miguel's tongue traced over his fangs but the heat of his gaze burned right through you. "No," he firmly responded. "We can't do that shit anymore."

You assumed he was trying to abstain, given that he hadn't marked or bit you in a couple weeks, but that didn't mean you didn't want him to. And he would eventually need to feed.

"Baby, come on," you begged, writhing against him, the stretch of his cock inside you making you desperate. "You have to feed. Doesn't it feel so much better while you're fucking me?"

"Enough," he snapped, lifting you off his lap so suddenly that you stumbled back a few steps before finding your footing. The two of you stared at one another for a long, suspended moment before he stuffed himself back into his pants and climbed out of his chair, leaving you bare from the waist up. Your skirt bunched awkwardly around your hips as arousal dripped down your thighs.

"I said no," he ground out, reaching for your bra and top, tossing them to you with more force than was necessary.

His sudden shift of mood left you speechless and a bit breathless, not to mention humiliated.

Noticing your discomfort, Miguel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Get dressed," he told you, "and go home."

You silently obeyed, too stunned to do anything else. Yanking down your skirt, you fastened your bra and pulled your top over your head before searching for your panties. Once you were fully dressed, you realized Miguel was ready to walk out the door for the evening.

"What did I do wrong?" You blurted, smoothing your skirt, attempting to make yourself a little more presentable.

Pausing at the door, Miguel glanced sideways over his shoulder, as if barely willing to grant you an audience. The sudden change in him had you reeling. He was so cold, when only a few moments ago, you had been stuffed full of him.

"You know what," he reminded you, in a scolding tone. "I told you."

"No, actually, you didn't," you clapped back, scurrying to your desk to gather your belongings, lest he leave you behind. "You didn't say anything about feeding on me except that you liked it. Remember?"

He turned away from you then, broad shoulders sagging as his head dropped. "I know what you're doing. It won't work."

"What the fuck am I doing, exactly, Miguel?" You questioned, clambering around to stand in front of him.

"Trying to make me angry so that I'll finish what we started." Even as he refused you, the flash of his scarlet gaze and the bulge in his pants told you a different story.

"When are you going to feed?" You asked him in all seriousness. Placing a hand on his broad chest, you inched closer to peer up into his eyes. "I know you're hungry."

"How the fuck is that your problem?" He snapped, jerking away from you. You weren't wrong. He was starving and wanted nothing more than to feel you come, clenching around him while he sank his fangs into your throat, sucked you to exhaustion and emptied himself inside you.

"Because you need it to survive," you pointed out the obvious, still following him around, trying to get him to look at you. "And I don't want you out there killing people - drinking their disgusting blood when you can have me!"

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head rapidly. "No. I only kill people who deserve it. You know that. And sometimes I feed in other ways."

"I know," you reminded him, the pitch of your voice ascending frantically. "I don't want you to bite another woman, Miguel. I don't want you to be with another woman. The thought of it makes me sick."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how pathetic you must sound. How possessive and desperate you'd become. Were you really willing to let this man hurt you, just to keep his attention on you? Or was there a darker part of you that craved the madness?

You expected Miguel to look down his nose at you - both literally and with disdain, but he didn't. His eyes softened as he swallowed hard. "I told you I haven't been with anyone else since before we met."

"But you will, won't you? If you get hungry enough," you accused.

Despite the tense air around the two of you, something stirred in Miguel's chest. Something he hadn't felt in years. Something warm. You wanted him. And you were jealous.

Which made this all a horrible idea.

"I have to go," he deflected, pushing past you and walking out the door.

After a quick cry, two glasses of wine and a pint of ice cream, you found yourself in bed with your vibrator. Miguel had left you alone and frustrated in every way, and you needed some relief.

After two orgasms in rapid succession, you found yourself as restless as when you started this whole self-pitying evening. With a huff of frustration, you headed for the shower, cleaned up, and then drank a third glass of wine.

Finally, you grabbed the latest reading material from your bedside table, hoping to get lost in the lives of characters and not have to think about your own. Nothing helped. You felt tired, but sleep wouldn't drag you under. Tossing your book aside, you turned off the light and stared into the darkness.

You wondered where Miguel was - what he was doing. Ugh, when did you become this obsessed girl? He probably thought you were pathetic. He was probably somewhere right now, either ripping out someone's throat, or worse, feeding on some poor, unsuspecting woman.

The thought of his mouth on someone else enraged you, but you actually had no real claim on him. Balling up your fist in frustration and envy, you slammed it down on the bed with an irritated huff.

You thought about digging out your vibrator again, but you knew it wouldn't help. Not with this.

Just when you thought you might go insane, overthinking every single moment that had transpired between you and Miguel this evening, you heard a sound at your window.

A bolt of fear shot through your body, making you sit up in bed. Someone was definitely outside your window and it was opening. The first thought you had was to call Miguel, but you should probably try to hide and call the authorities.

