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hughiecampbelle · 3 months

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The Boys Preference: Reacting To Your Tattoos

A/N: I have so many ideas for The Boys cast! Be sure to look out for more posts! I'm updating my request list to include them 😊 I'm sorry I've been a little MIA! I'll be getting back to requests asap! Hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher loves them. This is not the moment to say something, to react, but he definitely takes notice. You got hurt, really hurt, and the only way to save you was for Annie cauterizing your wounds, buying you a little more time. Butcher didn't need to hold you down, you'd already gone limp, losing all color in your face. He begs you to wake up, to stay with them. There was so much blood. So much red. He was covered in it, seeping through his shirt. Your jacket was thrown off, the collar of your shirt torn, ripped, for easier access to your shoulder and they both discovered the tattoos. Your chest, your arm, neck, you were covered. He had a feeling there were far more, wondering why you never showed any of them. You were always so bundled up, he never even questioned it. He warned you this was going to hurt, though he wasn't even sure you could hear him. Still, as Annie's hands grew bright, he cringes, hoping you were too out of it to feel anything, hoping this would all seem like a far away dream. Hoping you won't mind the large scar that will warp your ink.

Hughie is pretty intimidated by them. The Boys are already a scary looking group, but meeting you, he thought you were going to bite off his head. Your body was pretty covered. After getting to know you, he realizes how wrong he was. You're snarky and stubborn, but you're also thoughtful and funny. If it were up to you, you'd never hurt a fly, just Vought. Still, every so often you'll do or say something that reminds him of that first impression, especially when you feel threatened or your friends are threatened. You'll show up with a few new ones, filling in the gaps. When it comes to open wounds you're ready to treat it with a strong drink and duct tape. When it comes to your tattoos, you're meticulous in your aftercare. He's never seen you so serene looking as when you're taking care of them, so gentle. Something about that makes him feel like he shouldn't be witnessing it, but he's grateful that he is. When they're in tricky spots, he's the first to offer to help. He works with nervous hands, afraid he'll do something to ruin it. You just laugh, walking him through it.

Annie knows all about your tattoos. They are, after all, linked to the V in your blood. You didn't start developing them until your late teens, your parents assuming the V they injected was a dud. Images started appearing and with them, your powers. By the time she met you, you were covered. You didn't like showing off to The Boys. You still had a long way to go to gaining their trust. Parading around the fact that you were a Supe wasn't going to help. Still, when it was just you and Annie you were less reluctant to show her. All kinds of images adorned your skin: weapons, insects, animals. You liked the weapons the best. The thing could project itself from your skin as if it were real. In seconds, you had a sword in each hand, as real and sharp as if you'd physically gotten one. The best part? Your skin was indestructible. Every few months, maybe years, a new tattoo would appear, giving you a leg up in the fight against Vought. She thinks you have by far the most interesting powers of any Supe she's met.

M.M. hates them. Because they're linked to the V you got as a baby, he sees them more of a warning than anything else, the way brightly colored animals are poisonous. He hadn't realized the first time you met, what they were from, and you were smart enough not to tell him. It was only when you were fighting for your life did you use your abilities: the circles on the back of your neck, layered, you let out a sonic scream that shattered windows, set off car alarms, and drew blood. The group that had attacked you were coughing it up, it was running down their necks from their ears. M.M. was far enough away not to be affected, but the way he tells it, he was *this* close to having his insides turned to goo. Some were safe enough to run away. The ones who were closer dropped dead with a wet squelch. He trusts you even less for not telling him. When he breaks the news to everyone else, he's shocked to find out that they either knew (like Annie) or they were unfazed, more impressed than anything else, like you'd become this great asset. You apologize profusely, but you know it'll be a long time before he can even look you in the eyes.

Frenchie thinks they're so cool. He went with you once and got one of his own: while you were getting a rather large piece finished, he wants to get a smiley face on his ass cheek. Despite the discomfort, Frenchie's all giggles. He's more than excited to show this off to everyone he decides to moon. You try to tell him how to take care of it, but he waves you off. He's eager to show The Boys. He's lucky it heals properly and by the end of the week, everyone he comes into contact with has seen it. Besides that, his favorite thing is to study the ones you have. They're intricate and beautiful and some of them are pretty silly. You never understood the sentiment that there had to be some grand kind of meaning behind them. If you like it, you get it tattooed. He asks questions about them, most done all over the world or, a couple, in prison. He thinks you look badass, especially when you shed the bulky layers and show off what they normally don't get to see. Your back piece is his favorite. When you're wearing something with a low back, or disregard a shirt completely, he can't help but watch you. You're careful, covering them with clothes or makeup so that whatever illegal thing you're doing can't be traced.

Kimiko asks a lot of questions. Did it hurt? Why that image? What does it mean? How long did it take? You never mind, in fact you like talking about them. You spent enough time getting stabbed, you wanted someone to ask. She especially loves the ones on your hands. They look beautiful as you sign back to her. Some are still a little raised despite how well you took care of them, those are her favorite. She touches them delicately, afraid it might hurt, but you assure her they're all healed. She watches when you're getting changed together, how they move with your skin and muscles. They make her smile knowing you feel so much more at home in your body because of them, something you admitted to her late one night after a few drinks. They help you like yourself, covering up insecurities, making you feel cuter/cooler than you would without them. She's always the first to notice when you get a new one, making a point regardless of the situation to tell you how nice it looks and that she likes it a lot.

Bonus! Homelander thinks they're horrendous. Disgusting. Just another way you've defiled your body. He can't stand to look at them and made sure you understand that. Around him, you keep them covered, either by clothing or makeup. You know better than to draw attention towards them. Regardless of how you acquired them (Compound V or just an aesthetic choice) you know not to bring them up or let anyone else bring them up. A-Train noticed the one of the back of your neck and that put Homelander over the edge. You were both thrown out of the room. You consider yourself more than lucky. He could have killed you, both of you, but he was feeling generous. He had bigger things on his mind. You knew working for Vought would lead to sacrifices, uncomfortable situations, but being interrogated by Homelander about your tattoos was never something you ever considered. He thinks about using his lasers every time he sees them poking out from your sleeve or pants. But he needs you. As long as he needs you, you're safe. The moment you stop being useful, he's going to cut off every individual image until there's nothing left. Until you look normal again.

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annwrites · 5 months

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you missed training ※∴

— pairing: shane walsh x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: shane deems it time for you to have some private target practice lessons with him.

— tags: shane has horny thoughts about you, cuddling, shane actually giving a damn

— tw: guns, suicidal ideation, mentions of masturbation, eating

— word count: 4,773

You shove a clothespin into place before picking up the next item—one of Andrea’s pairs of cargo pants—and jump when you feel a palm against your back, causing you to nearly drop the damp piece of clothing. You clutch it to your chest instead, thankful they won’t need to be rewashed.

You turn to your right where Shane is now standing, palm still firmly in-place against your backside.

“Yes?” You ask as you hang the pants. You then turn fully toward him, causing him to drop his hand.

“You missed training.”

You shrug, bending down to pick up a t-shirt, but he takes it from you, throwing it on the line without clothespins, just to get your attention back on him. “Can you just stop for a minute and look at me?”

You sigh, doing as he’s asked, crossing your arms.

“I asked you to come,” he says, clearly not pleased with you.

“There was work to do.”

He shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips, and you can tell his temper is nearly at its boiling point. Not that it isn't always anymore, it seems.

“That’s always your excuse. For everything. And I’m gettin’ tired of hearin’ it.”

You give him a none-too-pleased look at the attitude now lacing his tone, and go to pick up a pair of clothespins so the shirt can be properly hanged, and not risk being blown away by the wind, but he takes them from you, throwing them back into the basket before grabbing your hand in his and pulling you away from laundry duty.

“Shane-” You start, but he promptly interrupts you.

He turns back to you, your hand still held firmly within his calloused grip. “I am tired of askin’ nicely. This is important, and you’re going to learn whether you like it or not.”

You can feel your face growing warm, your pulse rising. You do not appreciate being made into just one more person he thinks he can boss around as he pleases. “I don’t need lessons.”

He gives you a look which says ‘yeah right’ before releasing your hand and pulling his pistol from its holster. He goes to hand it to you and you take it from him with caution. And don’t you dare think he doesn’t notice the fear with which you handle the weapon with.

“Alright, then. You know everything you need to know, then show me where the safety is.”

You look the sidearm over, looking for the right button, but look up to him in humiliation after a moment. You can’t even find it within yourself to tell him you don’t know.

He crosses his arms. “Show me how to eject the clip, then.”

Once again, you’re not sure which button will do what he’s asked for.

With an exasperated sigh, he takes the gun from you, tucking it back into its holster. “You want to tell me about how you don’t need training again?”

You shift from one foot to the other, refusing to answer.

“Not going to answer me now?”

You look up to him. Into his eyes which are searching yours. You shrug.

Shane hangs his head, shaking it. “Sweetheart, you want to explain to me why you’re so reluctant to learn a new way to defend yourself? A pretty important one?”

You look away from him, to those milling around the camp, talking and laughing amongst themselves. And then you look the other way, to an empty field. Tranquility, solitude. Peace.

“Learning self-defense means that I feel like I still have a life worth defending—worth living. That I feel like I’m worth defending.” You look at him then. “I don’t believe any of that.”

He lets out a low swear. “I thought we were past this.”

“You keep insisting on saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved, Shane. I never asked for you to bring me with you all from the quarry. Never asked for you to drag me out of the CDC. Never asked for you to help me on the highway. I made my choice over and over again and you refuse to accept that.”

He grimaces, his fists tightening at his sides. “Just because you think you’re not worth saving doesn’t mean everybody else has to think that. Because I don’t. Which I’ve proved time and again. You’re-” He rubs his hand over his head, settling it on his hip. “You’re one of the most valuable members of this group. You-”

You interrupt him with a laugh which has no humor behind it. “Valuable? Valuable how, Shane? By doing laundry? By helping make lunch and cleaning out the RV?”

He shakes his head. “It’s more than that and you know it. Just because you don’t see your self-worth doesn’t mean I don’t. Because I do.”

You continue to stare up at him, fighting against the tears threatening to overtake your vision. A tear slips from one of your eyes anyway and he reaches up, gently brushing it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m going to keep saving you until one day I don’t have to anymore. Because you’ve finally made the decision to live. So, are we going to go practice? Because if you tell me no, girl, I’ll just keep on your case about it until-”

“Ok.”

He shuts his mouth suddenly, a small grin gracing his lips. “Yeah?”

“I said ok.”

He jerks his head in the direction of the training area they’d set up some ways off from the house and camp. “C’mon then.”

He places his palm against the small of your back again, leading you away from camp.

The Georgia heat could be insufferable some days, but at least today was a bit cooler, even by a few degrees, with a slight breeze. The sun was low enough for the trees behind the training area to be casting long shadows, shielding you from the sun overhead.

Shane leads you over to a bit of fence that has a row of bottles set up beyond it, along with a couple of targets.

“Alright, here.” He stops you in the middle, the targets all directly beyond where you’re standing.

He removes the gun from its holster again. “This is your safety,” he says, flipping a small switch on the side, a red dot now visibile. He looks at you, and you at him. “Red means fire.” He flips the switch back.

“And this is how you release your clip.” He presses a button on the side and the bottom of the pistol comes out, a row of shiny bullets now visible. “It’s fully loaded.”

He pushes the clip back in.

“You know your stance?”

You shake your head, feeling more and more ignorant with every question he asks. You’d never had a reason to learn these things…before.

“I figured as much,” he says with a smile, coming to stand behind you.

He kicks your feet apart with his boot. “Move your right foot forward some—good, like that. Now, turn.” He grips your hips in both of his hands, firmly, turning your body just the least bit toward the fence. Shane then removes his gun from its holster and holds it out in front of you.

You take the grip in your hands, only just now noticing how heavy it is when you try to hold it up.

The barrel droops and he sighs. “Should’ve brought a lighter pistol, that’s my mistake.”

He reaches up, taking both of your hands in his, helping you hold it steady. “Alright, safety off.”

You find the small switch from earlier and push it down, that small red dot now visible.

“Chamber a round by pulling the slide back.”

You at least know that part, so you do as he instructs. “Good.” He presses his front against your backside, his body heat radiating onto you, causing a few small beads of sweat to form on the back of your neck.

“Make sure to keep your back straight, feet apart. And I want you to grip the gun firmly, but let it breathe. And don’t you ever put your finger on that trigger until you’re ready to fire and know what you’re firing at. You understand?”

You nod.

“Alright, close your left eye, find your target, and when you're ready, put your finger on the trigger and squeeze it slowly. Don’t just start firing off rounds at-will.” You hear a smirk in his voice as he continues “We’re saving that for the advanced course.”

“Given I pass this one,” you add, your tone nervous.

“You’ve got Officer Shane Walsh playin’ teacher to you now, darlin’. I’ll give you a pass.” He shrugs. “Once you’ve earned it.”

You don’t dare to think what he said might have some double-meaning to it.

“Alright, sweetheart. Deep breath, then when you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, slowly let it out, then place your finger over the trigger, his hands still over yours. You squeeze slowly…and miss the bottle you were aiming at entirely.

You nearly curse. “I missed.”

“That was just your first try. You’ll get there.” He readjusts his hands. “We’ve got all day, baby. Just you and me.”

