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diejager · 11 months

Text

A Fantasy

Pairing: YANDERE Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Cw: NSFW, DARK, non-con, dub-con, non-con drugging, somnophilia, creampie, possessiveness, obsessiveness, breeding, marking, blood, biting, Stockholm syndrome, tell me if I missed any.

Wc: 9.8k

(A/N): FYI, Tracer’s (Overwatch 2) the reader’s mentor.

Requested by : @oyasumimosura

What stood before you was a great field of devastation and ruin, burned and broken buildings that used to be warm homes, lively parks that were turned to ashes, trees and plants laid wasted around dilapidated cars with broken windows and bent metal. People, young and old, laid motionless on the scarred ground, burnt black or left intact in a pool of their blood. Some were holding hands, a family, friends, a couple. Others were alone, forgotten, and left to their sad deaths.

One minute you were rushing through a portal, behind your mentor and besides your teammates, the Cavalry, as she liked to say. Rushing through fights to protect humanity and omnics and its future. The mission was like the one yesterday, the preparation, the meeting, the briefing, and the deployment, but the fate of it changed. A portal malfunctioned, it sent you elsewhere, far away and lost. This wasn't your world, this wasn't your universe, but now, you were in someone else's universe, playing their game.

The clock had struck and time felt meaningless on the battlefield, the sounds of beating aircraft blades, the booming shot of guns and the shockwaves of grenades were all people could hear. Soldiers were the only ones left, fighting against the other side - the enemy, the traitors, the terrorists - until one came out victorious.

While purposeful, the deaths and ruin of this Occidental village were regretful, families shattered, memories lost, and homes destroyed. All you could do was run around, trying to find the source of those cries you heard. A little girl's, whose tears welled for the mother she lost in the tirade of war.

The longer you ran, the closer you got to her. The girl's purple shirt and jeans were dirtied with soot and ash, dark from what was left of her village. You blinked, fazing through time and space to get to her more quickly. Rounding broken walls and jumping over fallen debris, you left a blue trail behind you, blinking your way to the crying kid.

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into your chest when you got to her, recalling to your previous position with the girl, behind a brick wall. She clung to you, eyes red and swollen, lips bit red and her cheeks puffy. She looked like a seven-year-old child, alone, lost, and miserable without her parents or protection.

"Don't worry, love, " you used the words Tracer often used when she saved someone, her reassuring and calm voice. "I'm here."

Those zigzagging lines of light lingered in his mind, a shadow of a woman making her way through the abandoned town. The spring in her steps and the flexibility of her movements, jumping higher than any man should've been able to and changing directions so easily. She was fast, vanishing in a line of blue light and then appearing once more meters away.

Ghost saw her save a child, no older than an eight-year-old - or so he thought. A lone child on the battlefield was dangerous, a death wish for the kid if his enemies got to her first. Fortunately, the athletic woman got to the kid before anyone could, swiping her into her arms and disappearing in a blink. Seconds ago, she stood next to the pole, now all that was left was a blur of blue. She had disappeared as quickly as she appeared.

He picked at the memory constantly, powers, it seemed, were her thing, speed and agility of which no one should be able to wield, but she did and she used it to save a child. Although he admired that from a stranger, the question of her being a danger to them was still left unanswered. Whether she could be trusted or an unknown enemy that would tip the scales in the enemy's favour.

However, months later, after the war ended, there weren't any sightings of her, anywhere on earth, as if she had disappeared - again. He remembered her, though, the determined glint beneath blue goggles, her hair tied in a ponytail, flowing through the air, and her pretty lips.

She could still be in Europe, she probably was, or so he hoped. It would mean that he could run the chance of meeting her, to quench his gnawing curiosity. It would be difficult - near impossible - to find her in the millions living in Europe, but he would keep his eyes open, he had questions and he wanted answers.

He wasn't a believer per se, nor was he an atheist, he had a veto in what he put his trust and belief in. He wouldn't curse others for not believing in a God or gods, he wouldn't scoff at those who believed in them, and everyone had their rights. At this moment, however, the thought of God helping him had crossed his mind.

He had dared cross his limit, entering a small cafe - or a bistro, he wasn't sure - blocks from his flat. It was small and homely, the air was warm with the smell of coffee and tea and the place welcoming with the smiling faces of the cafe's workers.

He sat far into the shop, his back against the softness of the booth's couch, bored eyes observing his surrounding for any danger. Even off duty, the habits that ensured his safety still stuck to him, following him wherever he went.

The waitress, a young-looking woman, with striking eyes and hair pulled in a bun, walked his way. Her face looked familiar, lashes framing her pretty eyes, blushed cheeks and beautiful full lips. He knew those lips, and those eyes, and her build, short and athletic, but strong.

It was the child-saving vigilante he saw, only without her blue goggles and her tight bodysuit, blue and white that emphasized her muscles (it was probably made for usefulness, sticking to her body without any stray cloth when she ran, it made running faster and easier.). Wearing a chemise and black pants, instead of the standard skirt the other women wore, her shoes clicked as she approached him, hand pulling out a pad from her black apron's pocket.

He froze when her hand disappeared into her pocket, the items inside were unknown to him, and the content could be dangerous to him. He had to remind himself that she was a civilian at the moment, not an enemy vying for his head. She was safe, as long as she didn't attack him. He waited for her to speak, her pretty lips forming the words she wanted to tell him.

"Good morning, sir," her voice was melodic, soft and inviting. He craved hearing her speak to him with the soft lull of her tone. "Have you decided?"

Decided? What had she - you - meant by "decided"? Then he remembered he was in a cafe, people walked in to order food and drinks, to go or to eat there. He couldn't drift off like that, he couldn't disappear into the darkest depth of his mind. It was a dangerous place.

He cleared his throat, blonde lashes fluttering as he blinked, staring at your face. You were pretty. His words rumbled out, slightly muffled by his black mask: "No." He neither spoke more nor less, blunt as a hammer and sharp as a knife.

"Would you like more time to decide?" You were polite, smiling at him although his only spoken words were brash. He didn't want you to go yet, he just found you, heard and spoke to you,

"Anything you- uh... you recommend?"

You perked up at his question, seeing a more approachable change in him. Your smile widened, brighter than before as you listed off the menu by heart. Your optimism reminded him of Johnny's, expressively happy and grinning. The cafe - Ma's cafe, he learned from you - had its famously brewed tea latte, a mixture of earl grey and vanilla latte.

He took your recommendation, and you left with a skip, apron bouncing with each step. He watched you walk behind the counter, shuffling around with cups and the machine - he thought it was a coffee machine, those with pre-made coffee in its tank - meticulously, knowing well what he ordered.

You came back minutes later with a smoking mug filled with a milky brown liquid. It was fitting its name - London fog - with the white swirls that mimicked the fog that filled the cool, morning air until early evening when the sun started heating everything.

"Thank you...?" Ghost tried, wanting to know your name, you didn't have a tag on your apron.

You gave him your name with the smile you gave everyone, a customer service kind of smile that would assure that you wouldn't get any complaints about your service. He repeated your name a few times in his mind, memorizing every syllable and the way it sounded so well.

He wanted to repeat your name, whisper it lowly, but he had to make sure you were farther away from him, or you'd hear him obsessively call you. It rolled off his tongue amazingly, a perfect symphony with his deeper, raspy voice. He'll get to know you better, he planned on visiting more often, to learn your schedule and watch over you.

He pushed every intrusive thought back, bringing the mug to his lips (he had pulled down his mask to drink). It was sweet, slightly bitter from the coffee, but sweet nonetheless, perhaps a bit too sugary. He savoured the drink you made him, breathing the warm aroma of your mix. You'd made it, you had it, and served it. It was made for him, with your care and smile.

Ghost came by the next week, wearing the same black hoodie and dark jeans. He sat at the same booth and waited for you to walk by with the same smile as the prior week. You did, eyes wide with recognition when you caught him staring at you from the corner booth. You made your way to him with a grin, clad in a similar uniform and a serving tray under your arm.

"You came back," your calming voice reached his ears, giving him something to cling to in the cafe.

He liked habits, familiar things and usual occasions, but he hated the new and the unknown. They were dangerous, and deadly in his line of work. You expressed your gratitude at the tip he left you, way over the usual price other usual clients would.

"I never got your name."

He hadn't given you his name? That's right, he didn't for fear of people finding out his true identity, a broken man hidden under the mask of a monster - a Ghost. Trust issues stacked with insecurities and his introverted tendencies had made forming relationships much harder, making friends complicated with the backlash of his many blunt comments and irritated huffs, and letting people in from the fear of being betrayed, backstabbed, beaten and abandoned.

You were a vigilante, you saved a girl, you smiled at him and greeted him like you would a friend. You didn't shy away, nor freeze at the mere sight of him. You were new, but you were good - or so he thought you were. To him, you could be the achieved unachievable, a friend made from dust, a relationship formed from miracles and normalcy.

He blinked, mumbling lowly his name, low enough that it only reached your ears. You cocked your head downward, your smile widening as you repeated his name.

"Nice to see you again, Simon. I'm happy to see you again."

He nearly shuddered from hearing his name roll off your tongue, so melodically spoken. He wants to hear you call his name again and again and again, as many times as you could until he got sick of it (he probably wouldn't, he was already addicted to the way you spoke).

He dozed at your words, that you were glad he came back. He was glad too. He wanted to come by the day after his first visit, but it would seem too strange, perhaps dangerous to see him every day at the same spot, at the same time of day. He was a man of schedules, organized and neat planning.

He figured he would start by buying once a week for a month or two, then change it to twice a week for the following months, until seeing him every day would become the norm for you. He would kickstart the routine and make it a usual appearance in your life. He would make *him* a usual appearance in your life.

"Same as last time, Simon?"

God, he loved hearing you say his name. He simply nodded, he would make it his usual, a hut sweet, but enough to drown the bitterness in his soul.

The leaves turned darker, shrivelling and dropping dead to the ground. The mellow sky grew gloomy, and colder with each passing day until it dropped so low that Ghost had to wear a thicker jacket over his usual hoodie. Autumn was at an end and winter crawled ever so closer.

He was back from deployment, on a temporary leave to "relax and diffuse" as Laswell said. Everyone was back home, Price with his cigar and Nik, Gaz back home with his girlfriend, Soap with his rowdy family of seven and Roach went home to open arms and warm welcomes from his parents.

Ghost only had an empty apartment - or he used to, he moved to a house on the quieter side of town - and the cute, dazzling waitress that served at Ma's cafe. That's where he was going, he texted you before he left, letting you know that he was back and ready for a hot cup of London fog and brunch.

You read his message, replying with a "Copy that, Lieutenant". It became a running joke between you after he told you about his work, nothing classified or too detailed, but enough to let you know he was built to fight and survive.

The bell rang when he pushed the door, seeing you peer out of the kitchen once he stepped in. He was hit with a warm embrace, the cafe's heater worked well, warming the place and making it cozy enough to eat with only a t-shirt on. He gave you a nod, finding his way to his usual spot, the one he sat at for the past months.

How many months have passed since he first stumbled here? He couldn't remember everything became a blur when it was associated with you. His moments with you were warmer and calmer than at the start. You opened up to him, walls crumbling down and letting yourself build something out of it: a friendship with Ghost.

He liked being friends - for now. He had plans to make a move, to push farther, into unknown territory and try his luck. He had a feeling you'd say yes, he loved you so much and you showered him with adoration and smiles, you had to be in love with him, no? Of course, you were, he wasn't delusional, he was of sound mind, careful.

"Welcome back, Simon," you strut to him so casually, the same clothes, the same smile. "How was your deployment? Soap and Roach got into any trouble?"

He spoke fondly of his TF, they were his family, and he felt proud when he talked about them to you. He invited them once, and they all loved you as much as he did, you were sociable and easy to talk to. Though Price and Soap had the biggest effect on you, they reminded you of someone. You told him about your friends, chaotic like his TF, but a family. It sounded like an ops team, he wouldn't be surprised. He remembered the first time he saw you, it was still fresh in his memory.

"Soap stirred up some shite again," Ghost huffed, sloshing his shoulders to appear more relaxed in your presence, to make him seem less threatening than he was. "No casualties, everyone made it out fine. Bit bruised but alive."

"That's the main objective, no?" You chuckled at Ghost's indignified groans about Soap and Roach behaving like children high on sugar.

You stuck around longer now, gracing him with a bit of random chatter. He got to know about your days, your activities, your wishful thinking and your goals. He discovered something new every day, whether it came from your lips or from his own time.

You stood by his table until the chef rang the call bell. You winked charmingly and turned to get his order, he hadn't ordered yet, but he came by so often, ordering the same that the employees knew what to make when he walked through the door.

He liked the normalcy, where he came by once every two days when he was on leave. If the Task Force was sent on a mission, he could be gone a few days, a few weeks or a month. It always varied, but he made it work with his hate of the unknown, the unpredictable.

"Are you free tonight, love?" Ghost asked, eyes gazing from your hands to your lips.

He found that open-mouthed expression at his question. You seemed hesitant to answer him, thinking about your reply to the man who tipped you well and was as close as a friend to you; or perhaps you were simply shocked that he finally asked you out, and wondering if you had time for him.

You nodded, a smug smile replacing your shock: "How 'bout eight? I finish at seven tonight."

" 'S fine, eight at the bar down the street?"

"It's a date then."

His heart almost broke his ribs, beating wildly against its cage when the word "date" left your lips. He had a date with you tonight, he couldn't believe his ears. Perhaps you meant as a date between friends than one between lovers, but at that moment, all he could think was how your hands would feel between his, how your soft, plump lips would feel over his and how your body would feel against his, below and over him.

He dove into his delusional mind, imagines and dreams swimming freely, jumping from one to the other. He had dreams for once, a wish that he hoped you'd indulge, and a family he wanted but lost.

Everything seemed to go the way he planned, you waved at him when you saw him waiting outside the bar and giddily joined him. He found a quiet and mellow corner at the bar, a table pushed against the wall with two stools.

The bartenders knew him, he drank here with the others, and they didn't bother him and served and usual. Some were surprised he brought a friend - a woman - with him but left him to his own.

You sat down and downed a few beers while he drank his bourbon. You spoke sporadically, hands waving enthusiastically with every word. Your cheeks were flushed, slightly pink and warm from the alcohol, but you were lively, animated and happy.

