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mooshs-crack-headcanons · 28 days ago

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If you're writing for doom now could we get doom slayer's first time with a gender neutral s/o please? Thank you 🙏

I literally did the classic doom guy grin upon opening this ask I was ready and waiting for it and hope this doesn't disappoint!

Disclaimer: Trans masc doom slayer, he's one of those characters I literally don't see as cis so that's my default for him going forward I hope that's alright. Switch Doom Slayer, slight AFAB genitalia terms used for him, and btw also SELF INDULGANT PLOT 🗣

(Gender neutral reader)

Sex is kind of a... touchy subject for him. Just something he never really had much interest in, growing up he always wanted to be military and over his teenage years and into adulthood that was his main focus, his main priority, get good grades and be fit to serve. So he never really did have the time for - that - hell even if he wanted to its not like he really had the skill to so casually talk to people not even fathom getting to know somebody to get into that position in the first place. Not to mention the other factors... with himself, his body, so more ways than one he wasn't at all interested what it had to offer. After all he wanted to be a marine, saving people's lives, that was obviously more important than self pleasure.

But that was... thousands of years ago. And here he was now, the Apex Predator of Hell, the Hellwalker, the Doom Slayer. Still a virgin.

He honestly could give less of a shit, it was a complete understatement of how much of a low list 'priority' (if you could even fucking consider it that) of his considering the unfathomable amount of bullshit he has had to put up through since the Phobos Incident in his original universe.

He's had propositions, all by very ballsy Night Sentinels that actually had the courage to actually come up and talk to him during the rare instances of the Maykrs having him out during non combative down time, still on their leash however, akin to taking a dog on a walk or said dog would bark and growl and snap at the confines of his enclosure dispite the shock collar - and they found that annoying. And a risk.

All propositions he said no to, which he didn't even need Maykr control to decline for, he was much more interested in trying out new weapons the Sentinel barracks provided for him in their training grounds and they were interrupting him getting to play with his new toys. Honestly? It was just rude of them.

And still, after the Ahzrak's crushed head, the Maykrs betrayal, the Sentinel civil war, Valen's betrayal, spending all that unfathomable time with him in that cave, getting shoved in and gasping out of that sarcophagus and continuing his bloody war path it was still the farthest thing from his mind.

Then he met you.

You were... different than people he's met. With how long either people having either fear him, hate him, or respect him but not really as a person but for his strength and conviction instead - you actually took the time to understand him, you actually... treated him like a person. He can't even remember the last time someone did that, probably somewhere in his old ancient life but even still.

He thought at first it was only because he saved your life and gave you a place to stay at the Fortress since you had no where else to since the demons laid your home in ruins, everyone you knew dead - he knows that feeling all too well as well after all. But no, seeing how you carry yourself spoke loud and clear that it wasn't just for base gratitude or some debt, you were kind - genuinely thankful but very kind. With how polite you were to VEGA and how you actually made effort to talk to the Slayer himself, even when he isn't the most social in the world and sometimes his actions could be interpreted as rude: like you speaking to him in one sided conversation as he walks over to his workbench to work on his guns, but he's still listening, hanging on every word you say even if on the outside it's hard to show that. But you keep doing it because you understand that he's listening, never pressuring him to comment on anything until one day he surprises you and does.

Looking back on it he thinks it the first ever thing he's verbally ever said to you, up to this point he's been communicating through slow nods and slight hand gestures. It obviously takes you by surprise as you fall silent in the doorway. He doesn't look all the way back but he glances from the corner of his eye to see the cute flustered look on your face.

Oh you were something truly special.

After everything he's been through it's hard to genuinely scare him anymore, however, coming to terms on his own feelings towards you? Terrified him to death. He recognizes it the mere instant it sets in and it causes a whole body panic within him that his entire being has to stiffen up to contain if not he would completely loose himself.

Scenarios, bloody ones, run through his mind at night for weeks on end. He can't control them, invasive fears that drag him along every time he even thinks of closing his eyes. He's seen so much violence, so much cruelty, so much death. He couldn't imagine what he'd even do with himself if he lost you. But he takes all of it in silent stride, self contained, heavy on his shoulders. Like he always has.