You feel sweat drip down your back. You tell yourself its from the heat. Not his body pressed firmly against yours. Not the pet names slipping so easily from his lips. And certainly not the fact that all of his attention was, at current, focused entirely on you.

He keeps his hands overtop of yours. "Try again, darlin'."

You close one eye, find the bottle you'd aimed at before and fire once again, hitting it this time and shattering it.

You smile. An actual genuine smile. And fill with a small sense of accomlishment.

Shane brings his lips close to your ear. "Good job, honey. Four more to go."

You could swear he presses a brief, light kiss to the side of your head, but brush it off as nothing.

You miss your next three shots—each attempt sloppier than the last and your cheeks feel like they're on fire. Whether from the warmth of his body nearly enveloping yours, the heat of the day, or the humiliation of having missed so many times, you're not sure.

But he'd not gotten aggravated with you yet. "Try again," he instructs softly.

"I-" you start, until he adjusts his stance behind you, briefly gripping one of your hips to fix your footing, causing you to go silent again as his hand skims your bare waist under your shirt.

"You say somethin', sweetheart?"

You shake your head. "I'm just having a hard time concentrating."

Your arms were resting in front of you now, the pistol lowered and gripped in each of your hands, the safety on.

"Somethin' you need to me to do?"

Take a step back and let me breathe, you want to say, but don't. It's impossible to concentrate with your hands all over my body, you consider, but keep your mouth shut. He was just trying to be a good teacher, that was all.

Somehow you doubted he had been this handsy with Patricia or Jimmy, though.

"Could we take a break, maybe?"

He comes to stand at your side. "We only just started. Tell you what, hit another bottle and we'll take a quick break. Can you do that for me?"

You don't answer. You simply raise the pistol again, but before you can even shut one of your eyes, he's pressed right back up against your backside, his arms and hands enveloping your own.

You sigh, squeeze the trigger, and somehow manage to get lucky.

As you take a brief pause, the two of you seated facing each other—both of you leaned back against opposing trees—you try to ignore his staring.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "I'll get you a lighter gun when we get back. Think I know the one for you. Just...not sure if giving you a firearm is the best idea. Right now, at least"

You fidget with your hands in your lap. "Why? Because you think as soon as you hand it to me I'm going to stick it in my mouth?"

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You said it, not me. But yes. Given your past...behavior, you can't blame me for bein' a bit paranoid."

You lean your head back, looking back to the three untouched bottles, mocking you across the way. Had you hit them, you wouldn't be having this conversation right now. "No, I guess I can't."

You don't see him shake his head. "Not even going to try and convince me otherwise?"

You look back to him. "I haven't exactly tried ending my life in incredibly direct ways thus far, Shane. I chose to stay at the quarry, you wouldn't allow that. I chose to stay at the CDC—same result. I collapse on the highway and you nursed me back to health. It's not like I was slitting my wrists or downing bottles of pills. It was more just...whatever happened happened."

"I just wish I knew how the hell to stop it."

The truth was...being here—at the farm—was actually helping. The wide open spaces that were free from walkers. The quiet, slow way of living. Having some sense of security with there being an actual house and barn nearby. Even meeting new people had lifted your spirits. But you were afraid to admit it out loud—that you felt small moments of happiness in this place every now and again. Because as soon as you did? It'd all be ripped away.

But you knew Shane was worried about you. A worry that grew with each day. So you cross your fingers—mentally knock on wood—before you tell him.

"Being here has helped. Being someplace so...untouched. I still have bad days and bad moments, but I feel better here. Lighter, somehow. I don't think about wandering off and ending it all like I did anymore. Now I just...I wish we could make a life here. All of us. But if you keep butting heads with Hershel that dream will end one day."

He studies you for a moment. "Think he's just living with his head in the clouds. Thinking those things aren't what they are. That help is coming. That we'll get past this and things will just return to normal before we know it."

"What does it hurt you to let him believe that? We all had hope like that at one time, too, incase you've forgotten. He hasn't seen what we've seen. Hasn't been through what we've been through. Just...put yourself in his shoes. Wouldn't you be just as blind?"

He shrugs. "Don't think I'd have my head that far in the damn sand."

You're both quiet again. You don't bother arguing further with him. He was stubborn—hard-headed as they came. Trying to make him see reason, or at the very least, another way, was futile more often than not.

"I'm happy to hear it, though. Relieved, really. That you feel better here. Guess we made the right decision by staying."

You flush. "I always wanted to live in a place like this. Quiet, with lots of land, and far away from everyone. Just...peaceful."

"Never did strike me as a city-girl," he says with a smirk.

You hum. "Hardly."

You lean back once again, closing your eyes, just enjoying the breeze blowing through the tall grass, and the birds singing overhead.

Meanwhile, Shane can't take his eyes off of you. Not your flushed face or full lips, your neck, the swell of your breasts under your t-shirt, your round hips, or legs.

He knew it hadn't been entirely necessary—him keeping himself pressed up against you during your first round of training, but the truth was he couldn't keep his damn hands off of you. You were just so damn soft and felt good to grip and touch and slide his hands along.

He'd been thankful you never seemed to notice the swell of his hard cock pressed up against your backside.

He'd not entirely tried to hide it.

He could feel that same erection returning as he admired your body, fantasized about what was underneath all those layers. He adjusts himself as he considers what you might sound like as he traces your curves with his tongue, what you might taste like cumming on it.

He liked to imagine how tight you would feel, clenching around him, milking his body of every last drop of cum he had to give.

Some time, late at night, weeks ago, he'd came—hard—and not with Lori's name on his lips, but yours, as he had his cock fisted tightly in his grip. He'd not even been expecting it, but it'd happened anyway—his thinking of you on your knees, his length in your wet mouth, wide innocent eyes staring up at him as he instructed you on what to do to please him.

After that night, all he did was fantasize about you. He hardly even considered her anymore.

It'd all started after you told him that damn wish of yours from your bucket list—wanting to lose your virginity before you died.

"You thought anymore about it?"

You'd nearly started drifting off to sleep when his voice had woken you. You look at him, a bit dazed and if anything, it turned him on all the more—he took no qualms with that idea. You lying there, limp and relaxed, legs spread for him as he did all the work to get you both off.

"What?" You ask, stretching.

He licks his lips at the sight of your midriff making a brief appearance before your shirt lowers again as you rest your hands in your lap.

"What we talked about a few nights ago on the porch."

You blanch, flushing. "Oh. That."

"Mhm, that. So, you thought about my offer?"

In truth, you had. Once, late at night, hand in your panties, coming away slick after you'd finished tending to yourself.

And then you'd filled with shame at what you'd done. Your family was gone—Sophia was missing, Carl had been shot and nearly died, even Otis, a member of Hershel's own family, had sacrificed himself to ensure the little boy made it.

The list went on and on. And that was what you had decided to use a bit of your spare time for?

Disgraceful. That was the best word you had for it. For yourself.

You shrug. "Not much."

His erection deflates, along with his ego. "Oh."

You look up to him and try to quickly salvage the situation. "It's not that I don't find you attractive, Shane. Of course I do. But like I said before, about Lori-"

He shakes his head. "That's done. Been done since Rick came back from the dead. She's moved on and so have I."

You raise a brow, not really believing him.

He sees the doubt in your expression. “Guess I’ll just have to prove myself to you, then.”

You cross your legs. “Why me, Shane? Why the sudden interest? Why not Andrea or Maggie or-”

He chuckles, glancing down to his lap, one of his thumbs rubbing against the palm of his other hand. He then looks back up to you and shrugs. “I think I’m just the type of guy who needs to feel needed. The two of them, as far as I can tell—at least for the most part—seem to be able to take care of themselves. You? Not so much. Not yet, at least. You need someone to look after you. Guess I appointed myself to that position without even really knowing it. Not at first, at least.”

So he saw you as a damsel in distress. Terrific. You weren’t sure whether you were supposed to feel offended or flattered about it.

“I’m not looking for a knight in shining armor to come save me, Shane. You don’t need to keep making me your problem. You have enough on your hands with-”

He leans his head back with an interrupting sigh. “We’ve had this conversation before. And it didn’t deter me then and it ain’t going to now. You’re not a problem, darlin’. I just want to be the solution, I guess.”

You can’t understand it, why someone like him—intelligent, reliable, with leadership skills, beyond good-looking, and above all a survivor—whatever the cost—has an interest in you. At all.

“What does that mean: be the solution?”

He shrugs, standing. He walks over to you, offering you his hand. “You tell me.”

It’d taken over an hour for you to break the last three bottles, as well as make decent progress firing at the targets. You tell yourself you would’ve gotten done sooner—would’ve done better—had his hands not been all over you again—Shane no longer bothering with ensuring he was touching you only over your clothes, as he’d gripped your bare hips more times than you could count.

And you didn’t want to acknowledge the hard length you’d felt pressed into your backside once or twice. You told yourself he must’ve had another pistol on him, or a knife perhaps. That was all.

More than once, just as you had your target lined up, he’d done something—touched you, whispered something in your ear, shifted his body against yours—causing you to miss entirely. You wondered if it wasn’t just his attempt at dragging your training out for even longer.

When he finally announces that you’re done for the day, you nearly cry from relief. Your arms were sore, as well as your legs from standing in-place for so long, and your head was pounding from how hard you’d been trying to focus on not just hitting your targets, but also responding correctly as Shane drilled you on various parts of the gun in your hands, as well as proper firearm etiquette.

You wondered if he took delight in making you feel flustered and frustrated.

When you finally make it back to camp, you’re thirsty, hungry, and want to take a nap. You begin to wander toward your tent, until you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in another direction.

“Oh no you don’t. You can sleep later. You didn’t bother with eating breakfast, so you’re having lunch, even if I have to hand-feed it to you.”

You look up to Shane and find you don’t have the energy to argue. He drops you off at the nearby picnic table, seated comfortably under a shady tree, and you watch as he steps away to prepare you something to eat.

You nearly laugh from the absurdity of him fixing you a plate for lunch—it seemed so domestic, especially since he was the one doing it—but you’re so tired that all you can manage is lying your head down, your eyes fluttering shut.

You fall asleep near-immediately. Until you’re woken by a plate being dropped in front of you.

“Eat.”

You lift your head, barely, and stare down at the two sandwiches before you, an apple on the side, and a bottle of water. You groan. “I’m tired, Shane.”

“Hand-feeding it is, I guess.”

He picks up a sandwich, which you promptly snatch away from him. “I can feed myself,” you state, taking a bite. Ham and cheese, you quickly figure out.

Shane sits with his legs on either side of the bench, his body facing you, watching as you eat.

You’re too tired to bother feeling self-conscious as you do so directly in front of him. You swallow, briefly glancing to him. “Thank you. For today.”

He nods, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, which had escaped your ponytail. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

He even goes so far as to press a kiss to your forehead. “You did good today, darlin’. I’m proud of you. You have no idea how much.”

You take another bite, smiling to yourself.

Once you’d finished eating—Shane refusing to let you leave the picnic table until you’d finished every last bite, as well as the whole bottle of water—he’d led you over to your tent, which you’d crawled inside of as soon as he opened the flap.

You briefly thought to yourself that the tent was the wrong color and that the interior looked strange, but you didn’t dwell on it too long. Once your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light.

When you wake, it’s in the middle of the night with the urge to pee.

You nearly scream in fear at the feeling of another body pressed up against your own, until you realize just who it belongs to.

Shane.

Why was he in your tent?

And then it dawns on you: you were in his. It’s why everything had seemed so off to you earlier before you laid down. He’d led you to his tent, and had put you to sleep in his bed.

He wasn’t being subtle about what he wanted anymore, clearly.

You didn’t know that you liked this sort of behavior. Him being so forward. Not even asking what you wanted.

Just deciding for you.

On the one hand, part of you just wants to let him—anyone—do all your thinking and decision-making for you. On the other, you were still sure that a part of him cared for Lori. Perhaps more than cared for her. Even if not, he frightened you sometimes. His fiery temper, his hard-headedness. And doing this…right in front of everyone—placing you in his bed in broad daylight—he was staking a claim. It was possessive. And that scared you a little.

You didn’t belong to him. You weren’t sure that you wanted to.

You didn’t wish to read too much into things—into this—but if that was what he wanted: to be with you… All you could think was if you opened yourself up to caring about another person again, you’d lose him just like all the rest.

But being alone hadn’t been easier, either. Closing yourself off emotionally from the rest of the group had lessened your will-to-live significantly. Contact with others was human nature; you were all social creatures. And keeping yourself from having such contact had deepened that well of sadness and loneliness inside of you.

A well you think maybe he’s trying to fill it, in his own way.

Shane had chosen the worst sleeping position for you to try and get out of to relieve yourself. And if you didn’t do so quickly… Suffice to say you’d never have to worry about him wanting you in his bed again.

You were facing his bare chest, your head tucked under his chin, one of his arms thrown over you, holding you firmly against him.

You try to wriggle downward, thinking perhaps you can just slip out of his grip that way, until he moans in his sleep, clutching you even more tightly, a small squeak of surprise escaping your lips.

You briefly press your forehead against his chest, nearly groaning in frustration. You press your thighs together tightly, then do what you have to: you push firmly against his chest, not caring if it wakes him.

Thankfully, however, he releases you, rolling onto his other side.

You’d blush at the fact he was only in his boxers now, and feel angry at the fact you’re only in your panties and a t-shirt—meaning he’d undressed you for bed while you’d been asleep—but you were near-to-bursting at this point.