It made him happy, seeing you so mirthful around him, being able to let loose from your stricter atmosphere at Ma's cafe. Your tense shoulders were looser, your back relaxed from its ramrod-straight position and your voice felt more invigorated. The alcohol might've played a part, running through your system and making you bolder.

The first time always played well, just as he imagined, and the thing that solidified everything was your parting words: "Next time's on me, Simon!"

You drank together every week, from friends to drinking buddies, there was nothing more intimate than that, to trust someone with your drunk self and your loose tongue, spewing words and thoughts the second they crossed your mind.

That boosted his confidence, the feeling that he could confess, and tell you his deepest and darkest thoughts and wants. You'd know what kind of man he was, broken and messily put together, like a DIY project made by a child gone wrong. He had sharp edges and missing pieces, a cracked personality and dangerous thoughts. He was a SAS soldier after all, once you become one, you see some twisted shit.

Like the week before, you walked out together, your legs shaky but still able to walk home, accompanied by Ghost. He helped you to your apartment, his broad shadow looming over the door, silent as always. When your shaky hands were able to unlock the door, turning the knob and opening the door, you turned around to bid your drinking buddy good night.

Lips parting to say the words, until he cut you off, his chapped lips met yours. His gloved hands caressed your cheek, thumb rubbing under your wide eyes as he held you in place. His lips were warm and plump, but chapped, a scar running over it.

His eyes were closed, lips on you for a few seconds longer until he pulled away, a dazed look in his eyes. While he expected a reaction from you, he hadn't envisioned shock and sadness, one that made his gut plummet. He winced at your expression, unable to understand what he did wrong. He thought you loved him.

"I- Simon, I- I can't, I'm sorry," you hushed out sadly, head turned down to stare at your feet. You were unwilling to gaze into his disappointed - probably heartbroken - eyes.

"Why?" He rasped, voice hoarse as if he hid cried for hours, or was on the brink of tearing up.

"I just can't, Simon," you persisted, feeling much more sober than the last few minutes. His surprise had severed you up - willingly or unwillingly. "I don't mind staying friends, but I can't get too attached. I won't be here much longer."

" 'Cause you're not from here?" He scoffed, but it didn't hold any resentment or irritation, simply sorrow and distress. " 'Cause you're from another world?"

You whipped your head to stare at him, your mouth agape and fearful shock glazed over your eyes. How could he have possibly known? While your identity was fabricated work, you know how to make a believable fake ID, Genji's knowledge helped you. You stepped back, hand reaching for your door knob, unsure of what Simon would do to you now that the secret was out.

He turned and ambled out, shoulders slumped slightly without a word to you. His world shattered once again, God seemed hellbent on making his life a misery.

He stopped coming after your "altercation", you felt horrible, but you couldn't let your heart run wild when you know Winston would find a way to fix the portal in a year or two. One had already passed and you couldn't overindulge in this world's pleasures and leave when you got too attached.

Yet, grief at being relieved that he never appeared again clawed at you, he knew you weren't from his world. It was dangerous information, especially in bad hands, but you couldn't do anything about it. This world had different rules and standards, it worked differently and you weren't book-smart like Winston or Torb. You were a simple agent working under Tracer.

You did, however, regret letting Simon leave so abruptly, he was an amazing friend, the perfect drinking buddy and would probably be a caring lover, but couldn't risk it. Even if you wanted to text him, and apologize over and over until Simon would talk to you again, you knew how to respect people's boundaries. If he left so coldly, never passing by, texting or calling told you enough. He needed time to calm down and clear his mind.

You went back and forth between your home and the cafe every night, your original routine - before meeting Simon - felt alien to you. You'd been so used to seeing Simon at the back of the shop, a hot London fog in his hands and crepes on his plate with melting butter. It was foreign to see the spot occupied by another client, or the cold spot in your chest when it was vacant.

You disliked it. You hated it. The cold, the silence, you wanted to see him at least once.

Can we meet? Usual place. was the sudden text you received from Simon during your shift. It was dated today at 5:39.

Without a second thought, you replied, affirming the date and time, tonight, right after your shift on Friday. A weight was lifted from your shoulder, the silence from Simon was broken and he finally reached out to you. Your break to let him calm down had worked it seemed, the let him cool down and clear his mind.

It was late by the time you got to the pub, around nine. You had returned home and fixed up your depressed look for a more lively one, hoping it would make Simon feel better. You caught him at your usual place, head hung low and demeanour shut off from the world around him. You took hesitant steps towards him, he didn't look exactly sober from the number of cups decorating the table, nor did he look drunk, from his sharp, hooded eyes.

"Simon, " you greeted him slowly, nearly flinching when his brown eyes washed over your smaller figure. Chills erupted through the ends of your nerves, fingers twitching at the sudden burst of danger you felt from your friend. You had no reason to be scared, wary of his demeanour, but not scared or hateful. He'd yet to act out violently or malevolently.

He gave a curt nod, emotions bleeding through his eyes. He was a stoic man, but his eyes were extremely emotional, pain, regret, grief, hate and joy were some you'd seen flash in those pretty brown of his.

He had a whole bottle ordered in advance, the cap still tightly screwed onto the bottle's neck. He poured you a cup, of rum straight out of the bottle without ice or any accessories.

Thanking him, you sipped on your drink it felt hot and heady on your tongue, it burned your throat. You hadn't drank since you'd last seen Simon, weeks ago, and you could see - feel - its effect. You coughed slightly but still downed the rest.

"You wanted to see me?" Your question left an odd sensation on your tongue. He hadn't spoken a word since you walked in, always the brooding, silent menace. He stared, fixated on you or something on you, it was perturbed you.

"I wanted to apologize, love."

You missed that low hum in his voice, and the caring way he said you "love". You'd been used to it since most British you knew always called someone they cared for "love" or "dear", loving terms of endearment used publicly. Now, however, you knew it weighted, an undertone to its meaning, a special significance in his heart.

"Didn't mean to jump you like that," he continued, regret painting his rough tone. "It felt right; to me. Guess I was more plastered than I thought."

He was human and alcohol coursed through his system. It made him bold and erratic, he acted out without a second thought. You could forgive him for the influence his bourbon had on him; you were going to forgive him anyway.

Although you felt better with his apology, forgiveness for his sudden move wasn't what you prioritized. You wanted answers. How did he know? Was it a sudden, incomprehensible blurb that he spat in a spike of hate and pain? Or was it conscience wording from his drunk mind?

"Do you remember that night?" You lost your smile, pursed lips and hardened eyes at your questioning - interrogation of him.

"'Course I do."

"Do you remember what you said? About me coming from somewhere else."

He nodded, eyes levelled to stare straight at you, unwilling to hide or lie, he spoke honestly, "Another world, love. Didn't forget."

"How'd you know? I'm not exactly showcasing it to everyone in bright colours. So how?"

"Saw you save that girl, lil babe crying for her mother," his answer was slow and purposeful, giving you what you wanted to hear. He recalled the event that occurred months prior, everything aligned with your own experience. "We don't - can't - have shite like that, too developed and powerful. Nothin' like that's possible in this era. So I figured you weren't from here. "

His reasoning made sense, his wording was careful, and it seemed like he had time to think about it. The time you gave him had helped. You kept your doubts to yourself, questions you had that he probably didn't have the answer to. A way back; a way home; an escape. All things he had no answer to.

So your shoulders relaxed and asked Simon to pour you a second cup, to which he obliged. You drank and smiled, back to the trying times when you just started drinking with him, the unknown and the awkwardness that lingered in the air stung.

You don't remember how many cups you had, or how many bottles you finished. Did you even finish the first one? Did you get halfway through before your vision started blurring and your mind dazed into mumbles of incoherent words? Simon hadn't touched another cup since the world around you blurred, the corners of your eyes turning black and your movement slowed to a slur.

He paid for the drink on his tab, slinging your arm over his shoulder, hand holding your waist as he walked out. You were drunk out of your mind, but something felt different, you don't remember being this inebriated the last time you drank half a bottle of rum. Was there something else in it?

Simon dropped you in the back, buckling you in before he made sure you sat upright. He was close, his neck bare and sweaty, his musk smelled strong and heavy, smoke and gunpowder weighing at the back of your throat. Although your vision was faulty, you could see the tight muscle of his neck and shoulder tense as he worked.

His scent stuck to you as he closed the door and drove home, the air in the car smelling like him. Whatever had drained you, lulled you to sleep, taking comfort in the familiar warmth even if a small part of you started panicking.

He had you, in the basement of his house, soundproof and padlocked from the outside. Any risk was accounted for and any escape plans were foiled prematurely by his quick mind.

Ghost laid you beneath him, on the soft, plush bed he bought and built for you, queen-sized for the times he'd spend cuddling you. He had you splayed, body limp and limbs pliant to his every desire. He admired your sleeping form, how your lace fluttered lightly and your lips perked, thinking on the corners as if you were wincing - a duck face - and your peaceful expression. You were adorable.

Your shirt came off first, pulled over your head and thrown over his shoulders, then your bra. Without his gloves, your skin felt soft, hot to the touch. Kneading your breasts, he held one in each hand and felt the fat. You twitched and mewled faintly when he pinched your nipples, hardened by the cooler air hitting your drunk-induced heat. He kissed them, lips closing around your nipple and sucking loudly. He gave each one the same amount of attention, pulling off with a wet pop.

His fingers trailed the lines of your abdomen, strong and athletic, but not too burly like anyone in the army. He admired your figure, half-naked and unconscious on his bed, in his home. He kissed down your stomach as he took your pants off, sliding leg after leg out, leaving you only in your panties.

You were beautiful: your skin - soft, your hair - silken, your lips - wonderful to kiss, and your eyes - gems. You were breathtaking to look at, a treasure to his eyes solely. You were an unblemished canvas, unmarked by other men - in his mind - by sin, and your scars were trophies, won through difficult times. He wanted to be the one painting you, displaying you prettily for his eyes alone. Pieces of works were kept secret like Michelangelo's love poems and sketches.

His eyes wandered the expanse of your body, groaning when he saw the wet patch, your body had reacted to his caresses, your arousal turning the spot over your cunt darker, wet. He pushed his nose to it, breathing in the tangy musk. His fingers hooked under the string and ripped it off with a harsh tug. You wouldn't need underwear anymore once he was done with you.

Ghost's pupils dilated, wide, blown eyes as it keyed on your slick cunt. He adjusted your legs, moving them over his shoulders to have better access to you. He gave a testing lap, running the flat of his tongue over your rim, prodding your clenching opening and leaving at your pulsating clit.

You tasted delicious, he growled and dove back. Tongue circling your button, sucking loudly, lifting the protective hood to let it swell and throb. He held your hips tightly ad you squirmed and moaned, but you never awoke. The drug he gave you was potent, tested on bigger, stronger military men. It could knock them out, so it would pull a stronger reaction from you.

It weighed on his mind, that he resolved to drugging you and bringing you home to be able to show you just how much he loved you. He'd preferred if you were awake, he wanted your first time together to be wonderful - fantastic - in all ways, but you would've protested, fought him and left him once more. He couldn't risk losing you completely, it hurt.

He had no other choice and felt guilty, but he couldn't let his mind wander when he had you under him, ripe for the taking. He pushed his thoughts away and concentrated on you, his needy girl.

His tongue returned between your leg, cheek nuzzling into your sweating thighs. He alternated between sucking your button, lips enclosing around it, and dipping his tongue into you, groaning anomalistically at your tensing walls. He pushed his forefinger in, joining his ravenous tongue. His nose bumped your clit, jerking you each time.

A second finger joined the first and his tongue left to give attention to your neglected clit, pumping to the third knuckles and curling upwards. You arched off the bed, hips buckling into his open mouth as he stretched you open with a third finger. The sound was lewd and wet, loud in his ears.

His cock twitched, straining against his pants, the fabric tight and inflexible, nearly painful. He wanted to relieve the tightness, that burning ache deep in his guts, but his needs came second to yours.

He flickered his tongue and pushed his fingers deeper, curling and panting against you. You spasmed, legs closing around his head, squeezing him as you came. His fingers eased out slowly to savour the taste of your arousal, mouth covering your fluttering hole and slurping the slick that drizzled down your ass.

He loved how you tasted, sweet and salty, like a healthy, ripe fruit ready to be bitten into, juicy and perfect. He almost lost himself, dazed by your essence and his anguish; if only you'd accepted him early, you would've been awake and conscious of this act, and you'd be able to love and embrace him as he did to you. He wouldn't have to wait so long, in pain and regret, for not wooing you enough. He wouldn't have to feel so guilty.

Snapping from his hazed thinking, he lowered your legs and climbed off the bed to undress. He peeled his hoodie and shirt, which stuck to his skin by sweat, and he dropped his pants once he unbuckled his belt. His cock bobbed, slapping wetly against his navel before it hung heavily between his legs, the head achingly red and swollen. His balls felt heavy, and tight from all the neglect. They were big and full, ready to pump his seed into you.

He cradled you, pulling your legs over his elbows and slotting his hips to yours, his cock over your slit. He moved his hips, slicking his shaft with your juices, groaning at the wet warmth under him. When it felt slick enough, he dipped the tip in, your labia stretching to swallow his uncut head. The sound was downright filthy in his ears, the squelch and your strained moans.

He watched himself inch deeper, sinking into your depths with unrelenting hunger, panting and growling until he bottomed out, his balls sitting snug against your ass. His bulbous tip kissed your cervix, nudging it as he rolled his hips, testing how deep he could reach and how strong he could fuck.

He slowly pulled out, hearing the wet noise of his cock slipping out to the tip, and slammed in, his balls slapping the roundness of your ass. He rocked wildly, groaning each time he bottomed out, feeling the heat of your walls clench around him like a vice. Your spasming walls wrenched low moans from him, as often as you whimpered and mewled.

"Fuck- you feel so fuckin' good-" he pushed out through his clenched teeth, his cock twitching when you tightened around him.

Your legs shook, your back arching slightly and your voice keening loudly. He covered your body with his, lips meeting yours in a hungry and possessive kiss, tongue diving into your mouth and committing it to memory. His hand found your clit, thumb rubbing your sensitive nub, urging you towards your end.

Keening, you came, gripping him with a vice. He grunted, his pace becoming sloppy as he chased his peak after yours, breathing in your neck with dazed, hooded eyes. He swore, thrusting as deep as he could and came, his seed rushing to fill you.