Scrambling out of bed, you reached for your phone when an imposing figure appeared in your bedroom, merely a sinister silhouette bathed in moonlight. In a few, long strides, the figure crossed to your bedside and yanked the phone from your grasp.

"It's me."

Miguel stood before you, wrapped head-to-toe in his dark blue spider suit.

You whimpered in relief as he swept you up into his arms. His mask disappeared just before his mouth claimed yours hungrily. It was fortunate that he held you, suspended off the floor because your legs completely gave out as you surrendered to his kiss.

"You were right," he murmured, hotly mouthing a trail to your ear as he pulled your legs around his waist. "I am hungry."

"Miguel," you gasped, running your hands over his solid chest, trying to ground yourself. The pounding of your heart sent blood rushing through your body as you rapidly cycled from fear to relief to raw desire. "I thought you were angry with me."

"Never you," he whispered, sliding his hand under the soft curve of your ass. "Only with myself. Because of what I've done. Because of what I'm about to do."

He kissed you again, silencing any protest you might launch. The heat of his tongue and the grip of his strong hands had you wet in seconds. Ripping his mouth from yours only a moment later, he set you down.

Fiery red webs shot out to bind your hands and before you could think to react, another set of webs yanked your arms upward until you were suspended from the ceiling, hanging with your arms over your head. Your feet dangled at least three feet off the floor and the strain on your arms made you cry out.

"Relax," Miguel instructed, ripping your pajamas from your body until you were hanging before him, entirely nude.

The strain on your arms burned, but there was something alluring about being put on display like this for him.

Running his tongue over his fangs, Miguel eyed you hungrily, his red eyes glowing menacingly as his spider suit disappeared, leaving his thickly muscled frame completely bare.

The sight before you made you whimper with desire and anticipation. So many of your sexual encounters occurred at work, half or mostly clothed, so seeing his every rippling muscle sent a bolt of desire spiking straight down to your core.

"I do need to feed," he admitted, reaching for your legs. With little effort, he slung one of your thighs over each of his broad shoulders, and shoved his face right into your cunt. With no further warning, he nudged your clit with his nose and blew a puff of air over your sopping folds.

Feeling immense relief at not having to hold up your own weight, you arched wildly into his face as he ate you out. Hooking your heels into the defined muscles of his back, you ground against his mouth, whimpering as he sucked and licked you mercilessly.

Miguel's hands caressed up and down your thighs as he plunged his tongue into your hole, his nose continuing to tease your clit.

You felt so wild and so turned on, you came suddenly, drenching his face with your juices, which he eagerly lapped up. You felt the sharp sting of his talons on your legs as his lips latched around your tender bundle of nerves.

You knew exactly what he was doing. Making you lose your mind with pleasure before you went numb from the venom in his fangs. Then he would drink his fill and likely fuck you while you were out of it.

It felt so good you just didn't care. Besides it was actually your idea that he bite you anyway. And he did. Laving his tongue over the soft flesh of your inner thigh, he waited until you came again and then his fangs pierced your soft skin.

The sting lasted only for a moment - euphoria mingling with a twinge of pain before blissful numbness set in. After drinking his fill of one thigh, he switched legs, drinking and drinking until you felt yourself losing consciousness.

He must have realized this because he untied you, cradled you in his arms and carried you to bed. He cleaned and bandaged your wounds and got you something to drink. Finding a robe hanging on your bedpost, he pulled it around you just as the paralytic started to subside.

He was still naked, which was very distracting, yet his level of comfort with you was somehow soothing.

Pulling you against his chest, he covered both your bodies with your blanket. "Is this okay?" He softly whispered, smoothing his hand over your shoulder to help you get comfortable.

"You can stay," you answered him, hoping that's what he was asking.

"I just want to make sure you don't pass out," he reasoned, trailing his fingers down the length of your arm to tangle with your own. "I drank too much. I'm sorry."

Shifting closer to him, your leg gently bumped into his evident arousal. "Don't be sorry," you murmured, shifting your thigh between his legs. "I asked you to do it. I don't want there to be anyone else."

"There is no one else," he breathed, groaning as you dragged your thigh back and forth over the heavy length of him. His hips automatically responded, rutting into you, desperate for friction. He had already taken too much from you but he wanted you so badly.

"Come here," you coaxed, reaching to grasp his cock with your fingers as your tongue licked into his mouth.

A deep moan rumbled in the expanse of his chest as he rolled his hips into your touch, kissing you carefully yet deeply, as to not damage you any furthur.

"Too much," he murmured, tearing his mouth away. You thought maybe your grip was too tight, or you were working his length too fast - which didn't really track for a man with superpowers.

"You give me too much," he made clear, pushing your thighs apart and easing on top of you. "But I always want more. I always want you."

Sliding his arms underneath the curve of your back, he cradled you gently.

"You can have me, Miguel. I'm right here," you offered, using your grip on him to ease his cock into your wet channel.

He took you gently, with languid, deep thrusts, slow, syrupy kisses - his strong arms cradling you like a treasure.

"You're too good to me," he whispered between kisses, rocking into you fervently. "So good, baby. So good."