You quickly exit the tent, grabbing a roll of toilet paper from a basket of supplies nearby and find a tree to relieve yourself behind.

Once you’re finished, you stand, staring at two different tents.

And you hated to admit: that you didn’t know which one to choose.

You were going to have a talk with Shane in the morning about his behavior tonight while you’d been asleep. But right now, all you wanted to do was lie back down—not make decisions. Not think.

And it was chilly out.

You tell yourself, as you zip the tent close, climbing under the blankets and pressing yourself back up against Shane’s chest—as he’d rolled back over in the time you’d been gone—that you’d chosen his simply for his body warmth.

You fight against the small smile that begins to form on your lips as he wraps an arm around you once again, whispering to you, voice slurred from sleep, “I knew you’d come back.”

#fic: twd (shane walsh x reader)#shane walsh imagine #shane walsh x you #shane walsh x reader #twd x you #twd x reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

Note

hi!! 🩷 i've been playing skyrim so much just for comfort and all i can think of is former mercenary könig who now has a farm and a huge house where you have a personal library and a garden and an alchemy table because you're his pretty mage wife <3

or könig who's still a mercenary, this huge scary nord who always has war paint all over his face even with a hood on, only uses two-handed weapons etc. and you're possibly just a mage who needs to explore a bunch of ruins so you have to spend most of your money to hire him and all of your courage to even talk to him about the job in the first place.

SHUT UP I LOVE SKYRIM

Ugh he def proposed to you under the auroras or when you were enjoying a rest at some secret grotto. Held an awkward “I want to spend the rest of my life with you” speech right after you emerged from a stream with nothing on (König stole a glance or two from the banks after promising he wouldn’t look, the big pervert)

He’ll carry anything you give him, and loves it when you make him a homecooked meal <3 Poses as a rough Nord but is always happy to arrive home after adventuring, sleep and fuck you on a cozy comfy bed that has a soft straw mattress with some mountain flowers tucked in it.

Is a bit skeptical about your magic and potions tho, König never understood those things and you dabbling with them makes him think you’re some sort of witch, soon luring him into a trap with your enchanting eyes :/ That’s why it took months before he finally threw caution to the wind and rutted you in the hot springs near Kynesgrove...

He just couldn’t take it anymore, his flirty little mage being such a tease :( Do you even know how many times he had to fap himself to sleep under the furs? ...While you slept soundly not a few feet away, unsuspecting and sweet? Always walked ahead of him so that he had a hard time keeping an eye for the bandits because your ass was swaying right there under his nose >:(

Paws itching to touch you, he especially hated when you sought out a tavern and started to chat with townsfolk or flirt with men to hear rumours. Either cheeky or far too innocent to be travelling with someone like him, you proposed that you pay for single room only and sleep in the same bed to save costs.

Sometimes snuggling closer for some body heat, you didn't get intimidated by the obvious boner soon swelling between you. You even dared to comment on how hairy he was, and fell asleep with a soft smile on your face, pressed snug against his chest. In the morning, you cupped his ass and he had to get a little gruff, warn you that he’ll fuck you until the bed breaks if you’re not careful (that finally got you to your senses, but only for a few days)

He always wanted to build you a proper house, a manor even, steal you away from all the diplomatic nonsense and dangers, he even put some coin to the side so he could someday offer you a safe, happy life away from all this. You could have your own chickens and leeks, he could make you a little alchemy lab too, you’d look so cute perched on some bench with your nose in a book <3 So imagine how his heart soared when you whispered 'yes' to his proposal, König was sure you’d just vaguely tease him about it as per usual!

#JESUS think about how good König would look in Daedric or Wolf armor #which brings to mind #König is probably a member of the Companions #who knows maybe even a werewolf #guards are trying to hint you this by commenting on how your follower smells like a wet dog #what if this guy worships Hircine under the moons while naked and covered in someone else’s blood...#mm yeah just think about it #skyrim meets könig

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entitled-fangirl · 7 months

Text

Two idiots in love. (P3)

Joel Miller x anemic!reader

Summary: the trio find themselves at the home of Bill and Frank, not knowing what became of them.

Warnings: death, cursing, Joel being Joel, Ellie being Ellie, Bill and Frank's story😭

Masterlist

Part 1, Part 4

...............................................

The three neared Bill and Frank's home, the electric fence only a few feet in front of them.

"Stay here."

Joel stepped forward, punching the code into the lock and opening the fence for the girls to step through.

Joel could tell something was off, but Y/N seemed to be in her own little world, her medication finally helping her for once.

"You know, El? I think you'll really like Frank. Actually, I take all of that back… Bill is going to be your favorite."

Ellie scoffs, "What makes you say that?"

Y/N hums, "Cause you like Joel. And they're very much alike."

Joel snorts under his breath at that, but says nothing.

When they neared the house, Y/N stopped as if something was forcing her to the ground.

Joel placed a hand on her lower back, "Sweetheart?"

He followed her gaze, which was locked on the dead potted plant by their doorstep.

He pulled at her reluctant body and moved towards the door. His eyebrows furrowed when he discovered the door was left entirely unlocked.

The house was dead silent.

They all stood in the entryway, Joel's hand holding Y/N's wrist gently. He thought of it as a comfort for her, but deep down he knew it was comfort him too.

Ellie's eyes were wide, "What the fuck?"

Joel stared at the staircase, "Bill?"

Nothing.

"Frank?"

Joel turned to Ellie was a serious gaze and a soft voice, "You stay there. You hear anything, you see anything… yell."

"What if they're gone?"

Joel stopped, his grip on Y/N loosens as he turns back to Ellie was a desperate look before turning back and taking Y/N with him.

The two searched the house with their hearts in their stomachs before they moved back towards the entryway.

Ellie sat in the open room next to it at their dining room table. A note was in her hands.

"It… it's from Bill. Came with this."

She pushed a car key across the table towards them.

Joel took off his backpack. He carefully picked the key up. "So, they're dead?"

Ellie nodded with a soft "Uh-huh."

Y/N let out a soft cry, coving her hands over his mouth to muffle it.

Joel turned to her, his jaw clenched, as he pulled her to him silently. She grabbed the collar of his jacket and cried into his chest.

Ellie held out the note, "You wanna…?"

His hands wrapped around Y/N, one around her waist and the other into her hair. "Go ahead. You do it."

Ellie let out a soft sigh began to read.

August 29, 2023, If you find this, please do not come into the bedroom. We left a window open so the house wouldn't smell, but it will probably be a sight.

Y/N turned her head slightly against Joel's shoulder to watch Ellie as she read. He continued to gently play with her hair.

I'm guessing you found this, Joel because anyone else would've been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps. Hehehehehehehe. Take anything you need. The bunker code is the same as the gate code but in reverse. Anyway, I never liked you, but still, it's like we're friends, almost. And I respect you. So, I'm gonna tell you something because you're probably the only person who will understand.

Joel felt a slight wet feeling on his chest and looked down. The tears were silently falling from his girl's face. His hand ran up from her waist to her cheek, his thumb lightly grazing over it, wiping the tears as they came.

I used to hate the world and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong, because there was one person worth saving. That's what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him. That's why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do, and God help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep-

Ellie stopped, looking back up at them.

Joel moved forward, his hands leaving Y/N as he grabbed the paper from Ellie's hand.

He looked at it.

Tess.

…keep Tess and Y/N safe.

When Y/N moved to look over his shoulder at it, he stood tall. "Stay here."

He stormed out of the house.

Ellie stood up, looking to the woman curiously.

"Leave him, Ellie. He needs time."

…

When he came back in, the two were still at the table, Y/N now sitting in one of the chairs. They both look up at him in question.

But he only looked at Ellie.

"Show me your arm."

She stepped towards him, pulling up her sleeve and showing him her arm.

He sighed, "I just finished makin' a truck battery. It's charging right now."

"..okay?"

"And I have a brother out in Wyoming. He's in some kinda trouble, and I'm heading out there to find him. He used to be a firefly…"

With this, Y/N stood up slowly, joining the two.

"…and my guess is he knows where some of them are out there. Maybe they can get you to wherever this lab is."

Ellie sighed, "Alright. Listen. About Tess…"

Joel held up his hand, not wanting to hear it, and sure as hell not wanting Y/N to hear it.

"If I'm takin' you with me, there's some rule you gotta follow. Rule 1: You don't bring up Tess. Ever."

Y/N noticed the tone in his voice. It was hurt and desperate.

"Matter of fact," he said, "we can just keep our histories to ourselves. Rule 2: you don't tell anyone about your…condition. They see that bite mark, they won't think it through. They'll just shoot you. Rule 3: you do what I say when I say it. We clear?"

There was no way Ellie could say no to the persistent glare he gave her, "Yes."

"Repeat it."

Y/N stepped forward, "Joel.."

He held a hand in front of her, stopping her, "Quiet, sweet girl."

She stopped.

Ellie thought for a moment, the silence deafening, "What you say goes."

Joel sighed, "…okay."

…

They spent the next few days in the house, gathering supplies.

Y/N took it upon herself to gather their clothes and toiletries.

Joel was more focused on weapons and fixing the truck.

They were a good team.

She was sat in the living room, after her shower. Her hair was damp as she sorted through a few of the clothing boxes for last minutes pieces.

Ellie's voice brought her from her thoughts, "Well, don't you look pretty."

Y/N looked over her shoulder to see Joel all washed up. His hair was combed back, one of Bill's clean flannels on him. (^^ the gif at the top^^)

She smiled.

He looked at Ellie, "Shut up."

He then held his hand out, "C'mon, sweet girl. We have plenty."

Y/N stood, taking his hand.

…

Ellie's hand grabbed the passenger side door handle and Joel immediately grunted. "Nah-uh. Get in the back."

A smile ghosted her face and she got in the back.

Y/N smiled too, "I'll let you have it in a few hours. How about that?"

Joel grunted again, "No. She's a kid."

The girls rolled their eyes and continued like nothing happened.

Joel started the truck, relieved when it started.

He felt Y/N's gaze on him.

When he looked at her, he found that she really was looking at him.

She reached up, her finger lightly grazing over the large cut on his cheek.

He mumbles, "Doesn't hurt anymore."

She nods, retracting her hand.

He reaches out, grabbing it.

He twists it, staring at the bruise from days ago on her forearm.

She mumbles in the same way, "doesn't hurt anymore."

He nods, the ghost of a smile making its way to his face. "Good."

They pulled away from all that was left of Bill and Frank as Linda Ronstadt played from the mixtape.

...............................................

Part 4

#joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us #frank tlou #tlou fanfiction #bill tlou #tlou #joel miller fanfiction

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recreationalfanfics · 2 years

Note

Hi there, can you please do Yandere Thor, Poseidon, Loki and possibly Hercules to Female Yoriichi Reader? The creator of the Sun Breathing and the other Breathing Forms, who always has a solemn expression and is known as the Strongest Demon Slayer to ever exist (She has access to the Transparent World and can use the Selfless State) but despite this she’s incredibly humble seeing herself as just another human and not even special, despite her extraordinary skills

Yoriichi gave Muzan such severe PTSD from 400 YEARS ago that his Upper Moons will go through his trauma just from seeing TANJIRO (And it’s STILL severely traumatic to him 😂)

Yandere Shiva, Loki, Buddha and Hercules with Female Tengen Uzui Reader from KNY? How do you think they would react to Reader calling herself ‘Goddess of Festivals/Flashiness’ and calling others (Even GODS) ‘Trash’ and having 3 HUSBANDS 💀

Sorry if this is a lot! I just think Demon Slayer Characters are super cool, especially the Hashiras (The Swordsmith Village Arc is going to be released sometime in April! 🥹🤩)

Thor, Poseidon, and Loki + Fem! Yoriichi Tsugikuni! Reader:

One of these three gods stands on one side of the arena, their grand entrance causing a ruckus of enthusiastic roars and cheers from the side of the gods while the humans side shook with terror. They look at the other side, confident and ready to see the pitiful mortal that Brunhilde had served to them on a silver platter. It was a woman.

She makes no flashy entrance, her clothes are rather average, and her face does not seem scared but nor does it seem too cocky. Her (e/c) eyes are serene and her (h/c) hair was rather average looking. She was a regular looking human, nothing special. Aside from the strange looking birthmark on her left eye.

"AND IF YOU LOOK OVER FOLKS, THE NEXT FOOL WHO WILL BE CHALLENGING THE GODS IS A SWORDSWOMAN WHO DOMINATED THE SENGOKU ERA-"

"Please." The (h/c) haired woman interrupts, Heimdall goes silent and so does everyone else, unsheathing her sword, she looks at Heimdall with a composed look on her face, it was not unkind, "I do not need such an introduction. I am a human like the rest of my kind."

She then gets into her defensive stance and narrows her eyes at her divine opponent.

"And I shall do whatever it takes to save them."

The god you're against either glares at you, smiles at you, or raises an eyebrow at you. Either way, Heimdall recovers his voice:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, (Y/N) (L/N), THE SUN BREATHING SWORD ARTIST AND MOTHER OF ALL BREATHING METHODS. NIGHTMARE OF MUZAN KIBUTSUJI AND THE STRONGEST HASHIRA HUMANITY HAS KNOWN!"

"So that's who you are," the God thinks to himself as you maintain unbreakable eye contact, "that hardly matters."

Yandere! Thor:

- Thor doesn't think much of you when you step into the arena, not because you're a human, but because he has yet to see you fight. You seem unfazed by him but he doesn't truly know that for sure. You are not unattractive but you're nothing special in his eyes.