He should've known better you would be quick to catch on. Quick to confront him.

He can't look you in the eye as you address him, asking what's wrong, he's about to set out on a mission with his weapons laid out before him for final assessments to be fully equipped when you've stopped him. There's a knot in his throat as he turns away and is about to pull over the helmet onto his head before you stop him by placing your hands on his arms and tugging them down so you can properly see his face - which only makes the knot swell as he sees you from the corner of his eyes still verting away from you.

You're so... gentle with him he's not exactly sure what to do, his body briefly stiffens all over but his bones simply melt with your warm touch he can't help but slowly relax as you just gently hold him. Your palms are so soft as they come up to greet the roughness of his face, his brows narrow together for a bit before he finds your not directly looking at him either - until you notice he's looking at you and you stare at one another. Your eyes are really pretty.

In a snap the moment ends end you let go of his face and clear your throat, cheeks tinted.

"I know fighting helps you clear your head so I'm sorry for keeping you... just promise you'll come back safe, alright?" You ask him to promise, uneasy he swallows and nods, about to grab his shotgun from off the table next to him before suddenly your hand is back cupping his cheek and pepping a quick kiss on the partnering one by standing on your tiptoes. Before his brain even process it your scurried off to the other room, leaving him standing there.

His hand that was on the shotgun unclasps it and slowly, clumsily, finds it's way onto your kiss.

Oh.

Things are... a little bit different afterwards. Neither of you have really said anything about feelings necessarily out loud but there's more physical affection than before. It scared him, honestly, but if there's one thing about you he's come to really love and appreciate it's exactly how patient and slow you were willing to take things - even if it meant just learning how to hold hands for awhile. His hands are so much bigger than yours, they swamp them when gently he entangles them. He felt like just with your hand alone as if he was holding the entire world.

Kissing was another thing, anxiety sweltering in him the first couple times, but again, thanks to your help it was something else to mentally conquer. He loves kissing you, how soft your lips are, how they taste so nice, it nearly makes him dizzy - makes you dizzy too, hell, smugass in him thinks he just might have a talent for it (he teases, he teases)

Then there was the elephant in the room, the topic he wasn't sure if ever he could come out and say but you had to figure it out on your own one night.

You've helped him treat injuries before, nothing too severe as his body with all thousands of years of Hellic bullshit has adjusted to quite a lot to inhuman degrees, but he was still human at the end of the day. One mission he'd been to careless and too lost in the rage and blood-lust that he had came out with a large gash on his size that would be impossible to treat on the field, the Slayer Suit can only fix so much, so he comes back through the portal pooling with blood that pours out of the wound from his exposed breech in his suit and he can barely only hold on to consciousness to hear your panicked plea out from him before he collapses on the floor.

He wakes up staring at the ceiling of his room, VEGA's voice loud in his ear over the entercom yet muffled until sleep fades from his being bit by bit, last part he hears clearly is stern warnings that he should've listened to the retreat suggestions when the armor faulty was urgently reported - but the last hoard of demons were circling that village, he couldn't just abandon them.

"It appears you didn't hear my suggestion the five times I had sent it. In future reference, would six suffice?" He knows the AI means well but he can't help the cheeky middle finger.

He then looks down to get a proper look at the state of himself, he laid shirtless in bed with bandage wrap around his stomach. Your doing, too human of work to be one of the Fortress' drones. That being said he looks at the deep ugly scars underlining his chest with a deep sigh, his head falling back to the pillow propped under him.

Guess he couldn't make up a freaky cool war story about those, huh? Shit.

His hand itches around the old Tether implant in thought. He should be honest with you, he's always honest with you, he's just... never had to tell anyone, like this anyway, recruitment people for the Marines knew but never really gave a shit he thinks - he was really big and really good with a gun, perfect solider material. Why would they give a shit what's in or not in his pants? But with you it's obviously different.