It didn't take you long to fall apart underneath him, your body alight with his praises breathed hotly on your ear.

You started to hope that things might really change between the two of you.

The next morning, you woke up alone...and sore. The puncture marks on your thighs were bandaged but they burned, along with several scratches. You had no idea what had happened after you fell asleep in Miguel's embrace.

You had wrongfully assumed he might spend the night with you, but, as far as you knew, he didn't sleep with you all night long. Disappointment washed over you, but you climbed out of bed and got ready for work anyway, still buzzing from the intimate moments you'd shared.

Miguel had been running so hot and cold with you lately that it shouldn't have surprised you when, upon arriving at work, Lyla redirected you to a different office. You thought she might explain, as she was never short on words, but Miguel appeared, thanking and dismissing her.

"Miguel, what is this?" You asked, glancing around at the impressivly sized and beautifully decorated office.

"Your new office," he smiled politely, but no warmth reached his eyes.

"My new - but...we always work together," you countered. "What's going on?"

Shaking his head, he slid his hands into his pants pockets with frustrating nonchalance. "I'm promoting you. Congratulations."

"I don't know what to say," you breathlessly answered, glancing around you, not entirely sure if you were being punished or rewarded.

Leaning back on what was apparently your new desk, his dark eyebrow shot up curiously. "You don't want to keep being my assistant forever, do you?"

He had a point. Still, something felt off with him.

"Besides," he went on, folding his massive arms over his chest, "If I'm completely honest...I think we could probably use a little space from one another."

Ah, there it was. Last night he was all over you, breaking into your home, drinking you blood, and today he needed space? Typical.

"What is going on?" You repeated, easing over to stand right in front of him. "What do you mean - we need space?"

"You know what I mean," he answered, meeting your gaze. "This thing we have between us...it can't go on if we want to work together."

"And what exactly is going on between us, Miguel?" You challenged stepping into his personal space. "Because you seem to change your mind about me every day of the week."

"Exactly," he almost flippantly responded. "I agree with you and that's why it has to stop. We can't get any real work done if you're coming into work distracted."

"You...you think I'm distracted?" You challenged, a deep frown pulling at the corners of your mouth. "My work here has never suffered for personal reasons - you know that."

"It has though," he accused, pushing past you and tossing his hands in the air frustratedly. "Because of the way you see me. And worse, I'm distracted. It's my fault too. We're wasting time in the office doing...what we do, and it's more than that."

He kept his back to you because he knew that if he saw your wide, pleading eyes at this moment, he might cave. "You...you accept who I am - what I am, and that's not what I need right now. It's not what our research needs."

Despite how you tried to stop them, warm tears stung the corners of your eyes. "Then tell me what you need," you whispered, wishing you didn't sound so desperate, wishing you could just tell him to go to hell.

Whirling around, Miguel seemed more than happy to deliver your answer. "I need the woman I hired. I need your mind. Your objectivity."

"You have it," came your surprisingly steady reply. Placing your hand on his arm, you tried to get him to look at you. "I'm with you a hundred percent. I'm here to work, you know that."

"No," he shot back, pulling away from your touch, doing his best to ignore the way your caress burned him alive. "You like the monster too much."

With a heavy sigh, he pushed his fingers through his dark waves, dreading the rest of this conversation. But it had to be done.

"I should be thankful for someone like you," he softly explained, turning away again as your jaw clenched in fury. "You're brilliant. Beautiful." He swallowed hard. "I love spending time with you. I want more. Believe me, I do. I even told you about Gaby, but..."

Mustering all the courage he could possibly manage, he faced you. You deserved that, at least. "Somehow...you like the monster I am. You let me do things to you that should make you run away screaming. I hurt you. I've done terrible things to you, and you seem happy to let me do it."

"How is that a bad thing? You said I was good to you," You whispered, swiping angry tears with the back of your hand. "Why is it wrong of me to accept who you really are?"

"That's not who I really am!" He cried, grasping your arms with sudden desperation. "It's what I am. It's what happened to me. And I let myself get lost in how good it feels when I feed - when you give yourself to me. It feels so fucking good - "

"Miguel - "

"No!" He silenced you, squeezing your arms to almost the point of pain. "Stop...tempting me. You make me feel like it's okay to be this way when I know it's not! I know it sounds like I'm blaming you for my choices. But we are in the lab every day to figure out a way for me to stop being this monster. I need someone who can help me do that, don't you see? Not someone begging me to rip her open."

His chest heaved as he roughly released you, walking away as his face burned with shame.

"We have to stop all of this," he went on, running a hand over his face. "I can't work in the office with you. That's not your fault - it's mine. I get so distracted. And I'm not feeding on you anymore. Don't ask me."

Your lip trembled as tears freely flowed. In trying to show love to Miguel the only way you knew how, you had completely wrecked everything. But maybe it wasn't love at all to let him use you like this. Maybe he was right and you were only enabling a monster because he was wild and dangerous and the sex was life-changing.