- What a fool he was, because the moment the battle begins, he sees that you aren't just beautiful, you're absolutely heavenly. When you take your first breath, you take away his as large solar fires soon appear around you and you make your attack.

"What is this?" He asks himself in his head, using his Mjölnir to block another close sneak attack blow from your sword. The clashing of your weapon and his own makes his heart do flips in his chest, "Why...why do I feel like this?"

You then decided to be bold and you quickly, nearly teleported with the speed you were going, appear in front of him and your eyes glint, reflecting off your blade as you try to slash him. His eyes soften when they see you and his blood thirsty smile softens as your eyes lock onto his. There was fire in your eyes...no...the sun itself glowed in them. Powerful, burning, yet composed.

"What has she done to me?" He thinks, and you're not sure if it's from the intensity of the battle but his cheeks appear to be dusted the lightest color of pink.

- Your fight ends in a draw, the both of are so tired that you neither of you can move a muscle. Both God's and Humans are shocked at the results but Thor couldn't be happier.

- He just found his soulmate, he thinks to himself as you try to use your sword to get up and fight him again. His smile turns into a loving one as you struggle to get close to him, not that he can judge since he can also barely move, and he loves it! In fact, he now knows that he loves you.

- You will be his! You have to be, surely you were created to match him in power and strength because you were meant to be with him. After being fixed up and bandaged, he must seek you out, he must find you!

- Since then, the God of Thunder has been keeping his eye on you, his beautiful Sun. How you appear unreadable at first but if someone truly read you, truly attempted to understand what a complex and beautiful person you are like Thor has; they can see that you're more than a human...You're humble, you're kind, and you're dutiful. Honorable like him and share the same values, this only seals your fate to him even more.

- Odin notices how during other God's battles that his son scans the human's side, his eyes desperately searching for someone in the crowd. Thor knows for a fact that you always come to watch your fellow Human's matches in person and when his eyes land on you, that adrenaline kicks in and Loki and Odin stare at him as a smile grows on his face.

- He does this every match, but even then, the time between matches is too long for him to see you again. He searches for you, Brunhilde having to confront him as she reminds him that the HUMAN champions reside here but he ignores her the moment he sees you walk down the hallway. He follows you quickly like how the moon chases the sun.

- You turn and see him and you politely bow your head to him. He frowns a bit in dissaproval, how could you bow your head to him as if he were a stranger, surely you had to feel the same feelings he was after your battle. How you two danced a brutal yet beautiful dance of life and death. You stare at each other for a bit before you muster a kind yet small smile, "I look forward to our rematch." and as a result, he nods with his usual stoic demeanor and you turn and walk to your room. Yes, he can't wait for your rematch either.

- Because one the day it takes place, Heimdall shocks everyone with his newest announcement.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE FIRST RAGNAROK REMATCH OF THR GOD OF THUNDER VS. THE LADY OF THE SUN. EXCEPT, THE CONDITIONS ARE DIFFERENT THIS TIME."

- You don't like the way the red-haired God smiles at you, it feels smug and ominous, and you paitently wait to hear this last minute change.

"IN THE CASE THAT OUR ESTEEMED PRINCE OF ASGARD WINS, HE HAS REQUESTED THAT INSTEAD OF SENDING (Y/N) TO NIFLHIEM THAT SHE IS TO BELONG TO HIM INSTEAD."

- You look at Brunhilde, who looks away shamefully and can not meet your gaze, and then you look at Thor. Who looks a lot more motivated to beat you this time.

Yandere! Poseidon:

- He wanted to roll his eyes when you interrupted him. What right did you have to act so humble? You're a human, what could you possibly have to be humble about? Being a mere ant he steps on on a daily basis?

- Fine, if you want a wake up call, he'll give you one. He waits for you to strike, it wouldn't hurt to give you an advantage since there's no way something as insignificant as you can beat him. Until you grip your nichirin blade and take a deep breath, suddenly the water arena evaporates into steam as intense flames surround you...no, not mere flames. It felt like the sun itself.

- You use the steam to sneak and attack the God, whose now even more annoyed than ever. Smoke and mirrors, that's all it was. Poseidon REFUSES to allow you to think you have an advantage and tries to kill you with his strongest attacks but even then, its not enough.

A draw, your battle ended in a draw. He can't believe it, as he kneels down on one leg bleeding and holding onto his trident for support as you pant heavily on the other side, your throat burning but you still have the bright gaze in your eyes, the eyes of someone who just humbled a God. He was in denial at first, then he was angry. Destroying everything in sight at the humiliation he faced at your hand. He knew you two were set for a rematch BUT HE NEEDED VENGANCE FOR HIS SCORNED PRIDE NOW. Looking for you all around heaven, he threatened and interrogated many of your human allies and located you inside the greenhouse. It was bright and beautiful day as always, but it did little to improve his mood. The only thing that could is your dead body at his feet, evidence that you were just as every bit of a failure as the rest of humanity.

However he stops when he sees you. The artful way you practice your sword. The calm rise and fall of your chest all perfectly timed to enhance your fighting style and your moves, the same ones you used to tie with him, slowed down and filled with grace and strength. His heart makes his brain forget that you are human, the thing he detested the most in this life, and his anger is replaced with something else. Respect? Admiration?

No, it was none of those things.

In fact, it was something more passionate. More shameful in the eyes of gods. Something that you will soon find is worth than his anger.

- He observes you a lot more from then on. You aren't sure why since last you checked, he had looked down on you like you were the dirt beneath his feet, but you come here at the exact same time on the exact same day, and so does he.

- You don't speak to him, he wants you too. Haven't you humiliated him enough already? apparently not since you didn't even glance at him as you trained and he knows damn well you see him.

- "What are you?" He finally asks as he pushes down his broken pride. You stare at him, your solemn face broken when he asked you that question. "You are not a human," He explains, "You can't be. Humans are not meant to be...to be so..." he pauses and looks down, to any normal person, he looks pissed and like he's gonna attack but you only raise an eyebrow. W-was he being shy?

- "Beautiful." He finally answers, and for a brief moment that stoicism breaks in shock at his words. "You can not be a human. You are too beautiful. Humans can not be beautiful." It takes you a while to find your voice but when you do, you merely keep your composure: "Humans are many things, Lord Poseidon. We are strong, we are compassionate, and, yes, we can be beautiful."

- No, he thinks to himself, humans are not beautiful. This is a fact he's known for a long, long time. Yet, you were a human and here he was, admiring you every day and watching you in utter awe. Only you, he decides. Humans are not beautiful, only you are.

- He hates how humble you are, he absolutely despises it. Do you not have any respect for yourself? How can you allow yourself to think that you're anything like those worthless worms who snivel and beg pathetically at the feet of the gods. He believes there has been a mistake in the universe, he believes you're insulting yourself when you downplay your status and feats. Can't you see? They're beneath you! Humanity is beneath you! He has to fix this. He has to fix you.

- The day of your rematch with Poseidon, neither of you are seen. The gods search for him and the Valkyries try to rummage through your room and found only one shocking clue. A letter left on your bed written by Poseidon, who believes that deciding the fate of Humanity was beneath him and how he had more important matters involving you. He sits next to your unconscious sleeping form on his bed, his fingers in your hair as you sleep so beautifully. You needed to learn to take more pride in yourself, to be taken away from the shackles of humility humanity put on you, and Poseidon was more than happy to teach you how.

Yandere! Loki:

- He was rather unimpressed with your entrance and appearance, honestly. A smirk on his face as he looks you up and down, you certainly weren't wrong when you said you were a human, for that's what was before him. A measly average human.

- Honestly, he feels rather insulted and that this fight isn't gonna be as exciting as he had hoped. That wasn't fair! Every other God got fun humans but him! Oh well, at least he has an excuse to torture a human and humiliate them in front of everyone~

- Summoning his own weapons, he just tilts his head: "You know, interrupting Heimdall was a little dramatic don't you think? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you secretly put yourself on a pedastal."/ "I do not, I just merely am stating a fact. I am a human who bleeds just like the rest of humanity."/ Loki then smiles: "I'm so happy you think that! Because you're gonna die like the rest of them!"

- His attack is planned in his head, first a chain wraps around you and his other blade will slit your throat and soon, you'll suffer as- "I never said we bled easily." Your voice is right behind him. He looks over his shoulder and reacts in time but when you breathe, he can't act fast enough before of the display of a divine light that surrounds you now. You slice his shoulder and it burns, he holds it and glares at you. You drew first blood, but he'll make sure you don't get lucky again.

- Until you both are exaughsted from the battle and it ends in a tie. Loki feels himself growing weak and his last sight before losing consciousness is you. Surprisingly, when he wakes up, the first thing he sees is you as well. Sitting next to him, bandages on your wounds and a book in your hands. You notice from the corner of your eyes that he is awake.

- You apologize instantly for his wounds, despite the fact it is a literal fight to the death. In fact, your exact words to him are: "I aimed all of my attacks to kill swiftly, it was not my intention to make you suffer like the demons who have met my blade. In our next battle, I will make sure to be strong enough to kill you properly and respectfully."

- He isn't sure what to think of this, what to think of you. But it makes him smile for some reason, maybe he smiles at your foolishness for thinking you could kill HIM (you were close but he blames it on fortune), or maybe he smiles because it's very rare that someone honors him, a God of mischief and trickery, the same way they'd honor more noble gods like his uncle and cousin. Or maybe it was the smile you gave him...yes, that was it. It was your smile that sealed your fate.

- Loki can now be found wherever you are, like an annoying stray who keeps coming back to the hand that fed him once. Maybe he wants to annoy you, maybe he wants to flirt. Anything just to see you change that serious boring look on your face...maybe smile for him, yeah? He just hasn't been able to get it out of his mind.

- But, nah, you're too boring. That's his little pet name for you "His Boring Little Mortal", he'll complain about you but if anyone else was to speak ill, God or Human, he becomes indignant and reminds them of your good traits like your nobility and how you held yourself in battle.

- He's honestly the same when he's a yandere, as I said before, but the key major difference is that all it takes is one miniscule thing and suddenly, he comes more possessive. More protective and more suffocating. Like, he's watching you during a Ragngarok match and you smile at someone. To others, it might not be a big deal but to him, it very much is. Because it wasn't fair, YOUR SMILE BELONGED TO HIM. NOT TO ANYONE ELSE. TO HIM. YOU SMILED AT HIM FIRST SO IT'S HIS! YOU ARE HIS.

You lost the battle.

Your nobility, your humbleness, and your kindness wasn't enough to match the God of Deciet's wit and cunning. Your on both your knees, coughing up blood and unable to move your body as you hear the loud chain rattling of his weapons. You can hear the humans behind you begging you to get up, urging you to fight but you can't, your heart's strength was there but your body's was not. You feel ashamed but at least you can die knowing you did your best. Loki looks down at you, his hands at his sides, and his face stoic in a very unsettling manner. All he has to do is kill you, all he has to do is-"

"...I don't want too." He frowns, crossing his arms and looking the other way. You look at him in shock as the God's outrage as well as the humans. "LOKI, WHAT TREACHERY IS THIS!?" One of Odin's crows, well, crowed loudly.

Loki stuck out his tounge before shrugging, "I don't know, I mean, what am I winning? A step closer to humanity's destruction? We're gods! I want a something else! A prize~" He says slyly. The gods outrage once more before Zeus sighs, knowing nothing can be simple with the green haired god and tiredly asked him, "Fine, what prize must we give you if you kill (Y/n) (L/n)?" Zeus asked, making Loki grin wolfishly.

The arena becomes quiet and Loki kneels in front of you, cupping your face in his hands and tilting your head. What a cute face you're making, so confused and ready to die. He wonders what face you would make if he just...

Kissed you passionately, pressing his lips to your blood covered ones and shocking you and both audiences of mortals and immortals. You don't kiss him back, you don't even have time to think before he pulls away from you and looks at you with half lidded eyes.

Yes, that face is so much cuter on you. He wonders what other faces you could make.

But first, he has to answer the question Zeus asked him, "Why, the only prize that matters to me of course!~"

"(Y/n) (L/n), the Sun Hashira herself!"

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libraryofgage · 8 months

Text

Life in Miniature (One)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedediah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One (you're here!)

There will be more Jedtavius in the next parts I promise, I just thought this would be a funner introduction to the AU lmao

I just love those little guy dudes from the museum so much hfjdks and now we get two pairs of them

Also, fun fact, I took Steve's Roman name from, like, an actual king of Rome. The actual sixth king. He seemed like a chill dude.

Anyway, there's a meme at the end and as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

---------

When Robin took this job as a night guard, she didn't think the previous guard's words about history coming to life at night was, you know, real. She thought it was a joke, a predictable and corny joke, but a joke nonetheless.

But now, after being chased by a T-Rex, getting saved by Theodore Roosevelt, and almost being taken captive by fucking Attila the Hun, Robin thinks this job definitely isn't worth $16.50 an hour. Then again, this is the best paying job she's had in a while, and she was living a nocturnal life anyway.

Robin groans, leaning against a wall in the diorama exhibit, and slides down to the floor. She lets her head fall back against the wall, her eyes slipping shut as she slides. "This is crazy. This is insane. I need to find a fucking weapon or something," she mutters.

"Pardon me," comes a voice close to her head, "but might you be the goddess Diana?"