"Fuck- fuck-" he gasped, rocking a few times into you, riding off his edge until he calmed down.

White globs leaked from your stuffed cunt, rolling down your ass and leaving a trail. His chest rumbled happily, bending down to kiss you slowly, soft and adoring compared to the last. He slid out when he softened, his cum oozing out of your gaping heat, the plug keeping everything in left.

He loved watching you full, oozing of him, asleep and satiated in the bed he bought for you. You were both coated in sweat and cum, hair sticking to your glistening skin. Your dishevelled and panting aroused him, his soft cock jerking upwards, hardening moments after he just came.

"We're not done yet, love."

You felt heavy and warm, a heat - a body - held you tightly, fingers carding through your hair and caressing your back. It smelled like sweat and smoke, a familiar musk. You opened your eyes, seeing a pale, burly chest, Simon's naked chest. You froze, body tensing, shoulders squaring and arms ready to push him back.

"Morning, love," his voice was raspy with sleep, deep and calm as he greeted you, his lips meeting your hairline. "Slept well?"

You frowned, legs moving, jutting out from between his knees as you struggled to free yourself. Your body felt sore, the peak of your discomfort coming from your heat, a pulsating and warm pain. You feared the worst.

When you looked down, you were covered by only a shirt, a big, dark grey t-shirt that smelled like Simon, it reached your knees. You winced, seeing your nakedness and Simon's pants hanging low on his hips, flashing the sharp dip of his navel and his sculpted torso. It left little to imagine, the red blemishes on your neck and shoulders, slightly faded from his careful handling and bruises the size of his fingers around your thighs.

"You-" you coughed before you could day anymore, throat dry and scratchy, alcohol dehydrated people faster.

"Drink," he held you up, back to his chest, arms slipping around you too comfortably to hand you a cup of water, cool and fresh.

He had expected this, he wasn't as delusional as he first seemed, and he was prepared. You took it, gulping it down carefully, counting the seconds - minutes - that would pass until the drug kicked in, if he had diluted any in your water.

He hummed happily, his chest vibrating as he wrapped his arms around you, nosing the collar of your neck, he placed fluttering kisses on your open shoulder. The collar of his shirt slipped from one side, exposing your skin. His teeth grazed you, teasingly nipping you with warm puffs of air.

You gulped, gathering whatever wits you still had after this whole kidnapping situation. Your mind was running miles per second, eyes gleamed over with tensions and tiredness, and your body sore from Simon's perverse affection.

"Where am I?" your voice was small, still raspy from - what you assumed - moaning and mewling.

"Home," he mumbled, latching onto your skin and sucking a dark spot.

Home? It neither meant your flat nor safety. It was *his* home, a prison he built for you. You looked around. You thought it better to get to know the place he decided to keep you captive, to learn and discover its secrets, anything you could use against or for you.

It was like a studio apartment, everything was open apart from the bathroom, it had a small kitchenette with a fridge (probably in case he left for a while, deployed in another country while he kept you here.), a bookshelf filled to the brim with books and a desk pushed to the side. He'd forgone leaving you with a television, a mobile device, a phone or a computer, all were risks of you getting out.

The walls were painted over, bare of windows and stairs lead to a door, locked from both sides. He locked you in his basement, beneath his house and every other neighbour's nose. No one would come to your rescue if you screamed. No one would hear your cries of anguish or your pleas for freedom.

He bit down, teeth pressing onto your skin, denting the scarred flesh with his teeth marks. You yelped, the area hot and painful, his strength leaving an almost skin-deep bleeding, fiery and red. It was irritated and swelled in seconds. He moved from one patch to the other, determined to mark up your shoulder before possibly moving on to the next one.

You squirmed on his lap, trying to free yourself from his restrictive hold. You gripped his hands, digging your blunt nails into his forearms. He scoffed, nuzzling the bites he made, tongue lapping at the bleeding lines.

"Ghost," you gasped, legs kicking and body struggling.

Clicking followed every kick, the distinct sound of metal rattling in a disorderly way. You looked down your leg, catching the cuff around your right ankle, a long chain kept you jailed in the basement. It was long and winding, enough to comfortably walk laps around your new accommodation but too short to reach the door.

You stared at it incredulously, the utter rage and disgust that burned in your gut that he planned to keep you as if you were a glorified pet or some sort of prize he scouted and obtained.

You knew he liked you before, it was a simple and innocent crush, like finding your first one and not knowing how to react. That, and the fact he was a soldier, scarred by time and marked by warfare made him so standoffish. You thought it was simple, but now, it was too late to forget, to not look, to let bygones be bygones.

He was obsessed, not necessarily sane, but not crazy either. He wasn't delusional, by everything he set up as a precaution, but he let his darkness fester, grow and crack the surface of his calm and stoic persona. He was still calm and meticulous, but it was a different kind, storming ideas for your imprisonment and wishes he wanted to make true. Ghost and Simon overlapped, neither good nor evil, he was simply letting the monster rage uncontrolled.

His pent-up emotions drove him to the edge, and your rejection pushed him over, tipping the scale of his sanity. That's how you ended up in your current situation, his hands wandering over your thighs, dipping between them and down to your knees. He still nipped at your skin, biting and pulling the collar down the other shoulder. His teeth sunk into the muscle between your neck and shoulder, warm fingers slipping under his shirt to knead your chest.

You winced, flinching when he plucked your nipples, pulling on them until you let out a pained whine.

"Stop-!" your hands followed his, clamping around his wrists and dragging him out, but he stayed firm, unmoving to your will as he twirled your mounds. "Fucking stop!"

He huffed, hands dropping to your lap. He mumbled into your bitten skin, groaning in complaints about not letting him care for you. His complaints came with hot breaths on your nape, mouthing the back, turning silent and unmoving.

His quietness was familiar to you, his penchant for sifting through his thoughts in utter silence. Then he moved, draping the covers over your body, tucking you in. He stood at your bedside, expression lighting in a gentle smile. Under the dim lighting of the room, he looked like a beautiful angel. A gold halo hovered over his blonde locks, framing his pale skin and warm, brown eyes.

He kissed your forehead, lips lingering a few seconds longer as he took in the calming moment. He had you, he had you in his home.

"How about breakfast? Fried eggs and bangers, how's that sound?"

The normalcy of eating breakfast in bed, to wake up and be greeted with a British breakfast made by Simon. He liked the idea of such normality, it was romantic, domestic even. To be able to cook for you and serve you the food he made, he'd eat at the table in the middle of the room, seated opposite from you.

He left before you could give him a piece of your mind, or your reply to his question. Fried eggs, you knew what that was, but *bangers*, what the fuck was that?

The stairs creaked lightly, bending under Simon's weight, but his steps were silent - dangerous. The lock clicked when it was unlocked, and he left you alone, the door locking behind him. Gone was your escape, gone was your freedom, gone was your life with the door locking before you.

Time seemed endless, it went by in a blink or in long, painful moments that left you angry. He hadn't given you a clock, and without anything technological (the microwave didn't have the time, whatever Simon had done, worked. Time never played on the four-letter screen.), you couldn't tell day from night, seconds from minutes and minutes from hours. Time dragged agonizingly slowly, the only clue was Simon kept a pattern: three meals a day, breakfast, dinner and supper before going to bed with his arms wrapped around you.

How long you've stayed here was unknown. You couldn't know and Simon didn't want to tell you. He changed subjects or glared at you until you dropped it or he decided to drop it. You had no link to the outside, no way of knowing if you'd been announced missing or if anyone was worried. Simon had cut all your connections to the world around you, just outside your reach, on the other side of these walls that confined you.

You desperately needed to know about your case, if they knew, if they filed a missing person report if they were searching for you. It pained you to be ignorant of everything but your small world, the things that happened in your small room. Everything you knew was Simon.

His horribly, soothing words in his deep voice, speaking into your ear or your hair, whispering his dreams and his hopes, his love and his adoration. His wandering hands, raking the tension from your shoulders, the knots in your back, your worry from your eyes and lips, and the pleasure - forced - he brought upon you.

Entertainment was brought through him, or through the books he left for you, most were erudite, both old and new novels. Bram Stoker's Dracula, The Silence of the Lambs and The Heart of Darkness were a few of the novels you'd caught on the bookshelf.

He also fed you. Most days, he'd stay until it was time to eat, he would leave - sometimes half an hour or a whole hour, it ranged between depending on the meal - and come back with warm plates. They always smelled good and they tasted better.

It surprised you how skilled he was in cocking, as he was in infiltration, sniping, abducting and killing. Perhaps he took the time apart from you to forge his plan, to learn to cook and to care.

You ate, slowly and contemplatively. He stared at you eat, always making sure you took the first bites before digging into his own plate. It weighed heavy in your gut, like a reluctant gift you were bestowed, and Simon made sure you ate everything.

You felt dazed, gone, after eating, as if a cloud washed over your mind that made you slower, and sluggish with everything you did. The food was drugged, you were aware of that when you first felt lethargic. It made you less testy, less bratty as Simon grumbled, you were more pliant to his whims and easier to move when you tried fighting him.

Though it eased the nausea that wracked your body in the mornings, the sudden discomfort in your abdomen and the heaviness that the ache gave. You rarely needed to move from the bed if the urge to vomit came up, Simon kept pills for that. If you did, he'd comfort you, holding your hair back as the content of your stomach surged upwards.

Your time spent with Simon was time spent organizing your thoughts, Winston was smart, engineering-wise, he was amazing. Then there was Mercy with her medical breakthrough and Torb with his ingeniously brilliant machines. If they came together, found what went wrong with the portal you went through.

Trace would be so worried if she wasn't already dead worried. She was a caring and responsible mentor, taking you in before and after the fall of Overwatch. Nearly twelve years under her and this was the first mishap. You spent nearly two years in Simon's world - you counted the time your could count, the days you spent working and enjoying life as much as you could in a different place - and your heart never stopped missing your family.

You missed Jack - Soldier: 76 - when he would openly laugh, and Gabriel, when he was still the man he was. You missed Tracer's fussing, blinking around with so much energy, and Reinhardt's proud standard when he loomed over his teammates with his Barrier Field. You missed them horribly, they were the glue that kept you hoping for freedom.

It happened when you nearly conceded to Simon's whims, bending to his will and words, letting his hands wander your body and feeling pleasure - genuine. His confessions were parroted, and his I love youwas returned.

You ate less, however, the lump in your gut grew by the days, weighing heavier and heavier. You had weird cravings, followed by nausea most mornings, gripping the toilet bowl with your head hung low. Simon held your hair back and rubbed soothing circles on your back, bemoaning about your pains and cramps.

He left a few times during your period of captivity, vanishing for long periods - usually a week or two - and had you manage everything on your own. He had cameras set up, watching your every move, connected to whatever device he decided to watch you.

He was deployed a week ago, his steps never walking to the door during the week, but now, you could hear his booming steps around the house. They were loud and intentional. Dread always filled your body when you learned he came back, he was clingy, handsy and obsessive when he came back, growling that he would burn down the world if couldn't have you; or that he was thinking about you - constantly - and that the video feed on his phone was never enough.

You picked up on his pace, hurried and panicked. They stomped around the house in search of something before it stopped at your door. Your ears perked on the clicking of the lock, straining to listen to his heaving breaths.

Crack

You jerked forward. Something behind you cracked, the loud cracking filled the air as you turned. A blue swirl cracked the shift in reality, like glass fracturing and breaking into pieces, it glowed with every line. It pulsed calmly, the swirls capturing your attention. You felt drawn to it, your hands twitching with the urge to touch it, to let your fingers swim in the infinite pool.

"(Name), are you there?" a voice called from the other side, small and feminine. It was dripping with worry and exhaustion. "Luv, are you there?" she cried a second time, a hand emerging from the portal.

You knew the voice, the warm, familiar voice that called out to you with love and compassion. A friend. A mentor. A family.

You reached out to it, hand inches from hers. Then the door to your cage burst open, his screams echoing in the basement. He hurried down the stairs as fast as he could, mask still on his face as he reached for you. His gloved fingers grasped the air for you, rushing towards you with immense worry and fear in his eyes.

Mere seconds behind you, his fingers grazed your back as you fell into the waiting arms of your mentor. He was too late, he fell on the vacant bed, watching the portal close behind you. He clutched the bending, the place you sat moments ago. It was still warm, your heat and smell still mixed into your sheets.

He spun lies about your absence, about your sudden disappearance from his world. You moved away after your breakup, you distanced yourself from him to make the move easier on your heart and his. The TF had accepted the excuse, solemnly nodding about your leave and wishing they could have said farewell to a good friend.

They moved on with life, still smiling nostalgically when you were brought up, but Ghost was left heartbroken. He knew something was wrong that day, the itch in his brain about something happening at home. That's why he was in such a hurry, in a panicked frenzy to get home - to get to you. He was too late though, seeing you being pulled into a portal. Dooming was the effect on him; devastation was the pain in his heart; shattering was the sorrow of his soul.

He poured everything into keeping you, only to lose you. Now, he poured every second of his life into work, never letting his mind wander to the bump on your stomach or the subtle relinquishment in your actions to him.

He was deader than dead, colder and more stoic than before. They saw the change, they understood, but never blamed you. Everyone had fallouts, Simon just had more than the rest of the world. That's why he played Ghost more often than before, building his walls higher and his appearance darker.

Yet somehow, Soap was enthusiastic enough to rope him into playing games on his console (he used to play more before finding time between deployments to jump into a match with the others). Overwatch 2, an evolution of the first made better. Soap promised it was good. His spiel about the characters having a profound background and the gameplay being fun. Ghost was doubtful, he and Soap didn't have the same definition of fun, they were associated with different things.

He liked Soap, though, so he humoured his sergeant. He downloaded it on his console, watching the white line charge until it became playable. Soap had mentioned a few names: Genji, Sombra, Reaper and Zenyatta, he even joked about Reaper resembling him, the skull mask and the dark drapes. He'd also gushed - like an over-enthusiastic gamer - about a new character, a woman, the sole student of this Tracer.

He scoured through the lists of players, eyes skimming over the faces before he spotted a familiar one. It was more cartoonish, drawn in gentle lines and beautiful shades. Your face, it was your beautiful face. He nearly dropped his controller, hands shaking and body heavy.

Was it guilt that washed over him? Was it pain that washed over him? Was it sorrow and melancholy that washed over him? Or was it his world that came crashing down on his shoulders?