"I know you're angry with me," he roughly whispered, after a short, painful silence. "I don't blame you if you walk out of here and never come back. I've treated you horribly, and not just by physically hurting you. I say one thing and then do another almost every day. It's cruel," he concluded, his voice soft now, and distant. "But if you are at all interested in our research, then let's work. Enjoy your promotion - you have more than earned it."

Locking eyes with you one more time, he added, "And if you really care about me, help me. I don't want to be like this anymore. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

With that, he left you to your new position in your new office.

next->

All right, what do we think? The song "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" comes to mind. Don't worry, things will get ironed out soon.

@deputy-videogamer @toecurlingstories @zephyrixx @wordacadabra @juleshadalittlelam

#miguel o'hara #decadent fic #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x f!reader #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fic #sm: atsv fic #miguel o'hara au #miguel o'hara fanfic #spiderverse fanfiction #spiderman 2099

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analoceits · 2 months

Text

mourning tea

A03 link

summary: He bit his tongue to stop the spiteful feeling suddenly building in his gut, shaking it off of him like a dog that was freshly hosed down. He was being uncharitable; this was an olive branch, Patton should be appreciative. They were trying to get along more, he had asked for more effort like this, he had no right to be angry or annoyed. Just.. did Janus have to pick today? - - - It’s the anniversary of the day that king died. Things are somber.

note: hi!! when i wrote this fic i forgot that that would also be the twins birthdays just. uh just ignore that for me. pls and thank you <3. uhh enjoy!!

taglist: @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat, @thegoldenduckie

As soon as the bumps in the table cloth settled under Patton's fingers he took a quick glance around the room, and everything was practically flawless. The tea cups were lined up to the inch, the morning sun filtered through the barely parted curtains beautifully, and the tiles were practically glowing in the light. Even if perfection wasn’t achievable, this was close, he thought. He was proud of his work.

(It was too good, though. It couldn’t last. Perfect things rest on a thin line, and they’ll tip and topple with the slightest push of the wind, and even if you try to be gentle dust will seep in with time and either way you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t and-)

And Patton really needed to stop letting his mind wander today.

He cleared his head, taking a deep breath in - unclenching his jaw and unclenching his fists - and a deep breath out - easing the tension from his shoulders and lower back. There, back to focusing. He drew his attention to the little digital clock in the corner of the room and read the time - 7:28 AM. Janus should be here soon, he thought.

Of course he would be, this was Janus’s ideas after all. This.. meeting. The meeting he had proposed after the 5 year anniversary video, the one Patton accepted without missing a beat because he wasn’t paying attention to the date and was just so happy for them to get along. This tea party for grown children.

He bit his tongue to stop the spiteful feeling suddenly building in his gut, shaking it off of him like a dog that was freshly hosed down. He was being uncharitable; this was an olive branch, Patton should be appreciative. They were trying to get along more, he had asked for more effort like this, he had no right to be angry or annoyed.

Just.. did Janus have to pick today?

He shouldn’t blame Janus for the choice, it wasn’t intentional. He doubt any of the other sides remembered, let alone Janus. Thomas was so, so young when it happened; Patton was sure that after all these years he was the only one who even remembered what day it was, really. Who would hold the grief so close but him?

After all these years he could barely remember Romulus’s face himself; he was starting to blur in old pictures as the memory waned. Still, the thought of him - his smile, his patience, his calloused hands - it made his chest ache and always left him dazed. The grief never really left or eased, he just had to grow around it.

Usually, he would spend today curled up with his knees pressed to his chest in the darkest and warmest corner of his room and he would pretend. He would pretend to himself, without telling a soul - that there were four other sides. Virgil, Logan, Janus, and Romulus. He would pretend that nothing had ever gone wrong, as if it would save him the grief.

(It never did.)

It was the only way he could get through this day, at least he thought. Now, though, standing and biting back the sickly aching pain, he thought - just maybe - he could actually survive this. Painfully, but he could make the table and talk to Janus and breath like his lungs were still right, and it’d be fine. He’d numb his wounds and it’d be fine.

As soon as he pulled himself from his thoughts the toasted dinged behind him, to which he rushed over. Two slices, on for him and one for janus. He smeared a healthy helping of butter and jam across the modest breakfast, his hands barely shaking despite himself. He could survive this.

Right as he was setting the dishes on the table, there was a swish of the door and a settling click. Janus. “Oh, it looks perfect, thank you so much dear,” Janus’s voice was sweet and thick like honey, a soothing balm. Patton looked up to thank him and offer him his seat, and he choked on air.

Golden lace dripped down his shoulders across the edge of his capelet, rippling in beautiful waves and interspersed with black teardrop gems. His - what Patton now realized was a dress - faded to a beautiful golden at the end, occasionally dotted with those same black tear drops in am intricate pattern. His bowler hat was replaced for a sun hat - complete with a golden ribbon and a black veil. He looked beautiful.