As pick-up lines go, it's not the worst one she's heard. And, based on what she knows of Greek and Roman deities, it wouldn't be too far off. Still, she does not want to be hit on by whatever weird historical thing is trying to flirt with her.

Robin takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and says, "Do I look like a goddess to you?"

She looks to her left where the voice came from, blinking when her gaze falls on a figurine that would barely reach her ankle. He's dressed in a toga with a chest plate, wrist guards, a sword on his waist, and a deep purple cape over his shoulders. His hair is, honestly, the most impressive thing Robin has ever seen, made only more impressive by the golden laurels resting perfectly against his temples.

He's looking at her with wide eyes, more awed than anything else. "Yes," he says. "I have heard the gods are larger than life."

Okay. Fair.

"Why Diana, man?" Robin asks.

He tilts his head, studying her for a moment, looking her up and down. "You give me the same feeling as statues of Noble Diana with her Huntresses," he explains, pausing for a moment before adding, "A feeling of kinship, perhaps?"

Oh. This...this is like ancient Roman gaydar, right? Robin snorts and turns, resting her elbow on her knee. "I'm definitely not Diana. My name is Robin. I'm the new night guard."

His eyes brighten some, his smile growing wider and certainly charming enough to make the hearts of a few girls and guys flutter. "I am Servius Tullius, Sixth King of Rome, son of Vulcan, weapons master of the gods, and adopted son of Jedediah, Cowboy King of the Wild West, and Octavius, general of the Roman army."

Robin nods, letting all of the those words process in her head before saying, "Mind if I call you Steve? You look like a Steve."

The Sixth King of Rome blinks, looking slightly confused before his eyes light up with understanding. "Ah! A nickname! Yes, I am familiar with this concept. You may call me Steve, Lady Robin, as a show of our newfound friendship."

"Yeah, don't call me Lady Robin. Just Robin is fine," she says, hesitating before offering her hand to Steve.

"As you wish, Just Robin," he says, stepping carefully onto her hand and remaining steady as she raises him higher.

Robin blinks, frowning slightly and about to correct him again when she sees his smile and realizes it's a joke. "Okay, very funny, dingus," she says, carefully poking his side.

"Is dingus another nickname? It sounds like an insult."

"It usually is, but it's affectionate when I say it."

"Oh! Yes, like when Ockie calls Jed a philistine."

"Uh, sure," Robin says, nodding once as she lets Steve move to stand on her shoulder. He quickly sits, holding onto the collar of her jacket as she carefully stands up. "Hey, you know what I'm supposed to do about the dinosaur bones?"

"Rexy? Yes, he enjoys a game of fetch."

"Fetch. Of course."

----------

"What's going on in that head of yours, little man?"

Steve blinks, looks over at Jedediah, and raises an eyebrow at him. "I'm taller than you," he says, gesturing to the good inch he has on Jedediah.

"As long as you're my son, you're a little man."

Doing his best to not laugh, Steve nods once and points to the new diorama set up in the middle of the room. It's a circular diorama, centered on an equally circular stage divided into sections. A cacophony of noise echoes from it, clashing as each slice of the stage fights for dominance. "I'm trying to figure out what in Jupiter's name they're doing over there," he says.

"Well, most of it sounds like music," Jedediah says, "I think."

"It's not any music I've heard before," Octavius says, coming to a stop next to Jedediah and frowning at the diorama. "I would have assumed it the unholy shrieking of the damned."

"Perhaps it would be nicer if they weren't all playing at once," Steve suggests, hands on his hips as he tilts his head.

"Oh, boy, there it is," Jedediah says, his grin audible in his tone. "He's got the King Face."

"What are your intentions, my boy?" Octavius asks.

Before Steve can answer, Robin strolls into the room, grinning when she sees the raving diorama in the middle. She walks over to Steve, Jedediah, and Octavius, crouches down, and says, "Hey, guys. I see you're checking out the History of Rock display."

"History of Rock?" Steve asks.

"What in the sweet hell do rocks have to do with that mess?" Jedediah asks, gesturing to the noisy stage.

Robin rolls her eyes. "No, like, rock music. It's a genre. Anyway, it was sponsored by some musician, so it's a permanent display now."

"And they will be...playing every night?" Octavius asks.

"Probably."

Steve frowns a little more and nods, rolling his shoulders back. "If they are a permanent fixture in our hallowed hall, they must be welcomed. As Sixth King of Rome, this duty falls upon my shoulders. Fathers, I shall return shortly."

"Woah, woah, hold your horses there, little man," Jedediah says, moving to stand in front of Steve. "You're not going anywhere near that snake pit without some back up."

"A few centurions, at least," Octavius agrees.

"I will have Robin. What better protection is there?"

Jedediah and Octavius glance at each other before looking at Robin. She grins and offers them a two finger salute. "I'll guard him with my life," she says, "It's literally my job."

With that reassurance, Jedediah and Octavius move out of the way. Steve steps onto Robin's hand and settles on her shoulder with practiced ease, ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach at greeting the new museum residents. He hopes they'll get along, but he also knows the might of his Roman army and the railroad workers can crush any who stand in their way.

Robin stops next to the diorama, tilting her head as she studies it. This close, Steve can see the bands playing on each slice of stage, the instruments and fashion shifting as his gaze travels around it. "Uh, excuse me," Robin says, raising her voice.

The raucous noise from the diorama screeches to a halt, the feedback making Robin and Steve grimace slightly. "Uh, hi. We're the official welcome crew for the Hall of Miniatures here. So, I'll need someone to represent your, like, whole display," Robin says, glancing over the bands until she finds one she recognizes. "Okay, I know you guys, so I'll be designating you the spokesband. Now, could the lead singer step forward?"

Steve watches as someone on the "Corroded Coffin" (what an odd name for a band) slice of the stage steps forward. Robin offers her hand to them, carefully lifting it away once they step on. "Great, uh, carry on, I guess. But, like, maybe play some of your quieter stuff for a bit," she says, her words barely out before the music starts up and the crowds start screaming once more.

She sighs and just walks over to the bench, letting off the person on her hand before letting Steve slide down her arm in a move they spent nearly three weeks practicing if only because they knew it would look cool.

When he hops onto the bench, Steve walks up to the other miniature, a man his age with long hair and odd clothes with tears that Robin once said were fashionable. His instrument is still slung over his shoulders, resting casually against his hips much like Steve's sword. Steve suddenly finds himself thinking that the man looks a little like a warrior. An odd one, to be sure, but a handsome one nonetheless.

He flashes his most charming smile, lets his shoulders relax, and says, "My friend here is Robin, Guardian of Brooklyn. I am Servius Tullius, Sixth King of Rome, son of Vulcan, weapons master of the gods, and adopted son of Jedediah, Cowboy King of the Wild West, and Octavius, general of the Roman army. You, however, may call me Steve."

-----

As far as Eddie was concerned, nothing mattered so long as Corroded Coffin got to keep rocking in an endless concert. The energy never waned, the set list never grew boring, and the music never stopped. He was ready to inform this welcoming crew of just that and promise Hell on Earth if they tried to disrupt the music (angry concert goers are a force of nature), when the words just died in his throat.

Because the most gorgeous man he's ever seen slides down that giant lady's arm, easily and smoothly landing on the bench. Somehow, his hair is perfectly windswept, the golden laurels glinting in the lights above them. His purple cape flutters softly as he walks closer, his toned thighs on full display with the toga hem that falls to the middle of them. There's a sword on the guy's hip, a chest plate that Eddie wants to pull off, a smile he wants to taste, and a pair of freckles right next to each other on the guy's cheek he wants to drag his tongue across.

He misses most of the introduction because he's too busy staring. He gets the important bits, though: Robin, a king, son of a god, adopted son of two dads. Eddie licks his lips nervously, a grin of his own tugging at his lips as he steps forward and playfully bows. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty," he says.

It's supposed to come out joking, a little poke at the guy's authority to see if he can be riled up. It actually comes out way too genuine, and Eddie has a sudden realization that he meant it. He absolutely will accept this guy as his king, actually. He'll fall to his knees before him right now if asked, and not just because it might give him a little peek under the dude's toga.

"Please, just call me Steve. There's no need to be so formal."

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, hoping Steve doesn't realize that the things Eddie is thinking about (the things he wants to do to and with Steve) are just about the least formal things on this earth. "Good to know," he says, relieved his voice sounds normal as he stands up straight and offers his hand. "Name's Eddie Munson, uh, lead singer of Corroded Coffin."

Steve blinks, and his smile becomes a bit more genuine as he steps closer and clasps Eddie's forearm. "A fellow leader," he says, squeezing Eddie's arm. "Welcome to our museum."

"Y-yeah," Eddie says, his arm still tingling when Steve lets go. He clears his throat, idly tugging on a few strands of hair. "So, uh, what's the deal around here? I mean, giant women...Roman kings...cowboys, it looks like."

"Our noble museum is home to Pharoah Ahkmenrah and his tablet, which brings the exhibits to life each night," Steve explains.

"There's a few rules, though," Robin says, sitting down on the bench behind Steve. "One, no getting into fights. Two, be back in your display by sunrise. Three, no leaving the museum at night."

"What? Why not?"

"We have lost good exhibits to Sol Invictus's morning rays," Steve says, frowning slightly. "So, be careful."

Eddie stares at Steve with wide eyes as he nods, amazed at the fact that Steve seems to talk like that so genuinely. And the fact that Eddie is...kinda into it. Holy shit, that's not helping with Eddie's whole "fall to his knees" thing. He wouldn't mind some good old-fashioned worship if Steve would just smile at him again.

Maybe his prayers are heard, because Steve smiles at him again. "Wonderful," he says. "Now, Eddie, could I interest you in a tour of the museum tonight?"

"Oh, you could interest me in a lot of things, sweetheart," Eddie blurts out, his mouth running faster than his brain.

He snaps his jaw shut, relieved and horrified at Steve's slightly confused expression and Robin's "I know what you are" thousand-yard stare from over his shoulder. Before he can try to backtrack, Steve snaps, understanding in his eyes. "Ah! Sweetheart is a nickname, yes? I accept your offer of friendship."

Eddie clenches his jaw, stopping himself from saying that it's more than friendships he's offering, and smiles. "Yeah. A nickname. That's all. I'm just...a nickname kinda guy. I'll probably think of more, too, Stevie. Like that."

Steve practically beams, and Eddie feels his knees go weak. "I look forward to it," he says, turning on his heel to look at Robin, who thankfully schools her expression. "Robin, this is where we leave you for the night. You have my word that Eddie will be back in place before sunrise."

"Well, you two kids have fun," she says, grinning in a way that immediately puts Eddie on edge. "I'd better not hear about any funny business, though. Absolutely no bases should be reached tonight, and you'd better not do any conquering or pillaging."

She definitely looks at Eddie when she says that last bit. Eddie stiffens, doing his best to hold back a blush when Steve glances over at his, the confusion clear on his face. "Conquering requires more planning than this, Robin. I've told you before."

"Don't worry about it, dingus. Just have fun. Here, I'll even call a ride for you," she says, winking at them before turning, holding her fingers to her mouth, and whistling sharply.

Steve walks over to Eddie right as the ground starts to shake, easily catching him around the waist before he can lose his balance. "The shaking does take some getting used to," he says, his tone full of sympathy and obliviousness to the crisis Eddie is experiencing.

When his brain finally catches up enough to ask what he's talking about, a dinosaur skeleton slides into the room, its body wiggling excitedly as it growls. Eddie jerks back, the arm around his waist tightening some. "What the fuck?!" he shouts.

"Worry not," Steve says, leaning closer. His voice is a little softer now, his breath fanning over Eddie's ear. "This is Rexy, our steed for the evening. He's very friendly."

"Friendly," Eddie mumbles, letting himself be dragged over to Rexy and placed on the dinosaur's head by Robin. "The dinosaur is friendly."

"Many of the exhibits are," Steve tells him, grinning brightly as Rexy begins moving after a pet on the snout from Robin.

Eddie looks at him, feeling blinded by Steve's smile once more, and completely forgets about the living dinosaur skeleton.

--------

Lemme know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

(Also I know there are like one or two upcoming parent AUs that people have asked to be tagged in and I tried to see if this was one of them but couldn't find anyone for the life of me hfjdks so I'm sorry if you asked on another post and I missed you orz)

And, finally, a meme for you

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #Mini Steddie #the tag for this series #steve deserves good parents actually #night at the museum #natm crossover #natm jedediah #natm octavius #jedtavius #the worship kink was a surprise to me too actually #and then i realized it was v on brand #have fun guys #there ought to be shenanigans aplenty

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bruciemilf · 1 year

Text

“This reminds me of playtime back home,” Diana’s smile is pearly and smudged with blood, and Bruce struggles not to stare.

He won’t point out that she just ripped an alien apart with her bare hands and way too little effort.

He wants to. Anyone would have words faced with gods, but he doesn’t trust his conversation skills.

“Hn.”

“Boy, you’re a chatty one,” Green Lantern is positively insufferable.

He’s whip-smart, dangerously brave, selfless and tactical when needs be, but insufferable all the same, “ Also, cool boomerang.”

Defensive, Bruce grips the gadget a little closer to his hip, “It’s a batarang.” And it was my son’s idea. Of course it’s impressive.

The brunette snorts, Diana chuckling alongside him, both entirely too bright for the gore on their clothes, “Oh yeah, that sounds so much better. But you obviously know how to handle it, I’ll tell you that much,”

inwardly, Bruce frowns. Why would he design a weapon he couldn’t use?