Speaking of you, the door to his room clicks and slides open automatically as you come in with your arms completely full with the thick and deceptively heavy box of a medkit - on instinct his body moves to get up and go help you carry it only for the sharp stabbing in his side to remind himself of the shape he's in. You quickly set the box down to ease him back properly in bed, which he relents, letting his bones jelly out as he watches you huff through your nose before with an (admittedly cute) growl you lift the box over onto the edge of the bed before popping it open revealing the large packs of blue healing gel and rolls of bandages - treating him did take a lot of resources after all.

"How are you feeling?" You ask, not looking at him directly but he could make out you glancing over at him from the corner of your eye to receive his usual non verbal response; which this time he leaves as a light uneven nod - he wasn't dead. That should be good enough. With one pack of gel in hand you step over closer to his bedside.

"Is it alright if I change your bandages? They're stained now the gels worn off." He looks down at himself, he spots the red tinted spot on the cloth but he stares longer further upwards directly underneath his chest. He swallows then nods once more.

You already did them once why bother asking to do it again? Just do it. He would add if it weren't on the physical strain it takes to speak. But then he realizes how that'd sound and remembers the patience you have with him, this was clearly just a part of it. You undo the bandages off of him and set them off to the side somewhere, his wound still bled from the cracks of the dried blue healing layer that ate slowly to his recovery, normally with regular humans it wouldn't take a whole bunch but he's anything but ordinary so for wounds of this extent he couldn't just shake off it takes several to really do anything to him, or maybe it was because of how adjusted he was to Argent engery long to this point it had the same less effective functionality to him, like taking the same kind of medication every time your sick. But over thousands of years.

You open the pack and begin to lather his side with it, the gel drying and sealing icy cold with that prickling feeling he's use to. Then another pack, and another, and another and so until eventually the area grows numb with full effect. He eases back into the mattress without even realizing he'd tensed up, that being the sign for you to take that enough had been applied and you grab the bandage roll to begin wrapping around him, though making him sit up slightly to get it on more proper.

"Couple more hours it'll need to be reapplied again but it did look much better than it did." You tell him, beginning to put supplies away. It's quiet for a long moment.

"You had me scared, you know? Coming back like that - why didn't you retreat when VEGA told you to?" You don't sound angry at him, you're very calm all things considered, but it still doesn't deter the guilty feeling in his stomach.

"People."

You look at him. So soft and sad it hurts. You reach over and hold his hand.

"You can't help people when you're hurt." He knows. And he knows you know.

"I'm sorry. It was a stupid mistake - adrenaline - got to my head and... moved wrecklessly. It was stupid."

Especially so, he's been doing this for unconceivably long he should know better but he slipped, anger got the better of him and he took to long on an execution to react to a Marauder blade catching him like that, taking advantage of weak point he deliberately left open not wanting to abandon the village to repair his suit. Ignoring VEGA's several warnings. Though, on this level of a fuck up it did make him feel like a rookie Marine again - in a sick and twisted way.

You draw him out of his thoughts and slipping memories when you lean over to press a soft brief kiss to his lips, still holding a comforting squeeze on his hand. Before he can bring himself to respond you rest your head on his chest, still sitting on the edge of the bed beside him but now tucked into him and using him as a pillow. Whatever he was going to say didn't matter then. He looks down at you, how your eyes were lazily closed but still clearly awake, you looked so... delicate, small compared to him. It takes a lot of strength to gather the courage but gently, so he doesn't accidentally harm you, he pats your head.

A passing while it hits him, the dread and discomfort he was feeling about his scars and what they meant had completely faded away. Here you were laying on them, didn't address them once.

...but he had to. It would eat at him if he didn't.

You'd nearly fallen asleep until he gently shakes you awake, pushing you to sit up with serious intent to talk. He tries the best he could explaining, honestly he isn't sure how to explain the exact feeling he's always had since that day Grandma Taggart put him in that Easter dress and it felt horribly wrong and how on the other hand how rightfully good it felt dreaming of being a combat hero just like his great-great grandfather BJ Blazkowicz, the man who literally killed Hitler. Both at the age of nine. He wasn't sure if it made sense, it was how he explained to his parents and they were luckily very supportive, but they were also his parents... so to cut it short your potential reaction terrified him. But it shouldn't, he know it shouldn't, and with how you just look at him confirms that.