Patton seemingly stared longer than he thought, because after a moment Janus laughed tensely and he averted his eyes, in what Patton half registered as embarrassment. “It’s alright, dear,” he soothed, “I didn’t expect you to be all fancied up like me - I’m just doing the for fun, anyway. The theatre of it all, you know.”

Patton wasn’t worried about being presentable, not today, but he didn’t dare look the gift horse of Janus ignoring his bright red face in the mouth. Instead, he nodded as firmly as he could and spoke, “thank you, Jan.” With a smile that managed to be only a little awkward. His thoughts were off-topic, severely off-topic.

After one more second of awkward pause, Patton forced himself to move, pulling out Janus’s seat for him and offering it to him with a soft smile. “The foods all still warm,” he promised as Janus settled in the seat and Patton took to his own across from his. Janus gave him a warm smile - with a tint of something else, and Patton tried his best to beam it back, asking “how are you?”

“I’m doing the best I can,” he answered smoothly, blowing on the tea before taking a sip of it delicately. That same odd smile stayed after he drank, “I would ask you the same, but.. it feels a stupid question, considering the day and all.”

It took Patton a long moment to process the words as he stared blankly at Janus. As soon as the implication caught up to him, though, his shoulders seemed to knit together into one entity with how tense he got. Oh. Oh. Janus remembered. He picked today on purpose, didn’t he?

(Briefly, in the back of his mind he finally registered what the emotion lingering behind Janus’s smile was: grief.)

Janus watched his reaction with a mix of concern and mild confusion, a hand half reached out to him like Patton was something volatile to be treated with caution. Something seemed to click in his head, though, the moment after Patton came to his realization, and he quietly asked, “Patton.. you were aware I picked today with intention, weren’t you?”

Patton looked to the side and a gave a small, sad smile, and the lie was slipping out of his mouth before he could even think to stop himself. “I.. just forgot what day it was, I guess that’s why it didn’t register,” he had a mildly forced smile on his face as he spoke.

Janus frowned at him. “.. Patton,” he said slowly and painfully, painfully gently, “you don’t have to lie to me, we both know it’s a good idea to do that.” He said, and despite the sarcastic words - he never seemed particularly snappy with him. All of his motions and words were slow, gentle, like Patton could break with the slightest push.

Patton wrung his hands out tensely, seemingly trying to look anywhere in the room but at Janus. After a tense second of this anti-staring contest or whatever he should call it, he forced out, “I just.. thought you wouldn’t choose a day like this for a tea party, that’s all.” The bitterness in his tone was guttural; unintentional but inevitable.

Before he could stumble out any forced apologies or reassurances to go with the surprisingly harsh words that just escaped him, Janus spoke first. It was a question, a simple one at that. “Ah, would you.. prefer I reschedule? It wouldn’t be a problem, you know.” He asked, still so gentle.

Patton stared at him, and in the thick of his gut he knew the correct answer was probably a ‘yes, please’. It was what he had wanted all along, but now - in a warm kitchen with nice lights and Janus smiling at him so sweetly, spending the rest of the day in his room seemed unbearable. He wasn’t sure he would survive that.

“It’s, uhm.. it’s not bad.” Patton promised, a bit of desperation seeping into his tone, pleading that Janus wouldn’t insist so they could stay like this - lovingly uncomfortable or whatever he could call it. It was better than alone, he realized, so much better than alone.

Luckily, though, Janus seemed to relent with ease, letting out an all too easy, “if you insist.” Patton watched his expression and had a very strange, but comforting thought. Maybe Janus didn’t want to spend today alone either.

With that on his mind, he took a warm drink of the tea. It was sweet in his mouth and down his throat. It was a little nostalgic, too - going over to Thomas’s nanas house when they were nothing but young boys.

When there were just five sides.

The pang of pain ate up the entirety of Patton’s chest with that thought, but before he could speak in an attempt to distract himself, Janus did. Outrunning him yet again, he asked, “what kind of jam is on the bread?”

It was a simple question, but one Patton couldn’t help but giggle at. “Crofters,” he said - then added, leaning closer and whispering as if it was a big secret, “I don’t think Logan will let us buy any other kind.” It was true, in his defense.

Janus smiled and gave an equally hearty laugh at that answer, “I’m not sure why I asked, of course it’s crofters.” After that he took a bite from the toast and smiled with satisfaction, “it’s sweet and toasted just right as well.” Then he gave Patton an oddly soft look, “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, Padre.”

The words were warm, and sweet, and the pain of the day was less in Patton’s chest with that mind. This.. was easier than being alone, wasn’t it? Suddenly, in a warm kitchen with Janus smiling at him like he was the sweetest thing, a warm but dark room was unimaginable.

Despite those sweet thoughts, Patton’s mouth ruined the moment instantly. Before anything normal could be said, he blurted out the thought that had been on his mind since Janus had asked him that little question months ago, “why.. today?”

Janus gave him a surprised stare and Patton cringed, wishing he could take back those two words more than he had ever wished for anything. After a long second, Janus just very politely said, “it felt fitting.”