“Yes, your combat skills are impressive! You must do your tribe proud,”

Involuntarily, his head lowers in embarrassment. The cowl feels ten times hotter now, and he wants to snarl at Superman for tugging at the pointy ears. His smile just blinds him too much, that’s all.

Aquaman picks body matter out of his hair, beach sand blonde, sending The Flash a smirk Bruce assumes is teasing.

He can’t quite tell. They’ve known each other for 10 hours, 20 minutes, and 32 seconds, and an odd, familiar energy had settled. “At least you’re not the only nerd in class.”

The Flash is young; Bruce notes the eagerness in his footsteps, the reckless courage, the perseverance to fight for the world and against it;

More than anything, he notices pride sparking a light in his chest.

“Not a nerd!"

"Whatever, speedy,"

"This nerd saved your well-conditioned ass! But anyway, DUDE, – I mean, can we talk about the tech? Just, – I need to know how you designed that utility belt, because holy FUCK, -,”

There’s a full minute of just animated hand gestures, plentiful explanations, queries, and Bruce of course pays attention to all of it.

The Flash, – Barry, as he accidentally revealed five minutes in, too lost in excitable rambling to notice, – stops, frowns,

“Uh, dude? I mean, obviously, the whole,” he gestures to the entirety of Bruce, “Man Bat thing, that rocks, but isn’t it easier to just use your powers?”

Superman’s fingers snap, “I was wondering about that! Why didn’t you?”

But there’s an underlying hint that the man already suspects it; It makes Bruce’s teeth grind anxiously, looking around expectant, curious eyes,

“I don’t have superpowers,” the truth spills in a rush, and Bruce doesn’t take it back in time.

They share stunned looks between them, but sky-blue eyes, peppered with a ring of brown in the left one, those stay on him. He’s uncomfortable with the appreciative gleam.

Superman smirks, “We should do this again!”

#do you ever go crazy insane over bruce being the only human - mortal - member of the JL and not only keeping up with LITERAL OTHERWORDLY #super beings. and demi gods. and metahumans that bend and break the law of physics #but actively shocking them with how capable and resistant and enduring he is #cause i do. i am INSANE abt him actually. but also!! your honor they are FRIENDS #the justice league #dc #dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #barry allen #arthur curry #hal jordan #diana prince #wonder woman #clark kent #superbat #text

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public-trans-it-deactivated20240 · 8 months

Text

Fighters should have magic

I mean this shit 100% seriously BTW.

An impassioned rant about Fighters' place in modern campaigns.

There is certainly an argument to be made for sometimes not giving Fighters access to magic! In a low magic setting like Dark Sun (yes, I know the magic situation in that setting is more complicated than that), it makes perfect sense that Fighters wouldn't go anywhere near the stuff! In some of the more old school low fantasy focused DnD editions, or some OSR systems, it makes sense that magic would require years of practice for even the most basic of spells, and so Fighters wouldn't bother with it.

That is not, however, the bulk of modern campaigns. Be it DnD, or Pathfinder, or so many other fantasy heartbreakers out there nowadays, most campaigns are fantastical, filled with wonderous magic and queer tieflings and rogues who literally cloak themselves in shadows and jumping between planes to save the world and so much more!

In these campaigns, Fighters should know magic!

If your setting is even close to treating magic as commonplace, where having a level 1 wizard under the age of a billion fucking years old is considered within the realm of feasibility, than EVERYONE should have access to magic!

Any adventurer in such a setting who decided to start a life of wilderness exploration, and DIDN'T learn the spell Prestidigitation, is nothing short of monster bait. "Oh yes this spell that starts campfires and cleans my clothes and seasons my food and is THE MOST BASIC SPELL IN EXISTENCE certainly isn't worth my time!" - The words of someone about to get eaten by a coyote on their first night. Not even a fun magical creature, just a regular ass coyote because they are THAT unprepared. Even if it wasn't a cantrip and required 5 minutes of focus to cast, every adventurer should know this spell by heart.

But obviously, that isn't unique to just Fighters.

Fighters are focused on being masters of weaponry! They study the blade, learn it inside and out! They don't have time for magic... right?

No. They don't have time to learn SPELLS. That you could absolutely make an argument for. A fighter doesn't have to learn to shoot a fireball, because that's not how they fight. Not knowing magic that augments their fighting style, in a setting where magic is commonplace, is equivalent to that fighter going "Oh I'm too busy to learn to fight with weapons. I dont have time to learn to sharpen one properly." THAT IS ASININE. WHAT REASON DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE FOR IGNORING A SKILL DIRECTLY LINKED TO THEIR CHOSEN PROFESSION? Spells like True Strike are things a fighter would learn! But even if not spells, magical augmentation to their skill are something a Fighter would absolutely embrace! Anything that helps them further the effectiveness of their weapons should be fair game for their practice. Even if it worked like Paladins or Rangers where you typically just don't get the spells until higher levels.

And the games already reflect this! What do Fighters need to maintain damage pacing and ability as they grow stronger? That's right. Magic. In the form of Magic Weapons and Armor.

Magic armaments are considered commonplace in these settings, being handed out like candy. They are an expected part of character progression, and the games are balanced around the expectation that a fighter will be using them. So why, then, is the master of weapons and all they embody completely ignorant on the front of magical weapons?

Sure, a fighter might not be able to craft magic weapons. Not every fighter has to be a blacksmith. But much like how it should be expected that a fighter should be able to at least MAINTAIN their weapons, a fighter should absolutely be trained in the kinds of magic that are APPLIED to weapons. A fighter should be able to take a single glance at a weapon in a chest, and turn to the party and go "Hey this thing is cursed as fuck, don't touch it."

In worlds that are so fantastical and magical, it does not make sense to have a guy who's whole deal is knowing how to fight, and have him completely ignore A MASSIVE segment of fighting styles they will be going up against.

If your setting is magical, then your Fighters should be magical too, damnit!

#text essay #ttrpg

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another-delta-lover · 2 months

Note

YAP [RANT] TO ME ABT HEAVY!!!!!

HE'S SO FUCKING PERFECT.

I get MAD when people simp for medic bc, I understand, tumblr insane sexy man blabla yadda yadda IDGAF

You all CAN'T SEE HOW MUCH OF A PERFECT PERSON HE IS. He's such a good person, he's such a good son and older brother, doin the dishes for his mama, caring about the absolute safety of his sisters, LITERALLY SAVING EM FROM A THING I FORGOT IT'S NAME WHEN HE WAS LIKE, IDK FUCKIN <20< ??? HE'S SUCH A GOOD FAMILY MEMBER. HE WOULD PROTECT U SO WELL AND ALWAYS CARE ABOUT UR SAFETY. AUGH ES UN HOMBRE Q RESUELVE LO JURO. HE ALSO RISKS HIS LIFE TO HAVE MONEY FOR THEM??? AAAAAAAAAAA. He does enjoy his job a lot (WHICH I LOVE IN SOMEONE. HELL YEAH ENJOY UR JOB AND GET WELL PAID), But the main reason of him working is just for his family and the money to help them. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?????

Also HE'S SUCH A GOOD TEAMMATE???? HE WILL PROTECT ALL OF HIS TEAM WITHOUT FEAR AND WIN??? AND ALL HE NEEDS IS SOME CUNTY GAY ASS GERMAN DUDE BEHIND HIM??. He could be such a good grandpa/father figure or even just a really good n close friend to all the mercs, but even so, he acts so cold so quiet and mysterious around em🤭

AND ALSO!!! His masculinity ain't broken by showing love to his teammates??? He can hug em and literally yell to them "I LOVE YOU" from across the map??? Sayin "I LOVE YOU DOKTOR!!" Isn't common between men, even less in that time. If he IS gay, good for him! If he isn't, I'm glad he can express how much he loves someone without the fear of lookin weak is something I admire soso muchhh.

He has a minigun the SIZE OF MY FUCKIN BODY THAT HE CAN CARRY RUNNING WITHOUT ANY KIND OF PROBLEM??? HE COULD CARRY ME AROUND LIKE A STICK AND WOULDN'T EVEN AAHAGAJSHDHAGSH DO YOU REALIZE HE TAKES CARE OF THAT GUN LIKE SHE WAS HIS CHILD??? HE'S A GOOD FUCKING PARENT TOO?? AAAHHHH IM NORMAL

He's a good cook, he cooks really nice meals and doesn't mind to share u some, which I wouldn't do bc I don't share my food. HESO NICE AUGHH. I LOVE IT WHEN MA BOI COOKS😭😭😭 IDK WHY THAT MAKES PEOPLE MORE ATTRACTIVE FOR ME.

Also, HE'S SO FUCKING PRETTY???????? IDGAF HE'S BALD, THAT'S THE BEST PARTY. HIS BLUE EYES ARE SO PRETTY N HIS FACIAL EXPRESSIONS ARE SO SILLYY

LOOK AT HIM!!!! AUGHHH

Also his body is so JAHSLAHDJQHDJALSH he so big so perfect😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔 His arms are the size of my whole body. AND HIS HANDS AAAAAAAAAA. He so FAT I LOVE HIM. I need him to crush me un a hug so badly. U all don't understand how much of a good body that could be in a relationship. U cold? U hug him problems gone. U wanna be cozy at night but the pillow is too small? He's the biggest pillow and he can hug u back that's soNSHSJAVDJSHD. He can carry u in his arms when u tired, u can lay on his chest and everything.... sighhh.... AND ALSO HE CAN FIGHT A BEAR WITH HIS BARE FISTS AND WIN, THEN EAT IT???? DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THAT IS????? LIKE HOLY FUCK THAT'S LIKE THE PEAK OF MANLINESS FOR ME. The question "would u rather be in a forest with a man or with a bear" I'M CHOOSING THIS BEAR HOLY FUCK HE WOULD PROTECT ME FROM THE BEARS.

ALSO HIS VOICE OH GOD HIS VOICE. It's such a loud and strong voice in English 🤭 even tho he isn't the best at it (me neither), HE SPEAKS IN SUCH A WAY IT MAKES ME KICK MY FEET GIGGLE AND CRY. I need him to say nice stuff to me with his cool asf voice. And when IT'S IN RUSSIAN AHHH😩~ I SWEAR He's such an elegant and polite man😭😭😭 he sounds so professional and ajsvqkebalhdmaoevs And IDC what u all say to me, he could sing so perfectly<3 for me his dialogs of him singing are well sung/GEN. I just imagine him singing:

To me.... Ik the song is kinda sad and not very romantic but IDC HE WOULD SOUND SO PERFECTLY.

HE HAS A PHD IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE LIKE....... HE'S SO FUCKING SMART. HE'S ALSO PRETTY FUCKIN RICH??? IT COST 400,000 DOLLARS TO FIRE HIS WEAPON FOR 12 SECONDS???? AND I'M PRETTY SURE THAT IF HE KNOWS THAT HE'S 1. really fucking smart 2. THE ONE WHO PAYS??? Even if he wasn't rich I still love him a lot but I'm poor so that would make it slightly better. AND ALLTHE MONEY TO HIS FAMILY MOSTLY AUGHHH ALSHAKSHAKDHA

Also his COSMETICS. HIS FUCKING COSMETICS ARE SO HOT AAAAAAA. Most of em are normal silly hats but WHEN THEY AREN'T. OHMY GOD THOSE DARK GLOVES GOT MY LEGS SHAKIN. AND HAVE YOU SEEN HIM IN SUITS??? OH GOD AUGHHH. Not into mafia people n stuff BUT.... FOR HIM I MAKE A BIG AHH EXCEPTION. And also, i want to point out the fact that HE WEARS DRESSES. I shouldn't make it a big dear but DO YOU UNDERSTAND IT'S THE 60's-70's???? AND HE'S A BIG RUSSIAN MAN???? He broke the gender dressing codes of the time not only bc he's a man wearing dresses, but a BIG MAN WEARING THEM??? AND A RUSSIAN MAN??? DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THAT MEANS TO ME????💔💔💔💔 Also his hats are cute I like them.

Just to summary:

Medic < HEAVY!!!

Good person I general, son, older brother, teammate, friend, father and possible partner, risking his life for his family.

He doesn't think lovin teammates is weird or GAY. Unless he is, but honestly good for him

STRONG AS HELL. AJGAJAHDJA

GOOD COOK!!!!

PRETTY!!!!!PRETTY REALLY PRETTY!!! HANDSOME

GORGEOUS FREAKING BODY.

FOUGHT WITH A BEAR AND WON

VOICE OF AN ANGEL!!!!

SMART AND RICH??? AND HE DESERVES TO BE RICH.

AMAZING STYLE.

DOESN'T CARE ABOUT GENDER NORMS.

YOU ALL DON'T UNDERSTAND. YOU ALL DON'T UNDERSTAND ME. AAAGHHHHH ILOVEHIM YOU ALL CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU ALL CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU DON'T YOU CAN'T YOU YOU ALL CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU ALL DON'T UNDERSTAND.

#deltas consulting room #deltas men obssesion #deltas AUGH #deltas yappin #tf2 #tf2 heavy #heavy tf2 #HEAVY APPRECIATION #I AM NOT NORMAL ABOUT HIM #ask #asks #asks open #The Flower N The Bear

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the-bottom-of-the-abyss · 2 years

Text

siren song

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

This used to be an OC but I'm changing it to a reader insert; Other characters will still talk about "you" in the third person. While a reader insert, the MC will still be American and have a fleshed out backstory.