The world dulled, his breath became stagnant and shallow as he stared at your hero. You were standing proud and fearless, guns held in your hands with a bright smile. He watched you emote, your character moving as it was coded. He scrolled through your skills and perks, some he remembered you use. You blinked and recalled, moving back and forth between time and space, breaking the fragile shift in the world.

Soap was right about the new hero, you were interesting and lovely. In a flurry of emotions, he opened up your biography - or a snippet of your backstory. Every word bled his heart, every act and every situation wracked his body with sadness. The more he read, the more his tears threatened to fall.

You kept your - his - child, a beautiful kid with his blonde hair and your eyes, a round, yet sharper face like his. You kept him, you hadn't aborted the child. You gave birth and he wasn't there. You took care of your kid and he wasn't there. You watched him grow and he wasn't there.

He cried, body closing on itself. His shoulders shook, his vision blurred and his face streaked with tears. A broken sob broke through his throat, restricted and pained with waves of emotion, deep and harrowing sadness of his loss.

"I miss you, love," he rasped, his fingers gripping his hair, nearly ripping out the seams. "I miss you."

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stalkerofthegods · 4 months

Text

Ares Deep dive

Ares

Herbs • Garlic, basil, buttercup, yarrow, ginger, anything with tiny yellow flowers, spicy stuff (ex- peppers, paprika), Water hemlock, Snapdragon, Poppy, Nettle, Magnolia, Ginger

Animals• Vulture, Colchian Dragon, serpents, barn owls, woodpeckers, dogs, horses, Stymphalian birds, boars

Zodiac • Aries

Colors • Red, black, and dark purple

Crystal• garnets, rubies, bloodstone, obsidian, red scoria, smoky quartz, red jasper, carnelian

Symbols• a helm, a shield, a spear and sometimes a sheathed sword, flaming torch, armor, palace, four fire-breathing horses

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• Iron, armor

Diety of• masculinity, civil order, Battle lust, courage, City guards/police, Rage, Violent deeds, Fights, Murder, Manslaughter, Quarrels, cheese, dancing, rebellion

Patron of• the Amazons, City defenses, City defenders

Offerings• Dragons, Dragon imagery, Dragon art, Strong dark red wine, Strong whiskey, Pure water, Black coffee, Black tea, Olive oil, Beef, Red meats in general, Cooked fat from meats, Blood from cut meats, Heavy spices, Spicy foods, Garlic, Red, black, and dark purple candles, Art or statues of Him, Statues of horses or dogs, Weapons, armor, and shields (ex- art, statues, toys, handmade.), Trophies, Spicy jerky, Sport drinks / protein shakes, Hand drawn or printed art of HimArt or images of dogs, horses, and vultures, Feathers from vultures, woodpeckers, or barn owls, Iron or steel jewelry, Red flowers (ex- roses), Thorns, Miniature or toy weapons and armor (especially helmets), Snake skin, Animal teeth, Write down your fears or successes and give them to Him, Medals and ribbons you’ve earned, Antiques, Photos of riots or past wars, hot sauce, Pork ribs, homemade meals, poultry, hare, venison, wolf hearts, chili peppers, lemons, green bananas, unripe peaches, batons, bullets, kendo swords, shields, military helmets, bullet-proof vests, military boots, military belts, dynamite sticks, grenades, lion pelts, shark teeth, ram skulls, explosives (handle carefully), Medals or Certificates, dog fur or dog teeth (ethically sourced), horseshoes, bull horns, war memorabilia, broken glass, spicy jerky or twiggy sticks, Carmel, sushi, stormwater, spicy salsa, Mexican food, chocolate or chia pudding, burnt matches, cigarette butts

Devotional• Create a playlist and listen to music that makes you feel brave/empowered, Donate to the Rape Crisis Center or other similar programs, Donate and support victims of war, Cook with garlic or heavy spices that you haven’t tried before, Try new things and don’t feel ashamed about doing so, Tell Him about your accomplishments, Tell Him about your fears, Learn about shadow work and try it for yourself, Learn about history, past wars, and past riots, Learn what they accomplished or failed to accomplish, Learn and educate yourself about the downsides of war and what can happen to the people affected by wars, Partake in combat sports (ex- martial arts, fencing), Exercise, Play some strategy games like chess, Risk, and Civilization, Stand up for yourself and what you believe in, write to your governor/mayor for things you want to see changed, attend riots, Pray to Him (ex-strength, ability to fight and defeat enemies, courage, to keep others safe, and help in a battle), go to a protest, learn first aid, educate yourself on PTSD, do unharmful things that give you adrenaline rushes (ex- amusement park rides, bungee jumping), watch action movies with him, pet a dog, Playing Strategy Games, Work on managing your anger, bones, go do axe throwing, a playlist that makes you feel, brave, energized and confident, keep track of your successes (this can be daily tasks, when you conquer them cross them off, and then offer the list to Ares), write down or draw art of your fears, go to a rage room, pray or meditate during thunderstorms, watch war movies and documentaries and play war/combat and strategy video games

Ephithets•Adámastos/adamastus/ἀδάμαστος/ΑΔΑΜΑΣΤΟΣ/ἀδάμας -unconquerable & indestructible, Ænyálios/enyalius/ἐνυάλιος/ΕΝΥΑΛΙΟΣ -war-God, Alcimus, Álkimos/alcimus/ἄλκιμος/ΑΛΚΙΜΟΣ/Adj - valiant, brave, Alloprósallos/alloprosallus/ἀλλοπρόσαλλος/ΑΛΛΟΠΡΟΣΑΛΛΟΣ- loyal to the struggle and to the souls who are engaged in it, Ánax/ἄναξ/ΑΝΑΞ -lord, king, Aphneiós/aphneius/ἀφνειός/ΑΦΝΕΙΟΣ -rich, wealthy, Arrectus, Árriktos/arrectus/ἄρρηκτος, ΑΡΡΗΚΤΟΣ -unbreakable, Brotoctonus, Enyalius, Hippius, Hoplochares/Hoplodupus/Hoplophorus, Íppios/hippius/ἵππιος/ÍΠΠΙΟΣ -horseman, Mægasthænís/megasthenes/μεγασθενής/ΜΕΓΑΣΘΕΝΗΣ/μεγασθενές -very strong, Megasthenes/Mægasthænís., Ombrimothymus:See Omvrimóthymos/Omvrimóthymos/ombrimo hymus/ὀμβριμόθυμος/ΟΜΒΡΙΜΟΘΥΜΟΣ/ὀβρῐμόθῡμος -doughty, indomitable, Oplódoupos/hoplodupus/ὁπλόδουπος/ΟΠΛΟΔΟΥΠΟΣ -clattering in his armor, Oplokharís/hoplochares/ὁπλοχαρής, ΟΠΛΟΧΑΡΗΣ -rejoicing in arms, Oplophóros/hoplophorus/ὁπλοφόρος/ΟΠΛΟΦΟΡΟΣ - he who bears arms, Phrictus/Phriktós/phrictus/φρικτός/ΦΡΙΚΤΟΣ - horrifying, Polæmóklonos/polemoklonus/πολεμόκλονος/ΠΟΛΕΜΟΚΛΟΝΟΣ -he raises the clamor of combat, Polemoklonus/Polæmóklonos, Sceptuchus/ Skiptoukhos/Skiptoukho/sceptuchus/σκηπτοῦχος/ΣΚΗΠΤΟΥΧΟΣ -he who bears a scepter, Teichesipletes/Teikhæsiplítis/Teikhæsiplítis/teichesipletes/τειχεσιπλήτης/ΤΕΙΧΕΣΙΠΛΗΤΗΣ—he who storms the cities in battle, Vrotoktónos/brotoctonus/βροτοκτόνος, ΒΡΟΤΟΚΤΟΝΟΣ -the slayer of men.

Equivalents• Mars (Roman), Onuris-Anhur (Egyptian god), Tiu-Tyr (Germanic god), unnamed war-god (Scythian god).

Courting• unmarried, but courting Aphrodite.

Past lovers/crushes/hookups• Aerope, Agraulos, Harmonia, Otrere, Astyokhe, Demonike or Sterope, Kyrene or Asterie, Astyokhe

Personality• He’s a great father, and a great lover, I talk to a godspouse of his and they talk about how he calmed them and was always there. He’s a great father because I’ve talked to a person who their father is ares and he’s always there for them, he’s also generous.

Home• Mount Olympus

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• Ares was the only male greek god that never raped or sexually assaulted any woman

Curses• Routing armies, Cowardice, Death on the battlefield, Military invasion, Sacking of cities, Rebellion, Uprisings, Sedition

Blessings•Driving armies, Bravery, fighting strength & endurance, Averting war (peace), Repelling invading armies, Maintaining civil order, Crushing rebellions, Restraint violent instinct,

Roots• Thrake, Ancient Greece.

Parentage• Zues and Hera

Siblings• Enyo (twin sister), Eris (sister), Apollo (half-brother), Artemis (half-sister), Athena (half-sister), Hephaestus (brother), Hermes (half-brother), Dionysus (half-brother), Hebe (sister), Heracles (half-brother), Aphrodite (half-sister).

Pet• four fire-breathing horses (Aithon (Red-Fire), Phlogios (Flame), Konabos (Tumult) and Phobos (Fear))

Children •ANTEROS (God of reciprocated love, son of Ares and Aphrodite), DEIMOS (God of fear, a son of Ares and Aphrodite.), ENYALIOS/Enyalius (A war-god son of Ares and Eris), EROS (God of love, a son of Ares and Aphrodite), HARMONIA (Goddess of harmony, daughter of Ares and Aphrodite.), NIKE(The goddess of victory, a daughter of Ares), PHOBOS (God of panic, son of Ares and Aphrodite),AEROPOS/Aeropus (son of Ares and Aerope.), ALKIPPE/Alcippe (daughter of Ares and Agraulos), AMAZONES/Amazons (Warrior women of Assyria, daughters of Ares and Harmonia), ANTIOPE(daughter of Ares and Otrere), ASKALAPHOS/Ascalaphus (son of Ares and Astyokhe), DIOMEDES (son of Ares and Kyrene or Asterie), DRYAS (son of Ares), EUENOS/Evenus (son of Ares and Demonike, and sometimes the son of Ares and Sterope), HIPPOLYTE (daughter of Ares and Otrere.),IALMENOS/Ialmenus (son of Ares and Astyokhe), KYKNOS/Cycnus) (son of Ares and Pelopia or Pyrene), LIKYMNIOS/Licymnius (son of Ares most say his father was King Elektryon), LYKASTOS/Lycastus) (son of Ares and Phylonome.), LYKOS/Lycus (son of Ares who used to sacrifice strangers to his father), MELANIPPOS/Melanippus (son of Ares and Triteia.), MELEAGROS/Meleager (son of Ares and Queen Althaia, but most call him a son of King Oineus), MOLOS/Molus (son of Ares and Demonike), NISOS/Nisus (son of Ares, but most accounts say he was a son of the Athenian prince Pandion), OIAGROS/Oeagrus (a son of Ares but some say his father was King Kharops),OINOMAUS/Oenomaus (son of Ares and the Pleaid Sterope or Princess Harpinna), OXYLOS/Oxylus (son of Ares and Protogeneia), PARRHASIOS/Parrhasius(son of Ares and Phylonome.),PARTHENOPAIOS/Parthenopaeus (son of Ares and Atalanta, many say his father was Melanion or Meleagros), PENTHESILEIA (daughter of Ares and Otrere), PHLEGYAS (He was a son of Ares and Dotis or Khryse.), PORTHAON (son of Ares or according to others of Agenor), PYLOS/Pylus (son of Ares and Demonike.), REMUS (son of Ares and Ilia), ROMULUS (son of Ares and Ilia), TEREUS (a son of Ares.), THESTIOS/Thesius (son of Ares and Demonike or Agenor and Epikaste), THRASSA (daughter of Ares and Tereine.), DRAKON ISMENIAN (A monstrous dragon-serpent, it was a son of Ares and the Erinys Telphousia.)

attendees• DEIMOS & PHOBOS (The twin gods of terror and fear), ERIS & ENYO (goddess of strife, hatred and war), KYDOIMOS/Cydoemus (The god of the din of war), NIKE (goddess of victory), OTHER ABSTRACTIONS(spirits described such as Rage, Anger, Threats, Death and Valour)

Appearance in astral or gen• In ancient Greek art, he was depicted as either a mature, bearded warrior armed for battle, or as a nude, beardless youth with a helm and spear.

Festivals • Artemis Agrotera/Kharisteria , and Genesios, maybe.

Day • Tuesday

Scared places• Odrysia in Bistonia, Thrake (his birth-place)

Planet• Mars

Tarot cards• Chariot & Emperor card

Scents/Inscene • Frankensince, Sandalwood incense, resin, burning wood (especially if Himalayan salt in thrown in since it reminds him of blood), and red sandalwood incense

Prayers•

Prayer to Ares for the Safety of a Soldier

Bold-hearted Ares, bright-helmed son of thundering Zeus and noble Hera, well-honored god of war, any battle will you face, any foe will you fight, without fear and without hestitation. Ares, god of warriors, ally of those who risk their lives on the field, to you do soldiers offer their prayers. You know each one’s name, O Ares, you know their lives, you know their worth. Great Ares, I pray to you, watch over ____________ who heeded your call, who practices your art, whose name you know well, for s/he is one of your own who does you honor with each day s/he serves. Ares, I pray to you.

In general

Bright-helmed Ares, strong of arm and stern of visage, firm of stance, unyielding of will, ever ready to face any foe, to hold the line against all who may come, to battle until the end. Ares, son of noble Zeus and wise Hera, cherished by golden Aphrodite, honored by those who call on you for strength and courage, in the north were you much honored in times of old, in Thrace and Thessaly were you held in esteem by those whose lives were harsh, whose world was stony, whose comforts were hard-won. Ares who answers the prayers of the despairing, I honor you

For Courage

Ares, fierce-hearted son of Zeus and noble Hera, full-famed you are as god of war. To you do soldiers pray when battle is most heated, when mettle is most needed. To you as well do we turn in desperate times, to you do we call for strength, for the spirit to endure. You understand the terror of struggle and strife, you confront it in every way. Ares, your courage is unquestioned, your might and your prowess unequaled. Ares, friend to those in direst need, I pray to you, grant me the nerve to face what must be faced, grant me the will to do what must be done, grant me the heart to forge ahead.