Patton knew for a fact that he should stop digging there. He had gotten what he wanted, which was Janus to not leave, and so it should be fine. But, staring at him as he stared back, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, “what does that mean?”

Janus sighed and Patton worried it was out of annoyance, but he kept up his polite demeanor nonetheless. “The..” splitting, Patton filled in mentally, “death, of king, seemed to sever the bond between us. So, having the fixing of that bond - or at least the start of it, be on the anniversary felt fitting.”

Patton stared. Death. He hadn’t ever called it a death before because, really, it wasn’t. It wasn’t. Sure, king was gone - but he didn’t die. The twins were still there. If the twins were still there, he was still there, but.. no. The twins weren’t him, were they? He had died.

It was somewhat inevitable that Patton was going to cry today. He was tired, and he was grieving, and he had woken up at an ungodly hour to set up the kitchen. It didn’t make it hurt less, though. He choked out the tears, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars like it would help.

Patton managed to whisper one, choked word through his tears. “Penance.”

Janus cursed under his breath, awkwardly reaching out and setting a hand across Patton’s arm. “No, no, Patton please,” he begged, “that’s not what I meant. You aren’t guilty, you were seven, this isn’t a punishment. I..” He sighed, giving in, “I was lying. I don’t have any greater reason to this, I just-” he reached for Patton’s hand, intertwining their fingers like he was afraid Patton was going to leave when he spoke, “I just didn’t want to be alone today.”

Patton looked up tentatively, eyes still brimming with tears but expression soft, staring silently for a long, long second, before carefully clamping two of his hands around Janus’s, brushing his thumb over his knuckles. “Oh,” he said before softly adding, “I think thats ok, then. I don’t want to be alone either.”

Janus gave him a soft smile back. The kitchen was warm.

#sanders sides #tss #ts sides #sasi #patton sanders #janus sanders #romulus sanders #king creativity #moceit #platonic moceit

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erin-bo-berin · 2 years

Text

Exiled

Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst, Stranger Things season 4 spoilers (specifically episodes 6 & 7) so if you haven’t seen it yet, feel free to save and come back to this

Word Count: 2.7k

So, Taylor Swift and Steve Harrington inspired me to write this little angsty fic. I’m not a huge Taylor fan, but I do enjoy her music and this song got me thinking, what it would be like for the reader and Steve to reunite after a breakup, in some sort of circumstances. This being the scene where his wounds are bandaged in the Upside Down. Instead of it being Nancy, obviously it’s the reader doing it. The entire fic takes place in those few moments. Also, Nancy and Steve never dates in this universe, just as a heads up. I’m kinda thinking of doing a part 2 to this, cause as much as I love to write angst, I hate leaving it on such a sad note. Plus that one will be actual smut. Let me know if you’d like to see that. Happy reading!

Part 2: Trying

Stupid. He was so stupid.

He should’ve never been the one to run into danger like this—like he always does. Steve Harrington was selfless like that. It’s what you loved about him the most.

But now, here he was, leaning against a rock, injured beyond belief. Bat-like creatures had torn gashes into both of his sides, teeth ripping into his skin as easily as a knife sliding through butter. He had choke marks around his throat where one demobat had been trying to choke the life out of him. His back was covered with deep cuts and he had endured a plethora of scratches and scrapes after being pulled quite the distance from the portal, a vine from the hive mind wrapped tightly around his ankle.

The most critical of his injuries were the bites, which were currently oozing blood and not clotting like it should be. He was losing enough blood to make him woozy, which is how he ended up leaning against the wall of rock behind him. There was no way to get him medical attention, with you, him and your group stuck in the Upside Down.

It was you who had managed to catch him as he stumbled, making sure he leaned back safely, as you inspected the wounds, trying to determine the best solution for him until you could get him real medical attention.

It wasn’t until you happened to peer up at Steve that you saw his gaze on yours, looking down at you. His brown eyes held so much in them, beyond the current physical pain he was feeling. So much was said between the two of you in one look, so much that you wished you could say, could express, but had no idea how. Those eyes had an incredible power to make you weak in the knees, heart swell and become breathless all at once. The kind of feelings any person in love could possibly feel.

But in this moment, you felt your heart stutter and your breath catch in your throat. But this time, it was feelings of pain, of agony, of loss. It wasn’t the giddiness of true love, it was the sensation of a broken heart.

I think I’ve seen this film before and I didn’t like the ending

You and Steve had been great, so utterly great together. He had been your best friend, your confidant, your true love. He knew when you needed a hug after a long day, he knew the little things that made you smile, he knew your passions, dreams and fears. He knew every inch of your body and still made it feel like he was just discovering it for the first time, every time. He knew how to make you laugh and unfortunately, how to make you cry. Sobs that were so deep and gut wrenching, they wracked your entire body. Sobs that didn’t even begin to echo the feeling of your heart cracking apart piece by piece.

It had only been a month before strange things began stirring in Hawkins that Steve had broken up with you.

You never saw it coming.