They called you Siren They called him Ghost

----

"Siren," Price told Laswell, "Sniper, expert in infilitration and undercover ops. American Special Forces."

Kate stared at the picture for a moment before asking, "Siren? As in the sea creature?"

Price shot her a half-smile. "Yes, the same. She seems to be the weakness of every man and she knows it. She's damn good with a rifle but her best weapon is herself."

next chapter: chapter 1

Notes: This is my first Ghost story! I have played the campaign and I just couldn't help myself! This is just the prologue but they will meet next chapter. Oh, and this fic will 1000% have smut. This takes place before and during the first mission, "Strike"

This used to be an OC but I'm changing it to a reader insert; Other characters will still talk about "you" in the third person.

Prologue

"Who's your crew?"

John Price sat opposite of Kate Laswell, taking in the cozy atmosphere of the cafe, but still somehow feeling on edge from recent events.

"Sergaent Garrick," Price replied.

"Kyle?"

"They call him 'Gaz'." the Captain continued, "He never said anything."

He handed Kate the folder for Gaz and continued reading. "John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper - demolitions. Goes by 'Soap'."

"Why?" Kate questioned as he handed her Soap's dossier.

"That's classified."

Kate gave him a dubious look, eliciting a chuckle before he moved on.

"There he is..." Price said, handing Kate the folder. "Simon Riley."

Laswell's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "There's no picture."

Price's reply was quick. "Never."

He handed her a final file, one with a picture of a woman with hair the color of fresh espresso and with a face like an angel. But it was the eyes that set you apart, a piercing hue that seemed a little too empty, void of emotion in comparison to your smile. At first glance you seemed harmless, but the longer one looked, the more unnerving your portrait grew.

"Siren," Price told her, "Sniper, expert in infilitration and undercover ops. American Special Forces."

Kate stared at the picture for a moment before asking, "Siren? As in the sea creature?"

Price shot her a half-smile. "Yes, the same. She seems to be the weakness of every man and she knows it. She's damn good with a rifle but her best weapon is herself."

"Now the rest," he continued, leaning forward across the table, "That's need to know. Unless we got a deal."

"What are you calling this task force?" Laswell asked.

"1-4-1."

---------

Months later

13 July 2022

2200, Upscale hotel somewhere in Europe

The bar was crowded but you weren't focused on all the other people. Those who were drinking away their sorrows, the ones meeting mistresses, and suits on a business trip. No, you was focused on the group of ten Russian Ground Forces operatives in the corner, sporting casual clothes instead of a uniform. Your eyes jumped from man to man, silently matching them up in your head with some of the pictures in the brief General Shepard gave you. Of course, this was only a portion of them, there were about fifty in total staying in the hotel. All of them were waiting on a flight to Al Mazrah and transporting a boat load of weapons, and it was your job to figure out exactly where they were headed.

You leaned back against, resting your elbows on the bar as you sat on a barstool, softly jutting out your chest and letting your hair perfectly frame your face. You knew you were beautiful, and you knew what men would do, what men would say, for a beautiful woman; all the secrets they would reveal, just to touch. A strapless navy dress stuck to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve on your body, save for a slit in the leg that went up to your mid-thigh.

Your targets were already glancing your way. Oogling, more like.

Too easy, you thought. You intentionally locked eyes with one of them and batted your eyelashes innocently before looking away, appearing embarrassed to the untrained eye. For extra affect, you crossed one leg over another, causing the slit to reveal more of your smooth skin.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw some of his buddies nudging him and pointing in your direction, all of your plans falling neatly into place. You brought your eyes back to the man now coming towards you and made a show of looking at him up and down, pointing your gaze in between his legs for a second longer and giving a sultry look. You could see his throat working to gulp down his nerves.

He squeezed himself in the opening beside you and you turned to fully face him. He was average looking, nothing too special. It was what was in his pants you were interested in.

His phone.

"Hello, beautiful," his accent was thick, but the English seemed fluent.

"Hello there," you cooed, letting your voice become sickeningly sweet.

"You are not from here?" He questioned, noticing your accent sticking out among the natives around you.

"No," you replied, "I'm from America but I'm on a work trip. What brings you here?" As you talked, you ran your finger over the hand he had placed on the bar and traced nonsensical patterns.

"A-Also business," he said, obviously getting distracted by the physical contact. You kicked it up a notch, going as far as to rub your high-heeled foot along the side of his calf. You leaned forward and was pleased to note he seemed already intoxicated, speeding up your plan by being able to avoid spending needless time ordering drinks.

You placed your hand on the man's chest and ran it slowly upwards before traveling down one of his arms. He seemed young and nervous but also attempted to exude confidence while you carressed him.

"I'm only here for tonight but..." you purposefully trailed off, looking at him with doe-eyes and gently biting you lip. "I've been looking for a real man to help me." You were laying it on a little thick, but time was of the essence, and he didn't seem all that concerned. You had him right there and decided to go in for the kill.

You leaned in real close and whispered in his ear, "I need a man to fuck me."

He audibly groaned, prompting you to bite his earlobe softly before pulling his hand off the bar and setting it on your waist. "Can you be that man for me?"

He nodded comically fast and pulled you to stand up, not bothering to wait for any privacy before sliding his hand down over your ass. A long time ago, you would have been repulsed. You would have showered for days, trying to scrub off any evidence. Now, you didn't feel it at all, didn't pay attention to anything except your next goal: getting him away from his phone. He led you out of the crowded bar, leaving his friends to cheer him on. You boarded the empty elevator and he pushed you against the wall after pressing his floor, smashing his lips against yours. It was sloppy and anything but a turn on but you willingly let him explore your mouth and grope your body and reciprocated with responding movements, all while you were plotting on how to steal the information from him.

A hand made its way to your covered breast. I bet the information is in his email.

Another grabbed your thigh and hiked it over his hip. These lower guys never bother to encrypt anything, a blessing, really.

A hardness grinded into the apex of your thighs and you let out a manufactured moan. Luckily they are on a tight schedule, they likely won't look for a body tomorrow when he doesn't show.

The ding of the elevator caused him to break away and grab your hand before rushing to a hotel room. As he fumbled with the keycard you kissed and bit his neck, all while sliding your fingertips below his belt. He finally got the door open and pulled you inside. He attacked you with his lips again and shoved his tongue in your mouth, pawing at your ass and grinding into your hip.

Pathetic. You thought to yourself while you faked a whimpering noise and a gasp when he moved on from your lips to bite the top of your left breast. While he was occupied, you reached for the small, curved knife, a minuture karambit, that sat holstered in a sewn in slot inside your dress, just under your armpit. One of his hands creeped up the inside of your thigh, touching the edge of your lace lingerie.

However, he never made it to his destination on account of the knife sticking in his neck.

A quick kill, although a little bloody. His body fell limp on the ground in front of you, blood continuing to pool out. You dislodged your knife and searched his pockets, finally pulling out his phone.

"Jackpot."

You used his finger to open up the phone before stepping over his body and sitting on the bed, all of your attention now focused on scanning for any information about tomorrow's final destination for the selling the weapons. A certain message caught your eye; it detailed the schedule for tomorrow and the directions to the base they were meeting at in Al Mazrah for the arms deal. A sense of satisfaction filled you at acquiring this information. You did not feel guilty about killing the man. You have killed many men, and the part of you that felt guilt for the role you played died a long time ago.

You wiped off the blood that got on your chest and walked out of the room, phone in hand. You were not worried about cameras, you knew the CIA counter-terrorism team would take care of it. You took the elevator back up to your own room and immedaitely went for your computer once inside. You pulled up the video call option for General Shepard and sat in the chair, not caring about your mused hair or slightly smeared lipstick or the bruise forming on your upper breast.

He answered immediately and with him was Kate Laswell, the CIA Station Chief. "Siren, tell me you have intel," the general said in lieu of a greeting.

"Of course, sir," you replied. "I have the location, I'm sending you the coordinates now. They are located in Al Mazarah. It says they will be meeting with General Ghorbani."

Both Laswell and Shepard sported a confused look at that. "Why would they be meeting with Ghorbani?" Laswell questioned out loud.

"We will find out tomorrow," Shepard said. "For now, Siren, continue."

"Any hiccups?" Laswell questioned.

"Just the usual," you said. "I will need someone to remove a body and dispose of security footage but other than that, everything was smooth."

"Great work, Sergeant. Your next assignment will begin immediately. You have been apart of the 141 Task Force for some time, but now you will begin your work with a team. Your flight leaves tonight."

---

15 July 2022

1600, Al Mazrah, U.R.A

"Watcher-1 to Bravo 0-7, you in position?"

Ghost walked through the rocky terrain, stepping back into the sunlight.

"Nearly there," he replied, continuing moving, climbing towards a vantage point on the sands below. He heard the helicopter before he saw it, flying straight overhead and towards the target point. "Got a heli incoming."

"That's General Ghorbani." Laswell replied.

"He's punctual, I'll give him that," General Shepard chimed in. "Now get up there and see what he's up to in the middle o' nowhere."

Ghost climbed up a few more rocks, finally reaching the opening and peering down at the base. "I'm eyes on."

"What do you see?" Laswell questioned. He brought out his Spotter Scope and peered down at all the equipment and people milling about.

"Armed personnel, armor and hardware," he replied. "All Russian."

"Our intel was right about them meeting," Shepard said. "But it still doesn't explain why the Russians would be meeting with Ghorbani."

"Supplying Iran," Kate replied, "it's an arms deal." Ghost sat silently as they talked, observing the scene below.

"You copying this Shadow-1?" Shepard asked Graves.

"Affirmative, two birds, one stone..."

"We need positive ID on Ghorbani before we kick this off boys."

"Ghost, can you identify the General?"

Ghost scanned the area, zooming in to look at specific people, checking to see if they were Ghorbani. He found a bunch of soldiers in one spot and said as much. "Armed escorts around one VIP. Russians are very happy to see him."

"It'll be the last time they do..." General Shepard said in response.

"Visual on General Ghorbani."

"Copy. All stations target confirmed."

"Shadow-1," Shepard started, "you are cleared hot for launch."

"Roger that, Actual," Phillip Graves replied. "Ghost, you are danger close to the zone. This arrow's gonna pack a punch."

"Copy. Approved," Ghost replied. "Send it."

"All stations, Shadow-1. Missle is ready for immediate delivery, stand by for launch. Coordinates. Target designated. Two... One... Shot out."

Soon enough the missle hit the target and the force of it made Ghost step back a bit. "Bloody fuckin' hell. Direct. Target destroyed."

#simon ghost riley #ghost #cod mw22 #ghost fanfiction #ghost smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #this is now a reader insert #simon ghost riley x you

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rileyglas · 4 months

Text

The List ~Pt. 12 - Conviction~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: As you train for Extermination Day, your power intensifies, granting you visions of a dark future. Determined to save those you love, you battle through the Exorcists, facing relentless challenges. Things take a turn mid battle, leading to an unexpected twist of fate.

Themes: The usual angst, mystery, sassiness, cursing, fluff, actual plot, slow burn, Rosie is the sweetest, eventual smut, and of course 18+

4.2k Words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 (You're on it!)

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

When Alastor said you needed to train together, you weren’t entirely sure what he meant. You half expected to just practice fighting each other but the reality was more exhausting. You both felt your abilities expanding, yet you’ve been struggling more than anticipated. It is one thing having to adjust from small needles to heftier daggers, but the focus it takes to stop objects is an entirely different challenge. When you did it at V Tower it was in the heat of the moment, you didn’t have the time to think about it. Now you’ve spent almost three days trying to hone in the new ability with no luck.

After multiple failures Alastor suggests to up the stakes. “Maybe you need to feel threatened in order to channel the power?” he teases half joking, half serious. Vaggie overhears this and is quick to volunteer, throwing her spear directly at your chest from across the lawn. You reach your hand out but nothing happens. Oh shit. A dark shield surrounds you, making the weapon bounce off and clatter to the ground. You snap your head to Alastor to see his cane omitting green sparks, “How did you do that?!”

He shrugs, “Quite an interesting development, I suppose.” Charlie runs over excitedly, “If you’re able to cast that over the hotel, it could buy us needed time and protection! What do you think?” The two start to scheme how and when the shield could help against the Exorcists. Within a few tries, he effortlessly produces one large enough to surround the hotel. Feeling utterly defeated, you huff in frustration. I need to focus, I’m no use dead. Why is this so difficult NOW?

“Must I be the one near death in order for you to do this, dear?” You feel Alastor’s hot breath suddenly breeze across your neck. You scoff and shake your head, “Apparently!” Vaggie enthusiastically picks up her spear again, more than eager to throw it at Alastor but you’re quick to shut her down, “Don’t even think about it! I do not wish to test that theory!!” She pouts and walks away disappointed.

Finally you’re able to get away from the madness. You plop onto the couch in the foyer, leaning your head against the backrest. I just need a few minutes to rest my eyes. The instant your eyes close, you feel your mind slip away from exhaustion.

Golden blood rains on top of you. Angels, if you can even call them that, fall left and right. Screams of battle fill the air. It seems as though all the training and planning with the rest of the hotel and cannibals is actually working. “Eat shrapnel fuckers!!!” Cherry Bomb releases her grenades into a group of Exorcists. You toss a few angelic steel daggers to finish off a few she missed. “Fuck yeah! Keep it going girl!” she yells over her shoulder. Nifty runs around stabbing the already fallen angels while also collecting your weapons. Carmilla managed to get you a small handful but it was plenty so long as Nifty could return them to you quickly. She hands over the bundle manically laughing, “Stab, Stab, STAB!!!”