Links/websites/sources •https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/gods/ares/

https://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/624476009567289344/ares-offerings/amphttps://aspisofares.wordpress.com/tag/offerings/https://www.tumblr.com/warriots/622104378198933504/a-guide-to-ares-worship https://www.tumblr.com/warriots/622104378198933504/a-guide-to-ares-worship https://scarletarosa.tumblr.com/post/187742800571/ares-greek-god-ofhttps://www.tumblr.com/diana-thyme/722942201197363200/greek-gods-101-ares @enyalios-shrinehttps://greekpagan.com/category/prayers-2/ares/

BIG HELP TO

https://www.tumblr.com/tarotbee

Ares is the Greek god and patron of many things, he is the edge of the sword while you hold the soft side, no god can be the god of war without the bloodshed, so don’t judge so quick, he is an amazing god, we love Ares here. Please excuse my grammar and everything, I tried my best.

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braidlottie · 7 months

Text

lottie with a gamer/streamer s/o

stopped playing cod so i can write this btw

moodboard :3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ chat getting super excited to see her all the time :(( she would come in the room to give you some tea or water and everyone’s like “LOTTIEEEE” LOTIUREERYET OMG HIII”

“say hi.”

“to who, honey?”

“the chat, they’re saying hi.”

“oh- hellooooo!” *little wave*

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ sitting behind you on the couch watching you play cod

“did you see that?”

“sure did, baby.”

“now, watch this-” *gets a grenade to the face*

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ playing minecraft with you and chat dying of cuteness

*lottmath78 was blown up by Creeper*

“DID YOU JUST DIE RIGHT NOW?!”

“i thought he was friendly!”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ driving you to best buy all the time and buying you games :3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you buy lottie a switch (the lite purple one) and animal crossing bc she loves seeing you play, now she can visit your island :3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ making her play cod for the first time (stress inducing experience) like she would keep shooting at the sky and her camera would be all over the place 😭😭😭😭

“WHERE DO I GO?”

“babe, shoot that guy right there!”

“WHERE?!” *shoots the sky and dies*

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ playing mariokart/super mario odyssey (she gets scared of the woodland dinosaur level)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you doing a sleep stream but you don’t want to disturb lottie so you sleep on your couch in the game room and she comes to check on you every so often :’) so many people in chat screen recording her kissing you on the cheek and petting your head and pulling your blanket back up to your shoulder 😢😢

“shh, go back to sleep. i’m just checking on you.”

“‘tream still on?”

“hmm?”

“the.. the stream.”

“yeah, it’s still on, sweetheart.”

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews x reader #lottie mathews x reader #lottie x reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews fluff

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swearingcactus · 5 months

Text

borrowing showers past bedtimes

remember the little thing i wrote the other day about v borrowing kerry's shower? yeah i finished it, somewhat, decided it was still relatively short (2k) and too plotless for an ao3 post. so woe, fic be upon ye. (under the cut)

It seemed like it took forever until V’s incessant knocking on Villa Eurodyne’s front door got it to swing open.

Speaking of the door, when the fuck did Kerry even get his front door fixed anyway? They had tried to fix it on a random weekend when V came over, but it kept opening stubbornly no matter what they did. And then Kerry had gotten so mad and tried to rip the door of its hinges, so they dropped the effort altogether. And–

“Oh, shit.” Kerry’s voice brought him back to the present and V blinks to realize Kerry’s looking at him with wide eyes. He pulls down his headphones he had on to his neck. His previous annoyance at being bothered in his house at this hour slipping rapidly into shocked worry at the sight of a merc covered in blood and mud and who knows what else, standing with his arms and feet a shoulder apart.

“Hey Ker, wha‘sup, sorry for bargin’ in so late at night,” V says, words stumbling over the other like a trainwreck, then he gets to the point, “Can I please borrow your shower?”

“Jesus, of course,” Kerry says, and then jerkily opens the door wider like he just remembered he could do that.

“‘m not Jesus, I’m V.” V mumbled out absent-mindedly. He whacks his arm before he gets in, some blood and bits of flesh fell off the sleeves of his jacket, squelching to the floor.

“Do you need a ripper?” Kerry asked. V drags his feet onto the concrete in hopes it’ll lessen the blood stains when he walks in the house.

“Oh, nah, I’m fine. This isn’t mine.” V says, just realizing how this must’ve looked. “I’ve been out the whole day in the rain, went from the badlands then back, got a gig near here.” V walked further into the house, avoiding the items still strewn about the floor. “Got messy. Normal shootout stuff, grenades, the like, then just–” he makes a psh-SHOOO noise with his mouth as he creates an over-exaggerated motion of an explosion with his hands.

“Gonk had a grenade on him and pulled the wrong pin.”

Kerry lets out an amused, morbid chuckle. V thinks that’s nice; he’d probably laugh about it too. If he hadn’t spent the entire day being scorched and sweating under the Badlands sun, hit by dust and dirt. Then got whacked with a storm that came out of nowhere. Then trekked his way up here just to get blasted in the face with someone’s guts. He smelled like garbage and felt so grossed out, but he was still ready to spend the entire ride back to Watson feeling like complete shit… only to find that the earlier shootout had blown off his Yaiba’s fuel tank.

But yeah, he’s fine! He’s totally not gonna lose it if he can’t claw his way out of his clothes within the next 5 minutes. But just in case, he excuses himself to the shower and practically ran in.

–

V's buck-ass naked in Kerry's shower. It's a huge shower, taking up 30% of the entire bathroom and the bathroom itself is bigger than his apartment. And now the large space and the great ventilation is getting him cold. He rubs a foot on top of the other, trying to warm the palms of his feet. He goes to pick up another soap from the rows and rows of product that Kerry had, all lined up.

It took less time to decide on a shampoo to use earlier because there were only two options, and even though he should probably peruse the purple shampoo dedicated to keep hair dye to shine and all that... he had decided to use the one Kerry probably forgot at the back. It had dust on its lid but smelled powdery.

Johnny crackles, all blue pixels and blurs of light, leaning on the glass window next to him. "Occupied, asshole." V says, gesturing to himself. "Also, ever heard of privacy?"

"You lost your privacy rights the second you took longer than 10 minutes to decide on a soap to use. At least start the water. This isn't your megabuilding, Kerry can pay the hot water bills."

Johnny made a good point, but V opted to ignore Johnny for now, as he often does. Instead, he opens another soap bottle and sniffs it experimentally. He could tell this was Kerry's go-to soap. Smelled like mint and perfumed musk. He reads the name of the scent. Gold Desire.

"Oh fucking... his pretentious ass needs a beating." Johnny grumbles. V snorts and closes the bottle. It's a scent reminiscent of Kerry, which V doesn't hate, of course. But the idea of smelling like Kerry didn't sit right with him.

A little too domestic. A little like he's playing pretend as someone's cute little input who's enjoying the high life for years by now. A little too much like wearing a costume. He's already had enough of the idea of turning into someone he's not without a stupid soap doing it for him.

He goes to sniff the next soap and dry-heaves. It smelled overwhelmingly like burning plastic that's vaguely presented with artificial strawberry and vanilla. He coughs and puts it away.

“At this point your clothes are gonna finish being washed before you do.” Johnny complains, glitching away and popping up, squatting on top of the washing machine dramatically.

V picks up another soap, “Oh Johnny, gross, you cummed in this one.”

“I what.”

“Look, ‘Rockerboy’s Wet Dream.’” V says, grinning and showing off a green bottle. Johnny rolls his eyes and pretend-flicked his cigarette’s ash onto the floor.

V continues to read the bottle, “’Citrus and Red Chili.’ Wonder how that smells combined.” V sniffs it, “Spicy!” he announced to Johnny who has now resorted to softly banging his head on the wall behind him. V decided he could just use this one and goes to turn the water on.

He enjoys how it immediately produced the perfect temperature without him even needing to fiddle with the settings or wait. Some fancy tech that detects his temperature and automatically sets the most suitable one for him once his feet hit the shower tiles.

He pours a hefty amount, wincing at how the bottle wheezed and dropped a slimy gel-like substance with beads of scrubs– which hurt when he started to slather it up. Before the contact with skin promptly starts to burn. Granted he has never used a high-end soap with an exfoliator and whatnot, but V doubts it’s supposed to hurt this much.

V picks the bottle up again to inspect it, hoping to see if maybe he’s just using it wrong or something… when he noticed a manufacture date at the top of the cap. He froze in fear. “Holy shit. This was produced before I was even born. Why the hell do Kerry even keep this around.”

He chucks the bottle to the trash bin to the far end of the room. It missed and hit the wall, bouncing onto the floor. V scrubs the rest of the offending soap on him, almost panickedly.

“You can shower with my actual cum, ‘ll hurt less.” Johnny offers mockingly, getting in the stall with him. V elbows him hard, even if he glitches away before it made any believable contact.

“Give it a couple second and you’ll feel the burn too, see if you can joke then.” V grumbles. He takes a long deep breath and spends the next few breaths just watching as the bubbles get washed along with the grime and mud that starts to melt onto the floor along with the hot water. Shoulders slowly slumping as the events of the day start to catch up and some new bruises and cuts make their presence known. He cards his fingers onto his hair and plop goes the pieces of brain matter and what could’ve been an eighth of an eye. He kicks it down the drain, and blindly takes a random bottle.

This one’s still filled to the brim. He opened it to find it still sealed, even. He struggles to open it with his nails and managed to do so... sacrificing some nail paint in the process. He sniffed it almost dejectedly. Before perking up, pleasantly surprised with its unfamiliar but sweet scent.

"Huh.." he says, taking it away to properly read what it was. "Coconut and basil."

"Do you even know what a coconut looks like?" Johnny accused, out of nowhere.

"Sure I do. It's brown, kinda round looking. Floats. Not sure what a basil actually is though." V answers easily, and finally sets the soap next to the shampoo he had picked, and gets to showering in peace.

V stepped out of the bathroom feeling like an actual human again for once, shaking his hair onto the towel roughly to dry it.

"Ker?" he calls out. He hears a faint tune being repeatedly played and walks to the far end of the first floor. Kerry sat with his back to V, with his headphones in, frowning at a computer. He had a guitar in one hand while his other hand was covering his mouth, a finger tapping onto his lips.

Kerry glanced over when he noticed V in his peripheral vision and says, "Hey," but his focus quickly turns back to the computer.

V steps next to him to plant a kiss on the top of his head. "Thanks for the shower." (He could feel Johnny rolling his eyes, making pretend-barfing motions. V made a huge point to tell him to fuck off.)

"No problem," Kerry says, obviously still distracted.

"Busy?" V asks, knowing the answer but thinking he should probably still ask it.

Kerry doesn't really answer, just hums vaguely, somewhat affirmatively.

V spreads his toes out on the floor, feels that it’s dusty, still haven’t been properly vacuumed since god knows when. He shifts his weight. "... Anything I can help with?" He offers. It's a long shot but sometimes Kerry asks his opinion on song lyrics, even though V kinda guessed it's less of asking an opinion and more of showing off an unfinished piece he’s still proud of.

As he expected, the shot fell short of its mark when Kerry replies with a clear, resounding, "No." and by then V knows he's maxed out trying to get a conversation out of Kerry.

He goes to leave Kerry alone.

–

V checks his clothes to see it had finished its spin cycle and is now being dried. Still a couple hours to go. He goes back out and climbs to the second floor, trying to find something to wear in the meantime. Kerry’s a little shorter than him, (“Not by much.” Johnny annoyingly pointed out.) Fine, Kerry’s only a little shorter than him, but his clothes mostly consisted of leather or something so cropped, might as well just go nude.

There were some hoodies, though, large unassuming jackets Kerry bought in bulk to hide from media vultures. Big enough it makes his boxers look shorter than it actually is. V decides to borrow one, goes to bite and suck one of the hood’s strings immediately once he slipped it on.

He leans over the second floor to check up on Kerry from above. Kerry tapped the space bar so hard V swears it’ll crack. He starts grumbling unhappily, then goes to fiddle another tune on the guitar. Yikes. Better leave him alone for now.

“Derivative!” Johnny yells about the tune, over the railing.

If Kerry could actually hear him there would be a bloodbath.

V passed Kerry’s bed and goes back down to the first floor, sitting on the sofa. Kerry stops playing the guitar with an uncomfortable screech and whines loudly.

“Tell him try changing it to a minor tune.” Johnny says. V frowns at him, not sure if he’s actually offering genuine musical help or if he’s just fucking around to try and rile Kerry up. Either way, V knows Kerry wouldn’t appreciate any unwarranted advice at this stage. Johnny clicks his tongue, because he knows it too, he just doesn’t like not letting everyone know what he thinks.

V goes to lean back, only to sit up straight again, looking back and noticing there’s a bong stuck behind him. He pulled it out, then sighs at the mess. Before standing up and picking up empty and half-filled glasses to the kitchen to stick them in the dish washer. He continued to throw out two thongs wedged in the sofa. Wipe the counter from the sticky, spilled alcoholic drinks and their mixers.

It took a while until the sofa and the coffee table in front of it looked nice enough, and V sits and slumps himself onto it in satisfaction, letting the sofa’s crevice swallow him as much as it could.

–

"Hey, what're you doing here?" Kerry asks, gently shaking him to wake him up.

V blinks blearily awake, takes a second to realize where he's at. Then at the question. Wanted to wait up for you sounds too cheesy suddenly and V decides to just shrug.

"You cleaned my place up." Kerry says appreciatively.

"Nnno, just the sofa area." V points out, then yawns, putting his hand into a fist and using his knuckles to cover it. Kerry lets out an 'Awww' kind of sound and V stopped yawning immediately, frowning up at him. Kerry stopped cooing, and grinned, "Come on, let's get you to an actual bed, huh?"

He pulls V up and leads him to the second floor onto the bed. V falls into it immediately, rolling so he can plant his face down onto the biggest pillow Kerry had, while Kerry went off to turn off most of the lights on the switch on the wall.

V doesn't need to see to know when Kerry shuffled into bed when the bed dips next to him. He puts a hand out to feel for Kerry and when his fingers found contact on skin, he scoots closer.

"D'aww," Kerry says again cut off harshly when V pokes his ribs, hard. "Hey you don't want me to think you're cute? Stop being cute."