You wondered, days, weeks later if he’d somehow had a premonition of all the evil to come.

You had begged, cried and pleaded to understand why. Had he fallen out of love with you? Was there someone else? Was it something you’d done?

It’d only been about a year since your paths had first crossed. You had managed to fall into his world—quite literally, when he caught you as you’d almost slipped and fell in the food court of the now destroyed Starcourt mall. He’d piqued your interest at that point, but even then his gentlemanly action had only been the beginning.

You’d managed to get tangled up in a world that consisted of evil Russians, parallel dimensions, monsters no human mind could imagine on its own, a girl with telekinetic powers and a huge group of badass people who had helped save the world—apparently more than once.

It wasn’t humorous at the time, but looking back, it sort of became it considering you and Steve had gone from near strangers in a mall to falling in love with one another. Of course, that took more than the few days you had spent together initially, but something about being held hostage together and witnessing things very few other people have, had a way of bringing people together. It had been the beginning of your stars colliding.

If things were still normal, you would’ve been grateful for that experience, as messed up as it was because it brought you to him. Now, through your haze of pain, you’d wondered if you’d been better off without ever meeting him.

You’d both survived Starcourt mall, but apparently in the last weeks of your relationship, Steve’s mind had been whirring.

Maybe he was scared, maybe he really did have a bad feeling, but he knew he couldn’t drag you into anything else that could possibly hurt you. He didn’t want to be the one to cause anything bad to happen to you. He didn’t want to lose you.

That was his reason.

It was a paradox.

He didn’t want to see you hurt, didn’t want to lose you, yet in that one moment that was exactly what he did. He’d crushed your soul and you’d lost him.

He was too good of a guy, a protector, always the first to head into danger to protect his loved ones. Which, ironically, was how you’d ended up back in his world once again, the two of you, Nancy, Robin and Eddie currently trapped in the Upside Down fighting a new villain.

It had been the kids who had roped you back in. You still weren’t sure if it was to help you out or Steve. It might’ve been both.

“He needs you,” Dustin had pleaded, “We need you. Scoop Troop, remember?”

You had smiled faintly at the memory. Who would’ve thought such horrific events could have somewhat fond memories?

“He hasn’t been the same,” Max whispered.

You had no idea how Steve had been doing. In fact, you hadn’t even seen him since the breakup. That first week, you’d laid in bed crying, doing nothing but barely following a tv show that was on and drifting in and out of sleep; anything to dull the hollow ache that had settled in your chest. Even when you thought there’d been no more tears left in you, more came.

If it hadn’t been for Nancy and Robin pulling you out of that hole, you might still be there, in a hibernation of sorrow and despair. Their simple act of bringing you food and a few movies to watch together, had done more than you thought it would. You were hurting, but you were slowly trying to get back on your feet.

Until that fateful day when the kids had shown up at your door—Dustin, Max and Lucas. Trouble had reappeared in Hawkins and they wanted your help, needed it. They were also worried about Steve, who they were afraid for. Apparently his conflicting emotions and guilt were a perfect alluring combination for this new monster, Vecna, who had already killed twice, in a gruesome and horrific way.

Little did you all know that everyone had been worried for the wrong person—Max had been the prey the killer was hunting.

“Y/N,” your name slipped from his lips, breaking you from your tumultuous thoughts.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Let me just—“

You stopped speaking as you tore the fabric from the bottom of your shirt, trying to gather enough for a makeshift bandage to wrap around him. You could hear the other three’s voices as they spoke, a short distance away from you both, but the haze of your emotions seemed to dull your senses, as you couldn’t seem to follow what they were saying. It was as if right now, your whole world was Steve.

Even through your emotional pain, your concern for him was evident. He was in pain and trying hard not to show it, his breathing heavy and shallow.

“You ready?” you asked, on your knees in front of him, eye level with his wounds.

“Yeah, just do it.”

You’re not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now?

You were by his side, by the kids’ side when Vecna tried his hardest to take Max.

It was utterly terrifying to watch, but Max was a fighter and she fought like hell to get out of his grasp.

Everything happened so fast after you rejoined your friends, you hadn’t had too much time to sit and analyze how you felt being around Steve once again.

Once Max’s form came tumbling back to the earth, Lucas scooping her up and hugging her, Dustin right by her side, emotions hit.

You were relieved she was alright, relieved that she had escaped that living hell. Steve was just as relieved as you, but it was only in the high emotions of the moment that you’d realized he’d grabbed your hand, squeezing it, the relief coming off his body in waves as he inadvertently pulled you closer to his side where you’d always fit perfectly.

That moment wasn’t spoken of afterwards.

All you had wanted to do when you had dove into Lover’s Lake after him, was to rescue him, take care of him, maybe slap the shit out of him for scaring you so much. When you saw how badly he’d been beaten up, blood dripping from his mouth, you wanted to run to him, hug him, kiss him hard, just to reassure yourself he was still alive.

But you couldn’t.

He wasn’t yours anymore.