"You're still you. You who have all these admirable, brave, kind, heroic-if-not-self-sacrificing aspects. You made yourself. You're the man who saved me and showed me there is still justice in this cruel existence - the man I fell in love with."

He's so distracted of the dam of relief of your support breaking that he nearly doesn't catch the last part you said. Bronze eyes turn wide, lips parted, he looks at you as if he thought himself in a dream and looks to nearly start slapping himself awake until you press another kiss to his lips, this time he stiffs but ultimately melts into it. More relaxed by each second.

When you two pull away there's a haziness in the air, carefully, you move to properly lay at the Slayer's side being mindful of his still present injury only tucked away behind a good couple tight circuits of cloth and wrap your arms around him to take in his warmth, head buried in his neck. The haze grows tiring, sleep creeps heavy on his eyelids and you too seemingly are not that far behind as your yawn is warm on his skin. The lights in the room dim, embarrassing reminder of the AI omnipresent throughout the whole Fortress but particularly now in this room. But nevermind that, he looks down at you and your sleepy form with the desire to speak - however his throat seems to be against him as he strains to, seemingly reached his limit of words tonight. But maybe it was for the best as now he could be up your soft snoring.

He loved you too.

He loves you so much. So much it still terrifies him, however, like always you're there to quell his fears, his doubts, second thoughts, you comfort him in a way he has never been before. You were something so truly special to him. Before long... desires strike.

Very brief at first. Surges that come from sudden touches, grazes, glances. But he's able to quickly shake it off without really realizing it.

...until he does.

He realizes when his touch lingers for a couple moments too longer, his eyes start to wonder when you're not looking, you start visiting his dreams...

He's deeply ashamed of it, so embarrassed with his face a scolding red he doesn't think he's felt in anyway besides letting out extreme rage on the battlefield, speaking of, there's where he takes it out on - either waking up in the dead of night and immediately mad dashing to his training arena to let of steam or if really, really, really bad he'll set off on a quick mission to slaughter some demons in hope to settle himself out.

So, not healthy ways to take care of it. He's aware of that. Still feeling ashamed.

He should've expected you to figure it out at some point, after months of this he's grown unintentionally distant from you, and he should've also expected for you to address it in some way.

Half dressed in his bed wasn't how he would've expected it however.

There seems to be a delay in between his eyes and brain to process the shocking sight before him, you usually always come to greet him when he returns home from demon excursions and you not being there this time is what led him to search without properly stripping off his suit, his boots are practically cement in the ground as he stands in the doorway of what had become in the past year your shared bedroom. But maybe he should've assumed something was up, VEGA had seemed purposely aloof and dense on where you could've been located or what you had been doing when he asked, you two must've planned on this.

...but how could he be upset when you wore one of the baggiest shirts you owned that were pushed up to reveal his boxers underneath around your thighs? He wasn't a religious man but good God.

He doesn't need to be talked into, he wants and needs you, the fear and anxiety is still there and eats at him but he knows with you it's going to be okay - he couldn't do this with anybody else in every universe and realm imaginable but you.

First piece of the armor to come off is the helmet as he stands by the edge of the bed and you up on your knees practically rip it off and toss it across the room to meet him in a feverish kiss. One by one each piece is removed and fallen to the floor with a heavy clunk, leaving him in only the tight black bodysuit he wears underneath. Your lips never part, your fingers find them tight short cropped dark brown hair that your drag him down so you can fall on your back, parting the kiss in heavy breaths as you feel yourself up and let the shirt ride up your stomach to expose more skin, your spine then arches as you softly plea for him to touch you.

He treats you so gently as if one wrong move would break you, he's a big man after all - his hands have ripped and tore through hordes of legions of Hell alone in his self brought bloody crusade against demonkind, they've been twisted, crafted for violence for so long... deep down unknownst to himself he's been desperate for human touch but he's scared to death of not being capable of returning it, even more so of it decaying completely and his affection hurts you - or worse. He kills everything he touches.