"Thought you said I was a brat?" V coyly asked.

Kerry lets out a huff, "Alright, down, boy. Way past your bedtime for that."

"Sounds like I need some punishi--" V couldn't help a yawn before he could finish that sentence, "Yeah, point taken." He shuffles again, a leg lands on top of Kerry's before settling. “Sorry I bothered you while you were doing your song.” He says to Kerry’s arm.

Kerry lets out a soft laugh again, rubs the point of contact between his fingers and V's upper arm, “Yeah if you were anyone else, I would’ve told you to fuck off. Consider it a privilege that you got me away from my set and I’m still letting you on my bed.”

“Yay, privilege!” V whoops softly. “Always wanted to know what that feels like.”

Kerry snorted again. They went quiet and V thought that was the end of it. Until Kerry adds, “You know you don’t have to…” he stops like he thought better than to say it. V opens his eyes to look up at Kerry, telling him to go on.

Put on the spot, Kerry begrudgingly continues, “I dunno, just… you know I’m here for you, right? So.. I dunno, V, maybe next time, you could just think of coming over in the first place instead of it being an alternative plan? And, ugh, I know how this might sound to– Look, I’m not saying this ‘cus I’m jealous or, or clingy, okay, I know you got your own thing. Look, you don’t have to act all awkward and proper ‘round me, ‘s all. I mean, come on, V, it’s just me.”

“Uh-huh.” V says, though he doesn’t really get what that’s all about. He shuffles and drops his head back to its original position, closing his eyes. He’s falling asleep again, and he fights to hear what Kerry’s saying next, it gets jumbled into one hazy tune. Something about time, and them being friends, sometimes a little more, something about worrying about not hearing something…

He snuggled to Kerry’s arm again, concludes Kerry’s probably just stressed about the piece. So, he sleepily asks, “Didja finish it though? The song.”

“Huh?” Took a few seconds for Kerry to realize what he’s asking, “Oh… Nope. Gave up on it for tonight.”

“Should try changing it to minor key.” V hears himself say without him actually thinking it, then he groans quietly. He kicks the engram mentally, mumbles out, “Oh, shut up, Johnny…”

“Yeah, shut up, Johnny.” Kerry echoes immediately. But there’s a slight moment where V thinks Kerry’s arm had tensed a tiny bit, before relaxing, as he leaned into V’s hair. Then, "You smell nice."

Thanks, it's coconut and basil. V thinks he says, but he's not sure because he conked out within milliseconds. He thinks that for tomorrow, in-between getting home, and doing gigs, and finding leads about the relic, he’ll try to figure out what a basil actually is.

Author's Note: yeah so coconut and basil huh. The coconut that goes around getting bobbed by the sea but floats with the flow. The basil that could mean anything from a token to ward off the devil to a symbol of love. Also smells great together as a body wash. Fun! Maybe Kerry'll think there's poetry in it if V shared it the next day.

#cyberpunk 2077 #kerry eurodyne #johnny silverhand #lil guy v #writingcactus #gonna have to go and find my other ficlets to tag with that augh #i drew this tag

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lex-the-flex · 1 year

Note

hihihi sophie!!! i hope ur well!!🫶🏻 i saw requests were open and i wanted to shoot u the idea thats been hangin in my head for a few days. its an angsty one i hope thats okay🫡 6Leon gets called out on a mission, not knowing that his shared apartment with his partner had somehow been tracked and found by his target. when he arrives home from what he thought was a failed mission, having been unable to locate his target, he finds his partner in extremely rough shape on the floor after being interrogated by his target for info on Leons mission and whereabouts.

One Last Night

Leon S. Kennedy x reader

Word Count: 859

Warning(s): HEAVY ANGST, descriptions of injuries, action and violence, slight cursing, mentions of mission failure, mentions of nudity, MEGA FLUFF, reassurance, and lots of tlc.

A/N: It’s about time I get to my inbox after so long! Thank you for requesting my love and I hope you enjoy!

The bright purple neon lights slowly poured in from the aftermath of the flash grenade’s intensity. Regaining his bearings, Leon suddenly remembered where he was: downtown Ontario, and the street was completely torn apart. Staggering from his place on the cobblestone street, the smoke began to clear – along with the target.

Ada Wong.

Only it didn’t seem like her. It couldn’t have been her. Ada never wore blue, but people become desperate on the run.

****

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as Leon finally made it back to the shared private apartment that you and him call home. Checking the tiny mailbox, he fetched a few envelopes and a small package wrapped in paper before thanking the doorman. Adjusting his bags strap around his shoulder, Leon practically bolted for the elevator, wanting nothing more than to take a shower and to fall asleep in your arms.

Walking down the long hallway to your front door, Leon’s cellphone buzzed in his back pocket, alerting him of the time. 2:46 A.M. It was a Thursday, so Leon knew you’d be in bed as you had Friday’s off. Silently smirking to himself, a feeling of relief started to wash over his exhausted frame, but that was quickly taken away by the sight of a light beaming from underneath the back front door.

Silently pressing the keys into the lock, Leon slowly turned the piece of metal against the doorknob, and hesitantly opened the door. Coming face to face with an empty medium sized kitchen, he carefully put down his duffel bag by the counter, and reached for his trusty Matilda hidden in a secret cabinet.

Leaning towards the the brick wall that separated the kitchen from the large living room, one of the various vases shattered against the floor, breaking into multiple pieces. Hearing you scream, Leon bolted into action, and announced himself from his hiding spot. Within seconds he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing: you were on the floor, clutching your stomach, and bleeding from your nose.

Jabbing a taser into your side, Leon’s very target, the woman he was assigned to track down from his “failed” mission had infiltrated your home.

“Stop!” He ordered, stepping forward to Wong in blue.

“Leon, no don’t…! Don’t come any closer!” You warned, extending your hand to him.

Stopping in his tracks, Ada straightened from her towering form over you, and gazed at Leon with her black locks covering her barely sweaty face.

“Hmm, I take it that mission didn’t go well, Leon? Poor boy.” She mocked the man before you.

“How do you know about that?” Leon questioned, and his grip only tightened around his pistol.

“You really want to know? I thought I’d ask your lovey-dovey partner while she was out at the farmer’s market. It’s a shame, Y/N is really good at keeping secrets. Too bad her ribs are too bruised from being tased for two whole hours.” Ada explained, twirling the plastic device in her hands.

Writhing on the floor, you quietly reached for a spare butterfly knife tucked in your jeans, and Leon caught on once he realized this wasn’t the real Ada.

“Well, what can I say: as much as our relationship has been a thrilling chase, I’m happy with the lady I’ve got.” Leon declared, dodging the path of your blade.

Grazing the assassin in the shoulder, she winced in pain before zipping out the open window within seconds. Rushing to your side, Leon wrapped his leather jacket around your cold frame, and refused to leave your side.

****

5:21 A.M.

The police finally left the studio apartment after two hours of their seemingly useless questioning. Crossing the doorway into your shared bedroom, you were sitting in the edge of the bed, carefully tending to the bruises on your ribcage.

“You alright?” Leon asked, squatting to his knees, wanting to get a closer look.

“Just another day in the office.” You replied with a half smile.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here for you, Y/N. I knew I shouldn’t have gone to Ontario.” He apologized, hesitantly touching your black and blue skin.

Taking his face in your hands, you cupped Leon’s cheeks in between your palms, allowing his worried blue eyes to meet yours.

“Leon, I’m okay. I promise. This is nothing a heat pad and painkillers won’t fix. I’m sorry about your mission.” You replied, reassuring him with your gentle touch.

“Okay…” He said with an understanding nod.

Rubbing your shoulder, he stood from his spot on the floor.

“Why don’t I make us some tea, and you get in a nice warm bath? It’ll make you feel better.” He advised, shrugging off his leather jacket.

****

Slipping out of his set of dirty jeans, Leon carefully stepped over the edge of the clawfoot tub, careful not to sting your skin. Sitting behind you, he extended his legs around you, and pulled you into his chest.

Surrendering yourself to the warm water, a deep sigh escaped your chest, and Leon wrapped his muscular arms around your body, finally enjoying a moment of comfort after one last night of pure chaos.

re taglist ~

@dreamliners

@iraot

@beautifuljellyfishqueen

@balach-cadalach

@fetaneecole

@odaschopsticks

@tiredsurvivoronmain

@thecodeisveronica

@andyacklesspn

@kanzukikarin

@cloudybakery

@swimninhoney

@ashiemochi

@kennedysharper

@highball66

@onewinged-sephiroth

@scariusaquarius

@shions-new-blog-of-stuff

@thatdummy-girl

@acupnoodle

@slaughtrx

@rpd-rookie

@oreo-leon

@xxresi-rotxx

@ashrillvenheim

@knifefightandchill

@tradgothprompto

@brittlecakes92

@mnjxs

@rebidemp-ebil

@chirikalovesjill

@paleepeaches

@dargoww

@blueyheart

@leonwifey

@arzublogworld

@ec1ips3

@dreamingchocochan

@mothxmoons

@josieinwonderland

@winksasleeplesseye

@jl-micasea-fics

@thatgoblin

@venchai

@decath3ct

#resident evil #resident evil writing #resident evil 6 #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy oneshot #leon kennedy fluff #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #capcom resident evil #capcom #nick apostolides #matt mercer

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chaos-and-sparkles · 7 months

Text

Presenting:

Prowler Pavitr <3<3

Here's Pavitr's design in my Prowler Pavitr au akjdskjdskjkskdsk! It's my au where Pavitr is a fallen hero who used to be Spider-Man and becomes the Prowler, fueled by rage against a world and a system that forced him to pretend at perfection and then only hurt him and the people he loves.

I love him so much,, I have so much stuff in progress about him rn (working on the fics too). Gonna have chaipunk front and center, and like four separate plot arcs, I'm so insane about this au actually -

Anyway here's some infodump about his design inspirations and symbolism I put in it, I loveeeee talking abt him:

Hair -

Okay so this is after some time, like a couple months since Pav became the Prowler, and he's grown his hair out a bit now. It's kind of a mix of rejection of the "masculine" standard of short cropped hair by flaunting his longer curls that he's always been proud of and even had to grow to love He also dyes his hair purple! Bc he didn't wanna cut his hair but he wanted to do something to set himself apart from his old identity and also he's literally an impulsive 17-18 year old and wanted to do something that felt like owning his own self and asserting autonomy over his body etc etc

Something Borrowed -

The tie that he's using to tie back his hair is his original blue headband!! It doesn't go with his outfit at all but It's the original blue headband that Maya Aunty got for him all those years ago that he's been wearing forever and it snapped and broke in the battle that preceded what happened to her, and he still keeps it and ties his hair back with it instead The nosering (nath) used to be Gayatri's, they used to try out her jewelry on him and he loved that one so much she gifted it to him, and since he's basically left his old life and gone no contact with her it's all he has left of Gaya too

Main Outfit -

His jacket is loosely based on Krrish's leather jacket from the Bollywood movie series that's about a superhero named Krrish. I just think it has the dramatique and vibe Pav would like He binds his chest bc he still hadn't had top surgery but he's way more open about it, with the binding showing through the neck of the jacket now where he would have never dared to hint at it before,,, another thing about how he doesn't care about people's opinions and perceptions and standards anymore, he wants to say fuck you as much to everything in the system as he can and also piss people off while he's at it and a trans antihero/villain is a surefire way to do that. His dhoti is basically a dhoti pant, modified a bit bc i liked it

He has payals on his feet that make a faint chhan chhan noise when he approaches which has creepiness and cuteness potential imo I basically turned the prowler logo into his dhoti belt buckle askjdsjk

It's also slightly modified to mimic a trishul or even a diya shape, up for interpretation either way, bc trishuls are a symbol of Shiva, god of destruction, and diyas are a symbol of light in the darkness and the need to find it Also the chain around the dhoti at his hips is both a reference to decorative dhoti chain accessories and the lil things on it are his modified grenades that he uses for arson, bc Prowler Pav is big on arson and murder ajajsjsj

Prowler Claws -

His bangles/claws were hands down my favourite part to design!!

So his claws are of course his original spiderman bangles modified into the prowler claws But i based them on three weapons, each of which means something interesting for Pavitr

The first is bagh nakh. Literally translates to "tiger claws", famously used in a legend of Shivaji Maharaj They usually curl into the palm instead of going between the fingers like they do for Pav, but they're basically metal claws wound secretly around your hand for a sneak attack It's associated with bravery and righteous rage bc of Shivaji Maharaj but it's also really associated with stealth and an attack from unexpected quarters, being stabbed from a side no one saw coming. Which. Pavitr. The perfect hero, becoming the Prowler. Come on

Second is the trishul, aka trident That's the reason there are three prongs to his claw Trishul is the symbol of the god Shiva, and as i mentioned he's the god of destruction, as in he's part of the main triumvirate of gods who focus on creation preservation and destruction He also is really really associated with rage, especially destructive rage; he has a whole dance called the tandava for his rage which is a Huge Deal I can't stress this enough And because Prowler Pav is a being fuelled by rage against a system that has hurt so many including him that he wants to destroy and see burned, it is perfect for him The trishul is also seen as a symbol of goddess Kali, who's similar in the destruction goddess aspect and also is literally an embodiment of rage and violence that cannot be controlled which is more the theme I started out with, but whichever you notice first, it works either way. There's a whole myth in fact where Shiva had to lie beneath her feet to stop her destructive rampage before it ended the world.

And lastly, the urumi, aka the whip sword from Kerala Basically each of Prowler Pav's claws extend into whip swords when he does the swing/slash/whip motion This is really interesting at least to me, bc it means 2 things: 1) Pav still remembers and is actively using some of his skillset from swinging around as Spiderman. He does use the urumis to curl around distant objects and swing too, and they are very lethal weapons when used right, and that use requires a lot of skill, huge parts of which he built up by his experience 2) This is a weapon which requires an unimaginable amount of control, precision and strength And Pav is doing all that So all of his actions, every movement, is very deliberate and thought out. He's not doing any of this - turning away from heroism, becoming the Prowler, using these lethal weapons - on a whim. They are all very very deliberate.

Also one more thing - the blades of his claws are all retractable ofc But they are not protected or anything They slice up his palms and the in-betweens of his fingers whenever he uses them,, especially when he uses them as urumis And it would be so easy to fix the design or make gloves or smth so they don't do that But he doesn't ever do it He could make it so his hands don't bleed on using his claws But he doesn't want to

He is an angsty boyo...