You were my town, now I’m in exile seeing you out

You wrapped the white cloth around his torso, your eyes lingering on his bare upper half.

You’d been intimate, so of course there was nothing of his you hadn’t seen. But your eyes took in the details, the small things you missed so much.

The chest hair that Dustin relentless teased him about, claiming he needed to tame it. You’d reassured Steve that the boys were still young freshmen, they didn’t realize that one day they too might sport their own and in any case, you’d told him you liked his.

“It adds to the rugged handsome look,” you’d halfway teased, though you’d been completely serious.

You’d love to lay your head on his bare chest, fingers mindlessly playing with the hair there. Even the feeling of it under your hands as you ran your palms over his chest, was something you didn’t realize you could miss.

Your eyes fell to the constellation of freckles across his abdomen, matching the array of them you knew were splattered all along his back. They were so attractive to you, but maybe only because they belonged to him.

You loved the way they tapered up his neck onto both cheeks, marking him in a unique way.

You tried counting them once, but remember losing count because Steve couldn’t stay still long enough, sending you into uncontrollable giggles. You’d even been tempted to kiss each and every one you could find on his body, but knew it would take way too long and besides, your body would usually be ready to move on to other more important activities at times like that.

You missed the feel of him, the sound of him, the smell of him. Every molecule in your body ached for him, in a different way than in its usual sexual way. It was a longing for something familiar, something it knew had made you thrive. You felt like a plant deprived of sunshine, slowly withering away without the water needed to help your roots grow and your petals to bloom.

You bit your lip, trying your hardest to be gentle, but trying to wrap it enough to staunch the bleeding. You could hear his harsh exhales, knowing it probably hurt more than he’d ever admit.

Your eyes flicked upwards and saw his grimace of pain, making you wish you could take it away from him. If it were between the two of you, you’d rather be the one hurt, just so he wouldn’t have to experience the pain. You would do anything in your power to keep him from hurting.

“Sorry,” you whispered, knowing that even if you were helping, it was probably adding to the pain.

“S’okay,” he whispered back.

You caught a glimpse of how his head tipped back, his hands running through his hair as you pulled the end of the makeshift bandage back around to a close.

He was so absolutely stunning and he didn’t even realize it. His playful demeanor often alluded that he knew he was attractive, but you’d seen those precious, vulnerable moments when you knew he didn’t believe it; those moments when you had to reassure him just how much you loved him. The poor relationship with his parents had left him more damaged than most knew, his insecurity in his belief of being loved being the biggest.

Even though you knew the movement was made in reaction to the discomfort, your mind couldn’t help but briefly wander to other scenarios when you’d seen him just like this—but on the other end of the spectrum from pain. When you’d been in a position quite like this one, but with no injuries and a lot less clothes, praises and moans falling from his beautiful, pale pink lips as your own were wrapped around him.

Or the feeling of your hands sliding through his hair as he kissed you. It often varied from a slow, sensual kiss, filled with all the love he had inside of him—that he couldn’t put into the right words—to the desperate, wild ones when you were just a hairs breath away from exploding into fireworks of ecstasy as he moved deep within you, ready to shatter with you.

His hair. That damn hair. What he was apparently known for in high school, he’d told you before. It was just one more thing in a long list that you loved—love—and also missed.

You managed to successfully get the material around him, grunting as you try to pull it tight enough to stop the bleeding.

“Too tight?”

“No, that’s good,” he responded, leaning slowly back against the smooth surface of the rock with a groan, chest heaving.

He eyed the bandage, now securely around his body, his eyes flicking to yours, just as you look up at him.

“Thanks.”

I think I’ve seen this film before

His voice, breathless as it is, is so full of tenderness that it makes you wish he’d just take you into his arms, promise that everything will be okay.

But it’s not going to be. The future is unsure. Not only with the threat to the town, but with your own heart.

You know you can’t keep doing this. Your heart can’t take it. He’s wearing you down bit by bit. His beautiful face, which once brought you nothing but happiness and joy, is the worst thing in the world for you to see now. You love him too much.

It’s only moments that your gaze is locked with his again, but you can feel every single emotion you’re currently feeling way too loudly.

Love. Protectiveness. Fear. Sorrow.

Steve looks like he desperately wants to say something, but doesn’t know what. You could say a million things right about now.

I love you.

I miss you.

I miss us.

Please be okay.

I can’t do this.

When this is over—not this fight, but literally getting out of the Upside Down, you’re walking away.

Maybe you and Steve aren’t meant to be. But you can’t keep torturing yourself and making yourself believe that everything is okay when it clearly isn’t. For your own sanity, you have to leave Steve Harrington in your rearview mirror.

The thought brings tears to your eyes and he wavers in your sight, as they threaten to spill down your cheeks.

Perhaps he mistook the tears to be about his injuries, for when one escapes, his hand is right there cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the tear away as his fingers gently caress your skin.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” he assures.

You don’t know how you find the strength to find your voice, but it still cracks the tiniest bit when you answer.

“I’m not.”

So I’m leaving out the side door

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