That fear is always in the back of his mind even when he tries his damndest to pretend to you it isn't.

His large hands are warm on your skin, traveling and caressing everything he can but nothing too grounded. His face is buried in your neck peppering kisses along the base of your throat, taking in your soft hums and feels almost dizzy with your fingers in his hair encouraging his movements. Your thighs are wrapped tight around his waist as he sat stiff on his knees in between your legs and bent over top of you on the bed.

"Flynn, Flynn," You huff in pleasure, encouraging him to do more - but it hits him... he isn't exactly sure what 'more' is. Okay no, he knows what 'more' is but he doesn't... how does he...? What is he doing?

"Flynn?" As always it doesn't take you long to notice. He stares down at you honest, he tries speaking with no success.

You study his face, your eyes drifting downwards then noticed how his arms holding himself up above you slightly trembled - something he didn't even realize - it clicks for you.

"You haven't... oh." There's several emotions across your face, all in some kind of thought, before you lean up and guide him to reverse your positions: him on his back and you above him.

"I can take care of you if that's okay." He looks at you for a long moment, an inner fight within himself that he succumbs to one side completely, he needed you more than anything.

'Please.' He mouths.

You didn't expect him to be this loud, you know, given how he carries himself normally. And honestly? He didn't either. But he can't help all the noise that slips out, how his chest pants and rocks for breath, the mere instant you touch him - delicately if barely at all your fingers graze at his folds that got him shooting his head back further into the pillow at his head and his thick thighs, marred with centuries old battle scars, tremble upon themselves as he still manages to keep them bowed back for you.

Your touch lit his skin on fire that not even the deepest pits of Hell he's literally has crawled out of out could compare - and you basically hadn't done anything to him yet.

He doesn't falter, you have stopped but he grips on the mattress (mindful he doesn't tear it) underneath him and lightly raises his head up to look at you with large bronze colored eyes.

"..." His mouth hangs open, all of his might he tries to push words out but he physically can't, they knot and bunch up in his throat and stab at him if he further tries pushing it. But it's okay as your hands, so small and delicate compared to his mass, feather-light trace up the churning muscle of his stomach and up to his chest where you gently push him back down.

He looks at you then everything fades, fear, anxieties, everything melts away. Only replaced by calm. He peers down to see how the top of your hand is barely masked by the thick layer of chest hair and he slowly reaches up cup it, make you hold down on him in your palm tight. He was still with you through this... you now in between his legs.

He hums, he groans, whines, and curses through barred teeth as your fingers pump his hole - one or two or three fingers weren't nearly enough so you practically have your whole hand in there fucking him senseless. His body twitches, pulses, almost spasming with his how good he felt but he tries not to make too sudden or harsh of movements not to accidentally hurt you as he is still very much larger than the average human, but it's rather quite difficult when you're treating him this well.

But he needed more.

He wants to plea but physically can't form the words, only pathetic noises left in their wake as his hips bounce to meet your thrusting hand - it felt good, so good that tears blot in his eyes he fails to realize until you bend down to kiss them away. You actually keep kissing, your fingers still keeping quick pace at him, you kiss under his jaw to his neck to his chest to his stomach - lower and lower until your crouched down with your breath so electrifying on his sex as you hover before you completely engulf the fat numb of his clit in your mouth. All struggles of forming words together are completely shoved out.

"FUCk!" He shouts out, eyes wide, underneath him not just the sheets tear but as well as the mattress with claw marks left by his hands.

His chest heaves with every breath he takes, you suck and swirl your tongue around him at the same time still fucking his hole with nearly your entire fist it's easy to be over stimulated but he's hanging on every second in pure ecstasy.

"-more, more, more, more, more-" He huffs, hands clutch tighter onto the tore mattress even if he has the desire to grab ahold of your head to encourage an even faster pace but he's terrified of accidentally hurting you being not in control of his own strength to something so... intense like this. He'd rather you in control of the reigns.