Mask -

The eyes are ofc like the prowler mask design except I made them more curved and curled at the end bc that's a kind of shape often seen in traditional art of the headdress of Kali, goddess of uncontrollable violence as I've said before Then the part between them is meant to be based off a third eye, which is something both Shiva and Kali have. It opens at the height of their rage, it's meant to symbolise destructive fury for them both Although it's also used in an all seeing context otherwise but a lot of whitewashed bullshit is also there that dilutes sources to find connotations His theyyam-based tusks from his Spider-Man mask, I wanted to keep

The shape below the eyes is based off the noses in masks in various regional Indian tribal and traditional masks,,, a lot of them tend to have a very distinctive curly nose shape that I wanted to keep, a lot of these masks also depict rage or are intimidating and are very emotive And then ofc you have the bottom of the mask, I made the curved-ish cut based on the peacock-feather-y shape i was using but it's also based on the general shape of Kali's lips in traditional art where she has her tongue out, it's a big symbol of her rage and rampage I tried to put the tongue too but it looked awkward and honestly i thought it would be cooler to jsut leave the bottom half of the mask open and you can see Pav's mouth and his expressions through it a bit instead, in the spirit of that And also it's based a little bit off Krrish's mask, you can never escape the Krrish design Also there's the lil teeth. Those are often used in art for demons and animals,, and Prowler Pav is very cat coded in his behaviour in general tbh. He's like if an orange cat's fur got burned to black.

Anyway, so yeah, that's him!

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tsukimefuku · 23 days

Text

Toxic endeavors

You and Higuruma are on your third mission, and you save him from getting injured, putting yourself in harm's way as you do so.

tags: Jujutsu Kaisen, f!reader, angst, canon-typical violence.

wc: 2.4K

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles related to Nanami x Reader x Higuruma. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots and short stories, please visit my masterlist :)

Disclaimer: these stories are NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

"How truly relevant is the job of a sorcerer?" Higuruma asked as you both walked down the corridor of a closed school.

"What do you mean?" You inquired, looking around for any sign of the curse you were both sent out to exorcize. Gladly, this curse had been detected by one of the windows before anyone went missing, which was a rare occurrence. You thought this had already started off pretty good, and all could be smooth sailing from there.

It wouldn't be.

"What I mean to say is that curses spawn cyclically, from what you and other sorcerers have told me, right?"

"Hm, yes?" You replied, unsure where he intended to lead this conversation. His rants usually arrived to cynical, pessimistic or nihilistic conclusions, though, as you had noticed from previous interactions.

"So, considering curses will always keep spawning, why do we bother sending people to die facing them?" Higuruma finally posed the question. "This is an incredibly risky line of work, after all."

"Because curses don't just disappear, they have to be exorcized. Otherwise, more people might die due to cursed activity."

"From what I could gather, there aren't that many jujutsu sorcerers, and the quantity of people disappearing due to cursed activity has stayed the same, even with Jujutsu sorcerers numbers increasing. I think it's fair to say we don't make a dent" Higuruma replied nonchalantly.

You sighed. "You might have a point. Even so, our job is to exorcize curses, and I don't see a downfall to that activity in and of itself. I mean..." you shrugged, "exorcizing curses is just that, exorcizing curses. Not saving lives or anything of the sort. Getting rid of the literal corporeal manifestation of bad feelings is surely something good to be doing."

He sighed heavily.

"Hey, I like it just as much as you do" you said.

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes. I'm here working for Jujutsu High somewhat against my own volition too. Not the same as you," you remarked, briefly looking at Higuruma, "but trust me, I would rather be doing something else with my time. Maybe even exorcizing curses, but not for them."

That poked just a little at his curiosity, but he didn't pay enough mind to it in order to ask you for further information. Higuruma still felt awkward to be working alongside someone he had nearly killed, and on top of that, from what he learned, had saved his life shortly after.

"What about this Jujutsu High, or Jujutsu Tech? Why are they in charge of making decisions regarding jujutsu and curses?" Higuruma asked.

"Beats me, I have no idea. What I know is that their headmaster, so to speak, has been building this alongside some very powerful clans for some centuries. That's about it."

He kept silent, and the awkward silence entangled the both of you.

"Let's just get the job done and get out of here" you concluded.

Shortly after, you both heard some noise coming from the floor above, and you looked at Higuruma as he increased the length of his gavel, turning it into a mid-range weapon. You conjured some grenades and kept them between your fingers, walking towards the stairs. The two of you stepped up quietly, and peered up.

Sliding on the ground, there was a purple creature with many tentacles and yellow eyes all over its body. As it moved, its tentacles were leaving some greenish substance all over the floor and walls.

It definitely rang some alarm bells in your head.

However, before you could talk to him, Higuruma had already jumped over to the top of the stairs and was lunging towards the curse, doing something he had been so accustomed to do by this point.

I could kill him myself with my bare hands right now.

Being a prodigy regarding his sorcerer abilities, Higuruma had exorcized successfully multiple high grade curses around Morioka before you found him. So his usual instinct by now was to charge against any found curse without assessing much about the situation. You had already warned him the previous two missions you both went together, having to run around trying to accompany him while Higuruma swung his gavel, tearing multiple holes and wounds on each and every curse along the way. He'd forget, many times, that the thing ricocheted, and almost hit you twice on your last mission.

"For fuck's sake, Higuruma! Wait up!" You yelled, jumping over and running towards him.

"'Let's just get the job done', right?!" He yelled back, swirling his weapon — now his size — to crush the curse on the ground. Yet, before he did so, the curse squirmed around with its tentacles, pinning itself to the ceiling, leaving a green trail of slobber on the walls as it did.

"Be careful!"

You suspected what the green goo oozing out the curse's tentacles might be, and you'd be proven right in just a few moments.

"Why?!" He shouted back, getting ready to propel himself upwards with his weapon. You were nearing him when the cursed spirit flung one of its tentacles in his direction, and you could see that it was covered in stings, spitting the green substance on its bottom side.

"Get away!" You yelled, as you pushed him out of the tentacle's trajectory. However, it wrapped around your arm before you could pull it back, and the spears pierced your skin, pumping your blood with cursed poison. Another tentacle came down rapidly and whipped your face, leaving a few cuts behind.

You let out a pained grunt before conjuring one of your grenades with your other hand and grabbing the thing that was around your arm, exploding it.

Underneath, your arm was bloody and starting to turn purple.

He looked at your arm and then at you. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm fucking not!" You gnarled, feeling the poison pumping through your veins like corrosive acid. You figured you'd only have some seconds before losing control over your muscles, given they were already twitching, so you mustered the strength to summon multiple grenades, throwing some of them upwards with one hand. As the curse tried to do the same move, sliding down towards the stairs you both came from to avoid impact, you threw the remainder of them in its direction, hitting the curse full force with the blasts. It was exorcized in an instant, leaving nothing but some bits and pieces around that slowly dissipated away.

This was the first time Higuruma actually witnessed you using your innate cursed technique with this much power, worthy of a Grade 1 sorcerer from what he had learned, and figured you wanted to end this quickly.

In your previous missions, you had let him beat the curses into oblivion, taking the time he needed to — which was fast, but not this fast. He thought you did so just to let him earn his 'pay', but now Higuruma figured that he had made it impossible for you to fight properly alongside him.

When he put himself in between you and the curses, just advancing without coordinating moves with you, you'd be unable to use an explosion technique like this without seriously injuring him.

Huffing, you tried walking, but your legs began failing you. Your body was about to fall when Higuruma hurried himself to hold you before you did.

"Take me b-back to Jujutsu High right n-now" you said, voice breaking at the burning sensation all throughout your body, as you tried your best to use your RCT to protect your organs, muscles, and bones from corroding or malfunctioning due to the poison.

Using RCT to deal with poison was very tricky, so the best strategy was protection of your own body while it worn out instead of trying to separate the poison from your blood and tissues, which required a super fine control of cursed energy that you absolutely could not do in this state.

He nodded, picking you up in his arms, feeling a pit of guilt forming in his gut. If he had waited before charging in, then maybe this could all have been avoided.

I'm an idiot.

***

"And here you are again, it seems" Shoko said, as she prepped a drip with analgesics while you healed yourself.

You nodded, chuckling softly, feeling every nerve in your body burn painfully in response. You were covered in cold sweat, had your jaw clenched and looked like 2 steps away from perishing. Even with your RCT, the poison had burned some damage through your body, and you knew you'd be facing a gnarly recovery period.

"Yeah, but this time it wasn't completely intentional" was all you mustered up the strength to say.

"I guess that's what people call 'an accident', then" Shoko answered, before she sighed. After she finally inserted the needle in your arm, securing it, Shoko stepped back, and said, "if your RCT starts to run out, let me know, I'll take over so you can rest."

You hummed in accordance, and she removed her gloves, throwing them in the trash before coming out of your room and closing the door. Outside, Higuruma sat, leaning his body lazily against the wall behind him.

"It's my fault, she pushed me out of harm's way because I was being careless," he mindlessly said to Shoko, "just like every damn thing that brought me here. It's all my fault."

Shoko scoffed, putting one hand on her pocket to search for her cigarettes.

"Feeling guilty is not healing her faster" Shoko said, looking straight at him.

Higuruma was slightly surprised at her comment.

Shoko proceeded, "carrying guilt like that because of some sense of penitence only leads to things like these. People get hurt while you're taking your time reveling in your guilt, acting recklessly. Do better."

Pursing his lips, he looked at the floor, embarrassed for the consequence of his actions. This guilt of ending up harming someone and endangering their life had him finally grasping upon the feelings he had buried deep shortly after killing the judge and the prosecutor.

It felt awful.

It seemed his humanity was slowly being rescued from the depths of his apathetic state, after all.

Both Shoko and Higuruma noticed some steps as someone approached them.

"Where is she? What happened?"

Higuruma heard a male voice and looked upwards, seeing a tall blond man with a blue formal shirt, equally formal beige pants and green goggles. One of his hands was wrapped up with what seemed like a yellow cloth with a black splatter pattern — was it a tie? — and he had a brown leather harness on his upper body, seemingly used to carry something in his back.

"She's stable, and as fine as she could be fighting cursed poison" Shoko replied, finally managing to fish out her pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

"It's my fault. She took the damage to save me" Higuruma said, looking at the man. "I'm Higuruma."

Nanami glared at him, knowing full well who it was. This was the curse user that had endangered your life when you went to take him into custody. Nanami had absolutely no idea why you thought you should save this man from execution, but held himself begrudgingly from making any especially harsh remarks as you tried to help the man.

"Nanami" he answered unceremoniously, still glaring at the other sorcerer. "If you plan to keep working for Jujutsu High in order to ease your punishment, then be considerate of your colleagues. We don't do well with recklessness in the field, as it can get other people killed."

The ratio sorcerer stabbed each word at Higuruma with a frosty bite of anger as he spoke.

Higuruma lowered his head and sighed. "You're right. I apologize."

Nanami scoffed silently. "You should apologize to her, and probably be grateful as well. It seems she might have saved you from many things, and not just from getting hit with cursed poison" he concluded, while getting into the room and closing the door behind him.

"Congratulations, you just earned your first Nanami lecture" Shoko chimed in, while calmly walking away. She stopped, however, and turned one last time to face Higuruma.

"Hm?"

"You should really thank her. She's really doing more than anyone here would do to help you."

"Why, though? Why did she help me?" He inquired, not really keen on asking you the same thing. Coming back into contact with his feelings rather than keep embracing apathy, like he had been ever since killing those people, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Shoko shrugged. "No idea. I think it's because she's the martyr and good-hearted type" she said, while sighing. "Just... Don't be an ass" Shoko stated, right before finally stepping away.

***

"May I come in?" Higuruma asked, uncertain, as he stood by your door after Nanami left.

You rolled your eyes, ready to ask him to leave, but pondered for a moment. Looking back at the sorcerer, you noticed his usual lackadaisical expression had been chipped away, replaced by a somewhat worried frown.

"Fine, come in" you answered, still accompanying him with your eyes.

He walked in and sat on a chair by your bedside, with bated breath, as you glanced at him curious about what he wanted to speak.

You were almost at your wit's end with the man. He had been nothing but an irresponsible, inconsiderate jackass ever since you got his death sentence suspended with Gojo's help. You understood and sympathized with his contempt for corrupt powers in place, being yourself someone carrying such types of feelings most of the time.

However, it got you beyond angry the way he simply disregarded anyone's well-being and efforts when proceeding with the terms of his 'parole'. You were to work together, you were supposed to shepherd him, and even so, all he had done up until this point was endangering the both of you at the battlefield.

"I apologize" Higuruma said, earnestly, looking down.

"Hm. For what?" You inquired, wanting a proper apology.

"For my irresponsibility. And for attacking you the first time we crossed paths. Also for acting in a way in our previous missions that made your job of shepherding me harder than it should be" he said, sighing after. "I’m sorry."

Your anger had diminished, and you took a few moments before addressing him.

"I accept your apology, but you’ll definitely have to do better than you have been doing. Do you understand? I can’t have by my side a reckless, suicidal maniac. It’s a liability not only for you, but for me too."

Higuruma nodded, lifting his gaze to look at you.

"I understand."

"Do we have a deal?" You said, sliding your good hand under the gurney's side support grip for a makeshift handshake.

He took your hand in his, and avoided moving it too much, while he felt his tense body slightly relax as he did.

We have a deal.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #higuruma hiromi #jjk higuruma #jjk imagines #jjk hiromi #hiromi jjk #hiromi higuruma #higuruma #jujutsu kaisen higuruma #higuruma x reader #hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma x y/n #higuruma x you

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kit-williams · 3 months

Text

Glaubenskraft

The big Black Legion/Luna Wolf story. Because of the dark nature of this story aka the rape and other heavy themes like with other dark themed stories there is no use of you or I. There will be an OC that is going to be sent into the dark depths. I will say this with scensarity. When I write for 40k I do take advantage of the grimdarkness of the far future. You are all probably aware of this if you've read a lot of what I write. This is one of the fics I pushed to the limit. I'm also going to apologize for combat scenes I'm not very good at them.

tw: Rape (dead dove do not eat), Forced Pregnancy, some mind break, stockholm syndrome, Breeding and impregnation talk and kinks, clothed male unclothed female for one part, and please let me know if there is something I have missed

Zhur Painbane

Dolli Quest: purple eyes, prosthetic left leg, prosthetic left hand, scars on her arms, large aquilia tattoo on her back from shoulder to shoulder, red hair

Cadia would fall... it was inevitable really. The crusade would succeed but Zhur Painbane was simply here to cause terror within the Cadian trenches as they push hard. His furred cape was black and sooty still hanging together since the days he was a Luna Wolf... a faded wolf head holding the center red gem on his chest. His golden mask turned upward as the booming crack across the sky as the Maelstrom seemed to lash out against the Imperials.