He gasps as he suddenly feels dragged high without warning, the churning that's been building in his stomach snaps and his eyes roll to the back of his head as pleasure like he's never felt before washing over him. His body feels hot, his bones melt, and the only grounded feeling he has is the twitching he's aware of around your soaked hand.

He's wheezing, actually wheezing to catch his breath, feeling starts to return to his body just has you slip your hand out. He looks at you in what he'd probably guess if he were to look at himself as pathetic but you in return look at him soft; small smile on your lips as you meet to kiss him again - letting him have a taste of himself.

"How was that?" You ask.

'Good.' He mouths.

"You okay for more?" He still feels woozy but he nods, a wicked grin flashes across your face.

"Good."

Before he can question it or gather the strength to lift himself up to see what you were pulling from out under the bed he sees its a box. You hand it over to him, who sluggishly finally is able to sit up to open it and-

It was a strap-on.

Oh so you really planned this.

He couldn't help but to laugh at it at first, dumb looking green toy that was at a.... generous size - you called it fitting, he's a big man after all - but you know what? As stupid as it looked? It felt right, on him. Seeing a cock on him, even if it was green (you added green was also his color, so) and seeing your tiny hand stroking around such a big size REALLY starts doing something to him.

You put your mouth on it, even if it technically did nothing seeing your mouth stretch and gag around it really does more to him - even bucks his hips but he controls himself not to accidentally hurt your throat. His moans are low and huffy, completely contrast to the whining mess he was earlier, his eyes fall slacked and lazy as he watches you until you come up gasping for breath.

You've already been out of your shirt but putting his large hands on your hips do you make him take his boxers off you, grabbing and groping handfuls of ass as he goes and you wiggle free to be both completely naked together. The plastic of the strap is warm and wet from your previous activity but it brushes nicely against your thighs before you can't help yourself but rock into it.

"Flynn," You hum and you moan until you grab a hold of it and align it with yourself, hovering over it to look at your lover for one last confirmation. "-ready?"

"Please." He breathily pleads.

You sink yourself so full down onto it that your breath disapates from your body and you forget how to breathe for a second, his touch on you to keep you straddled riding on his waist being the only thing keeping you grounded.

"Are... you alright?" You flash him a dumb grin.

"Yeah. Your dicks huge, you know?"

He looks away from that, clearly flustered. His dick. Validating praises seemed to do something. You keep that in mind. Small movements at first you keep a steady rhythm. He goes along with it, encouraging your movements by his hands guiding your hips with each increasingly wet thrusts.

They grow faster and harder over time, you cooing out praises seem to increase them further until you are no longer in control of the rhythm as you are throughly fucked up and down until suddenly your pushed to your back where you loose control over your own voice. He leans over you, holding your legs up over his shoulders as he fucks you so deep - all previous fears and insecurities he's shown over the night gone, as he finally trusts himself with you, he won't hurt you.

"I love you," He says taking you by complete shock as he hasn't voiced the sentiment out loud before.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I-" Over and over he repeats raspy and strained as his voice tends to be but it means so much to you - you mean so much to him - he choices to fight through whatever pain to make sure it is said loud and clear and is known and you are loudly coming around his cock while he says it to absolutely cement it.

Sweaty and exhausted you two lay in each other's arms once it's all through. Somethings different, yet at the same time it isn't, your skin is so soft under his touch as he traces his fingertips down the width of your back as you're nearly dozed off. It's calm, he has a peace of mind he hasn't had in literally thousands of years - demons the furthest from his mind. It was nice. Really nice. He never wants it to end even though you both know it has to, Hell never quits nor runs dry with demons. But for now? This was more than fine.

Would really like and appreciate to know what you think about what you read in tags on reblogs I absolutely thrive off it, thank you for reading 🫶

#doom #doom the dark ages #doom eternal #doom 2016 #doom slayer #doom guy #doomguy #doom marine #flynn taggart #doom slayer x reader #doom guy x reader #doomguy x reader #doom marine x reader #flynn taggart x reader #mine #n.sfw #sin content #non request related

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