They were trying to surround him. How cute. He thought as they shot at him with heavy munition.

"Dolli call artillery!" He heard someone shout. As his head whips to the soon to be dead Cadian shooting him in his head!

"Yes Sir!" She shouts as she forces Zhur to snarl and reel back slightly to avoid a shot in the eye lens. You're going to die slowly little rabbit. Though he might have fun with that one... he enjoys the shape of her face... the strong jaw and the vibrant amethyst eyes that practically glow. Zhur wants to see that face of hers look hopeless.

He began the quick slaughter as he watched her run down a section of the trench, hopping over holes and dead bodies. When she got far enough... he shot a few rounds and rushed after her.

Dolli got the radio warning of the Chaos Space Marine on her tail. She unloaded a few hand grenades feeling them blow up behind her and causing a chain reaction with unexploded ordinance behind her or grenades. Even the heat of that behind her kept her going as she knew he would be right there. She slid herself to the vox. "This is Vox Alfa 4 fire on our position. We have a Charlie Sierra Mike running through the trench. Emperor Protect our souls."

"Emperor Protects." Was all she got on the other end of the line.

The heavy and chunky thud of her rifle bought her a few seconds as he rushed down upon her. She pressed the barrel of her gun to his throat and pulled the trigger several times. His head jerking back as she barely missed his vocal cords and spinal cord. Snarling as those black and gold fingers dug into the blood filled mud as she overcharged her las and burned several holes into his arm. She kept him on his toes as he played with his food... Dolli knew he was playing with her... she just had to be enough fun.

Zhur heard the whistling and tackled her into the bunker nearby as the earth shaking rounds threw dirt into the air. He was snarling as he could feel his organs shutter. He ground his sharp teeth looking at the body under him. He wasn't a dedicated slannshi to fuck a warm corpse. His fingers cupped her chin as he looked at her, nose and ears bleeding from the explosions and most likely ruptured her organs.

He turned away and walked toward the entrance. She would have made a fine subject to his experiment... a refinement to Honsou's design. Honsou was onto something but he did it wrong... the human body is already capable of flushing out the rejects naturally. Zhur was on the cusp of success... just the last female he had went insane and had died outside of his control but she gave birth to what was essentially a space marine.

Dolli pulled out her knife as she looked at the space marine just standing there. She was going to die... she accepted this... but if she could be the reason this traitor dies she could be happy with it.

Zhur snarled as the knife buried itself into his side and he heard the mechanics of a priming grenade. His honey brown eyes flicked to his side seeing Dolli there with her hand on the knife and the grenade in her hand. She was making a reach to try and tangle herself against his armor.

Dolli doesn't know what happened exactly in that moment as she had stabbed him and was ready to meet the Emperor. The next moment the grenade was out of her hand and her breath was knocked out of her as she felt herself being cradled. Had a loyalist space marine come and saved her? No... it was still black and gold armor against her... NO... NO NO NO NO NO. Dolli began to thrash as nothing good ever came of being saved by a Black Legionary.

He snarled over his vox down at her as she realized her hand holding the grenade was gone and she didn't feel the way he just cut the metal off. "You little bitch. Thought you could get the drop on me?" He snarled as he began to rip the leather and thick cloth of her trousers, crushing the metal and the armor plates on them.

She kicks and tried to slam her prosthetic leg into him trying to get it to go beyond what it was suppose to do. She could hope it would decide to kick a hole in his chest but so far that wasn't happening. "Die in a hole you filthy traitorous scum!" She spits and snarls at him. Dolli had a dreaded feeling of what was going to happen she tries to grab her knife but he throws it away. Its a horror of the battlefield no one talks about... well when one of the enemy's entire perversion is sex... she remembers being warned as a little girl what could happen. She remembers how many of her friends couldn't stomach the idea... it wasn't guaranteed that it might happen... most likely you'd be blown apart but... the thought that you could be an unlucky victim. Dolli never thought it would be her.

Agent Quest?

"Behave!" Snarled Zhur as he grabbed her organic leg and threatened to snap it.

"No!" She screamed back as Zhur pressed his hand down on her stomach as he pushed himself between her legs and pulled his cock out. Zhur would play nicer after this... if she survived.

For Dolli she gritted her teeth as she could feel the cockhead pressing hard against her entrance. She couldn't even kill herself to save herself from this... either it would be a slow painful death via internal bleeding or she would be found later... discharged and always given pitied looks as if there was some sign around her neck that everyone could notice that she had been defiled by a traitorous and tainted space marine.

Zhur watches her face... he expects that fire to go out... to see that delicious helplessness... the begging and pleading for mercy where it wouldn't be found. Instead he found a fire... warp fire in her amethyst eyes. How she was still snarling at him... she looked like one of the corpse emperors living saints right now... the way her eyes glow with righteous anger... the paleness of her skin smeared with dirt and blood... how her hair is splayed out making a halo a dirty halo full of dirt, blood, sweat, and soot. Zhur snarls as he pushes into the unwilling cunt.

Tears prick the corner of her eyes as she could feel it all and the pained cry as he forced himself into her dry. She hissed with pain as he bobbed his hips working each painful inch deeper into her sex.

Mattis go get the others she's having an episode.

Mom?

Mattis go!

Mum please... wake up.

Zhur felt himself bottom out and moaned. He let her cunt spaz about him as blood, his pre cum, her piss, and her own forced arousal helped get him this far. He leaned his head back and savored the feeling of her around him. She glared up at him with wet eyes still looking like a fallen saint. Zhur was hardly a word bearer but perhaps he had found someone who was chosen by the corpse... he grins at the thought of stealing her away from him.

"Oh I think I'm going to do more than just fuck you till I feel better... there will still be that." He moved his hand to her throat as he had to be gentle given he was still fully armored as she was at an awkward angle. "I'm still mad at you little mortal... I didn't appreciate the headshots and nearly taking out an eye." He chuckled as she replied with a snarl.

"You are going to be part of something much more than yourself."

"Fuck you! The Emperor protects me and I will never join Chaos!" She screamed causing him to laugh.

"Silly mortal. I'm currently fucking you and who says I need you to join. Oh what will be happening to you... please do pray. Pray to him and let him see what will happen to you." He purred as he was kind enough to let her adjust to him as he enjoyed the feeling between her thighs.

Dolli refused to scream... refused to cry as she just glared up at the grunting marine above her. She tried to focus on the distant gun shots and explosions instead of the lurid wet squelches that was starting to happen. The wet fapping noise as she felt herself become aroused. Remembering the woman from that class explain that it could happen... its nothing about want... sometimes the body is like a machine and when something goes in there it reacts like how it is suppose to.

For Zhur he was panting and grunting and growling above her jerking her hips to his over and over again...

What's going on?

Mum is having an episode.

Mama's done so well... what triggered it?

I don't know Zekyr!

Calm down Naxos.

... it felt like heaven between her thighs. Oh yes he was going to keep her. Zhur felt so warm inside of his armor as he started to jerk her hips faster. Oh yes he was bringing her back. Zhur groaned as he pulled her tightly against him and spilled inside of her.

For Dolli she didn't know what to expect next... she couldn't stop her thrashing as he grabbed her head and slammed it down. Making everything go dark.

However there was no throne to greet her in the dark. Just a whisper... I'm sorry. The weight of those words sat like a stone in her stomach as she knew she was still alive. Her eyes opened for brief moments... all she could see was black and gold... profane shapes that hurt her eyes... twisted individuals draped in skin... someone touching her face and grabbing at her aquilia before she saw them turn to red paste as the space marine holding her snarled something in a foul tongue.

Dolli felt sore... there was a throbbing in her face... the throbbing between her legs... she wasn't on a shitty medical cot. Dolli was on a soft bed... she opened her eyes she was naked save for her aquilia... her leg prosthetic was missing as was the reminder of her forearm prosthetic. She had been cleaned and that feeling made her feel sick as she had an idea who... seeing hickies blooming on her thigh and one of her breasts.

"Ah welcome back." A clear voice purred to her. Honey brown eyes looked at her from a face that seemed to have some 5 o'clock shadow growing in with short neat black hair shaved to a military standard. His canines were long and so was his tongue but he was dressed in a black compression shirt and some shorts. Dolli was confused... she would have mistaken him for an Ultramarine or even a Blood Angel if it was not for the star of chaos on the door. "So Dolli, that is your name if I remember right. I'm going to tell you what is going to happen."

She looked at him unimpressed, "I assume rape me again and twist me to Chaos?" She said before spitting at him.

Zhur liked his little wife clean. Her hair was a deep red that looked better clean... oh he was eager to see it long and see it pool under her head like a blood pool. "Oh perhaps if you continue to resist it will be rape. But no... in fact I want you to try to resist... I want you to cling to the Emperor as long as you can as I think I like your fire. But no... you're going to help me make more space marines." He said running his tongue over his teeth looking at her on his bed.

Zhur quickly realized when he became a Luna wolf all those years ago that he felt a deep longing for something... he should have been like his brother... having a wife on his hip to come home to... he wanted that. He didn't know why he did and perhaps if everything had succeeded and the Astartes were no longer needed he would have settled down, probably several times given his life span, and had his own wife on his hip. He couldn't explain the deep covetous need it bloomed into and seeing Dolli clean and laying on his bed once again triggered that need.

Lucky for him... she would be the first test of what was his final plan for an improved demoncubula. Though less demons involved and a lot more dark mechanicus involvement and flesh shaping psykers. "No snide comment on that?" Zhur says tilting his head to the side before continuing, "You see I realized that getting pregnant was hard as was staying pregnant... the human body is very good at detecting genetic defects and reabsorbs the fetus'... oh look at me explaining your biology to you." He coos softly as he walks closer, "You are going to be my little wife. " He grabs her chin as she looks at him with wide eyes, "And we're going to make a happy little family."

"You're insane." She hisses softly.

"Perhaps but that is what happens when you want something so badly you are forced to make it yourself. Your womb will be modified and you will be given an organ called a progenoid that will feed into your modified womb. You will give birth to Astartes whom all they need to do is grow up and get the remainder of their organs with no fear of rejection. You," He cups her face, "Will be my reward."

"What."

"Oh yes I already proved that it worked. But I want to make sure it works for multiple babies..." He crawls on the bed and watches her try to crawl away but he holds her in place, "You will also be modified in a few ways to handle my... hmmm tender affections?" He chuckles softly at his own joke. "A wife must be able to handle her husband isn't that right my little wife?" He groans and Dolli watches as he gets hard.

She pushes against his head but he runs his tongue along the valley of her breasts as he grinds against her, "Oh my little wife I shouldn't... you'll be having surgery soon enough... but I'm so excited." Dolli scratches at him as he pushes his ring finger inside of her this time to try and work her. "See darling I can be nice I'll make you feel good." He pants with perverse pleasure, "You'll make such a good mommy for our boys. Won't you? Yes... say yes... you'll be such a good-"

"Mommy?" Dolli finally blinks as she looks up at pair of bright purple eyes, belonging to her eldest Thallos. She looks around seeing three other concerned looking pairs.

"B-boys. What." She looks down at the railing she is holding onto with a white knuckle grip.

"You were thinking about Da- um Zhur again weren't you?" Thallos says.

"You can still call him Daddy, Da, Dada, Dad, or Father if you want I know you all still hold affection for him." She says with a sigh as they look guilty at that fact. They look like a mashup between Horus and their father with a few features from her. She was happy they all had her eyes... "Boys don't feel guilty for what your father did." She no longer flinches when calling him that... she hardly realizes she calls Zhur their father.

Dolli Quest was now an inquisition member along with her four boys... Thallos Quest, Naxos Quest, Zekyr Quest, and Mattis Quest. They were an unidentified 4 man astartes group that just would affectionately refer to their inquisition liaison as mother sometimes. That was the cover the Inquisitor gave her... she couldn't help herself as they were her boys. Zhur gave her four little angels that she loved so much... they were a happy little family.

Dolli knew something in her broke during her time with Zhur... she never fell to chaos even during what eventually turned out to be century with him. But, she was the one who wanted Mattis... she seduced him to give her one more little boy. She was scared that they would have to leave Mattis behind given how close he was to his father when Thallos wanted to help her escape.

She pulled Thallos close before opening her other arm and feeling her boys get close. "I love you four so much... don't ever think I don't... I love you all from the tops of your heads to the bottom of your toes... to the sky above... and the earth below... to the stars beyond... and forever and ever after." She whispered to them kissing their cheeks or foreheads as she let tears fall. Dolli broke... because she couldn't find it in her heart to hate Zhur anymore.

However, she wouldn't go back... she was a loyal Imperial citizen! She wiped her face and straightened up, "Alright boys we've got a mission!"

------

Mattis was a good boy... all of his sons were good boys in his eyes. But Mattis could not keep anything hidden from his father. It is how he learned about Thallos' plan to steal his mother away. Only reason Zhur allowed it and in fact helped it succeed was because he was going on a long deployment and had a feeling someone was going to try to kill his precious little wife. The last kiss he gave her still warmed his lips... the uncertainty in her eyes... nearly giving up the ghost herself it would seem.

Zhur smiled as he watched on the screen as he could see his Dolli! She walked with her retinue and their sons. Zhur keeps telling himself that he allowed this... he allowed all of this... but really the separation was killing him now. He wanted his boys back... he wanted his wife back. He inhales hard and calms his eager voice as he connects to the private family vox channel and purrs out, "Daddy's home"

Thallos: Mommy

Naxos: Mum

Zekyr: Mama

Mattis: Mom

#tw: rape #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: forced breeding #tw: forced pregnancy #dead dove do not eat #warhammer 40k #tw: yandere #Yandere #Yandere Space Marine #Space Marine #Yandere Black Legion #Black Legion #stockhom syndrome #smut #tw: smut

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