Looking up, you see Alastor battling Adam atop the roof. His shadow demons swarm the Exorcist leader making him curse and lose focus. There you go, keep a distance and you’ve got him Al. A smile creeps across your face, amazed by how well Charlie’s plan is working.

You pivot your focus to a few cannibals in need of healing. The amount of energy it takes to heal so many injuries back to back is draining but not impossible, especially with Alastor close by. As you finish mending a wound on Rosie’s shoulder, a pang hits your chest.

The neon sign above the hotel flickers as Alastor’s tentacles flail and throw Adam around. A voice thunders overhead, “- Radio is fuckin’ dead!” Adam swings his guitar, slashing Alastor nearly in two. You watch his lifeless body flip over the roof railing and plummet to the ground.

Any power or sense you usually have of Alastor disappears completely. You stumble over to him, violently heaving from the sickness settling in your stomach, but it’s too late. Even as you cradle his body, kissing him, begging him to wake up, it’s all in vain. This can’t be it. This wasn’t supposed to happen…You hear screams echoing around you. It takes a moment for you to realize it’s your voice filling the air.

“Hey Toots - Toots! Stop yelling! Come on, snap out of it!” You open your eyes to a very concerned Angel trying to shake you awake. “Kid, you alright?” Husk rests a hand on your shoulder. Your brain catches up and brings you back to the present, regrounding yourself in the lobby of the hotel. You shake your head trying to answer, voice hoarse, “Al - where -”

“What is going on? Is someone hurt?” Alastor paces through the lobby having heard the commotion. His smile falters seeing the disheveled state you’re in. He rushes to you, unintentionally (or probably intentionally) shoving aside Husk with his cane. He drops to his knees to grab your face, “What is it? What happened?” his voice wavers in a mix of worry and anger.

You throw your arms around him, making him grunt from how tight your grip is, “Nothing. Just - Just a nightmare.” you whisper into his neck. But was it really a nightmare? Everything was so vivid and clear. It was as surreal as when you dreamt of your life on Earth. It felt real. You let go to sit back on the couch, taking both his hands, “I think the stress and exhaustion is getting to me. Nothing a good night's rest won’t fix.” He nods but his eyes reflect doubt. He knows you all too well by now.

“Really, I’m fine. Let’s get back to training.” You attempt to put on a more confident voice for everyone. Angel and Husk walk away to the bar, mumbling something about the possibility of cracking under pressure. You know it’s far from the truth. You spent years on Earth preparing, training, and enduring the battles of war. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, quite the contrary, it was nice to have some familiarity even under these insane circumstances. But this dream truly felt different.

Alastor insisted you go to bed early and you happily complied. As soon as your head hits the pillow you’re out. However, the “dream” returns, exactly as before. The raining of blood, Cherry Bomb, Rosie’s injury, and then -

“My dear I’m right here, what’s going on?” he wraps his body around you, pulling you out of your nightmare. Your throat strains once again. A cold sweat covers your body but your blood feels like wildfire. You sit up and brush back your hair, “I - I don’t think this is just a dream anymore Al. This entire time we’ve been training, trying to grow our power together and I think…maybe mine has evolved into seeing flashes of what’s to come. Is that possible?” your chest heaves trying to regain some composure.

He ponders for a moment, “Well it is entirely possible I’d say. The question is, do you receive the visions to change the future or is it foreshadowing the inevitable -” “Don’t say that.” you cut him off sharply. He recoils at your sudden aggression, then softens when he notices your eyes beginning to well up. With a deep sigh, he places a kiss on your temple, “You’re dreaming about Extermination Day, aren’t you?” You remain silent, unable to find the right words without crying. The back of his hand gently brushes your cheek, “You can tell me, my love. It can only help for me to have some insight.”

Fighting through tears, you tell him every detail of what you’ve been seeing. There had to be a reason you were given the vision, you refuse to believe otherwise. After explaining the dream you begin to ramble, “You can’t fight Adam. He’s too strong. Let me do it or maybe I can join you or maybe we can get Lucifer -” He shakes his head, shushing you, “No - no, the plans have already been put in place. You need to be on the ground to assist the others. Besides, we both know Lucifer will only step in if Charlie is in danger. You’ve given me enough to predict how Adam will fight. I can use that to my advantage and have the upper hand on him. Things will be different.”

You rest against his chest, entwining your fingers with his, “I’ll hold you to that.” you mutter under your breath. He brings the back of your hand to his lips, “Get some rest. We have two days to gather our strength. Should - or rather when - we get through this, we still have the deal with Lucifer to handle.” You nod. The pit in your stomach weighs heavily at the thought that there is still another battle awaiting at the end of all of this, but you try to shake off the feeling, knowing your mind needs to stay clear for the sake of the hotel and your friends. Rule #3 K̵e̷e̴p̴ ̷t̸h̴o̴s̷e̵ ̷y̶o̴u̵ ̶l̴o̷v̶e̴ ̸c̶l̴o̷s̴e̷

In the blink of an eye it was already the eve of Extermination Day. Charlie delivered a more than fitting speech, giving everyone a glimmer of hope. How this charming, sweet, hopeful woman was the daughter of someone like Lucifer, you didn’t know. Maybe it was the fall that jaded him? Maybe the loss of Lilith pushed him over the edge? All you knew is that she radiated a warmth that everyone could feel, even Alastor.

“Ah, the celebratory night before a courageous last stand. It's been a surprising thrill to witness these wayward souls find connection. Almost makes one sentimental, eh, Niffty?" you overhear him from the balcony as you sit at the bar with the other hotel members. Angel grabs your attention with a few pokes to your side, “So, are ya really an Overlord? I thought that line o’ work required you to be a ruthless asshole.”

You take a swig of whiskey and chuckle, “Even in Hell, kindness can get you far, so long as you put your trust in the right people.” A scoff comes from across the bar, “Interesting take considering your choice in men.” Husk grumbles, cocking an eyebrow at you then up to Alastor. You slide your now empty glass over to him as a silent refill request.

“Last I checked that man and I are the only two saving graces you all have for tomorrow. I know you aren’t friends, but maybe show some appreciation towards his willingness to help. I don’t see Lucifer jumping in on the front line.” You bite harsher than intended. There is a part of you that harbored pity for Husk. Going from a prestigious Overlord to nothing but a pet had to come with its share of personal demons. You try not to take his bitterness to heart. He growls as he slides back a filled glass, “I had a feeling there was more to you than you let on. Al wouldn’t take an interest in just anyone.” “Oh I think he has more than just interest in our friend here. Heard her screaming his name from down the hall yesterday!” Angel jeers but the grimace on your face erases his smile. You stare vacantly into your glass remembering the night before, the blood, the screams, Alastor’s limp, lifeless body. “Hey dollface lighten up! I’m just giving yous a hard time. What ya do in the bedroom is -” “That’s not the reason I was screaming last night.” you say abruptly. Husk and Angel share a brief look of concern. “I’ve been having nightmares about tomorrow. Every single one ends the same and every time I wake up yelling out for him.” you throw back your drink and slam it against the bar. They continue to stare, speechless, while you stand to shimmy on your jacket. “We will make it through tomorrow, I promise.” Rule #2 D̷o̸n̷’̷t̵ ̴b̸e̶ ̸a̸f̴r̸a̶i̴d̵ ̶t̵o̶ ̸s̷h̶o̵w̸ ̴y̸o̶u̷r̴ ̴p̵o̴w̵e̵r̶ With a grim smile you walk out of the lobby, needing a walk and some fresh air.

You only make it a few steps from the door when a voice calls out to you. Turning, you see Rosie sitting on a bench out front. Though you’d never formally met the woman you recognize her immediately from the Overlord meetings. She waves you over and motions for you to take a seat, “Ya know when Alastor came to me saying he fancied someone, I knew they had to be something quite special. He didn’t mention, however, what an absolute gem you are!” You share a bashful giggle. Alastor has talked about Rosie a few times in the past, always alluding to her being one of his closest friends since arriving in Hell.

“Thank you Miss Rosie. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you. We all truly appreciate your assistance with the cannibals. Will you be joining us tomorrow?” You make conversational pleasantries, as if you didn’t already know the answer. “Oh, of course! Though I might be more on the sidelines. The townspeople can get pretty rambunctious when given free reign.” Her sweet demeanor radiates much like Charlie’s. Even with the darkest thoughts spiraling behind your eyes, you can’t help but smile hearing her enthusiasm.

A question pops into your mind. If anyone knows Alastor and his past, it’s Rosie. You look around to ensure no other ears are around, dropping your voice so it doesn’t carry, “Miss Rosie may I ask an unusual question? It’s regarding Alastor.”

Her black eyes widen with curiosity, “Well of course darlin’. Anything at all! What’s on your mind?” You take a deep breath and focus nervously on your hands resting in your lap. “I know about his deal and I know about Lilith. Did he ever…have any feelings towards her? Or rather made her think he did in an attempt to sway her in some way?” As soon as the question leaves your mouth, a twist of regret and embarrassment sets in. Here you are, the night before possibly losing the most important people in your (after)life, and you’re asking mundane things like this. I’m so stupid…

“Oh my -” she sits back, taken off guard by such an inquisition. There’s a tense silence for a few moments which only makes your heart sink deeper in anticipation. A small smile returns to her face after having collected her thoughts, “Alastor has done a lot to get to where he is today. You’re aware of that I’m sure. When he spoke of Lilith and his plans, there was always something more sinister behind that smile of his. He only became truly passionate when he mentioned the power he would obtain and the possibility of being more than just an Overlord.”

She sets a light hand on your shoulder. You turn to meet her gaze and her voice softens, “But in all my years of knowing Alastor, I’ve never seen him so smitten when talking about someone. I see how his eyes follow you around here. He holds the look of a man willing to set both Heaven and Hell ablaze for you. Does that help answer your question?”

A warmth builds in your chest, you smile and nod through a few tears of happiness, “I think it does. Thank you.” Rule #1 B̶e̸ ̷o̵p̶e̶n̶ ̶t̷o̶ ̷t̴r̸u̸s̸t̵,̶ ̷b̸u̵t̴ ̶n̵e̵v̷e̸r̷ ̷d̶o̵ ̶s̴o̷ ̴b̶l̷i̴n̵d̴l̷y̶ You pat her hand still atop your shoulder. She takes your hand, fiddling with the few rings you have on, “You share something so special with him. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for you two.” She glances behind you and lights up, “Speak of the handsome demon - Alastor, dearie, how are you this evening!?” she waves at him while you try to brush away the tears without him noticing. “Ah, marvelous as always, my dear. I see you’ve already acquainted yourself with my darling other half?” his smile widens as he sets a possessive hand to your back.“Yes and she is just a doll! It’s almost unbelievable such a gal would become entangled with the likes of you!” Rosie teases playfully. She pats your arm and stands, “Such a pleasure to finally meet you, but it is getting late. I’m off to rest up for tomorrow. Have a wonderful evening you two.” She gives a quick kiss to Alastor's cheek, mumbling something to him before gliding gracefully into the hotel. Alastor slides in beside you on the bench, crossing his legs and wrapping an arm around you. “Good company is never hard to find with Rosie.” he sighs contently, “How are you feeling, dear?” You snuggle closer and lean your head against his chest, “As good as I can I suppose.” He hums agreeingly. A comfortable silence falls between you. The closer he is, the more at ease you always feel. In the quiet of the evening an idea stirs.

“I’ve been thinking Al…I know your contract limits your power. Maybe for the sake of tomorrow, we can try to break it before the fight?” His fingers tighten against your skin, “Absolutely not.” he answers sternly. You pull away, surprised by the brunt response, “But - it could be just what we need to -” He raises a hand and cuts you off, “I said no. We don’t know what predicaments that can cause.” A small pout makes your lip quiver. I only want what’s best for him. If it would help, I’d be more than willing to take that chance. His finger hooks under your chin to pull you closer, “I appreciate your sentiments dear but you will need to trust me on this. Everything will be handled in due time.” he whispers above your lips before closing the space.

What starts as a soft peck swells into something more passionate. His hands smooth down to your waist and he presses into you hungrily. You return his intensity, threading your fingers through his hair. After a few moments you break away, breathless, “Don’t do that.” “Do what?” he pants through a smug smile. Your finger glides across his lower lip as your eyes burn into his, “Don’t kiss me as if it’s our last.” His toothy grin spreads under half-lidded eyes, “Of course it’s not! Though after tomorrow, I hope you know we will not be leaving our room for a few days. The heat of battle just might awaken something more between us.” he growls into your ear while his fingers tease the hem of your shirt. You giggle and push him away, “Let’s just try to get through the next twenty-four hours, shall we?”

He chuckles, offering his hand, “As you wish. Off to bed then?” You take his hand and within a second you’re back in your room. Only a few hours of rest before battle, something that felt all too familiar. Your entire future in Hell relies on what happens tomorrow. You try to hold onto any bit of sheer hope as you relax against Alastor’s chest and drift off. Rule #4 T̷u̵r̷n̸ ̸y̵o̶u̵r̴ ̶w̵e̴a̶k̸n̸e̶s̶s̶ ̴i̷n̶t̷o̶ ̴s̴t̵r̵e̴n̵g̸t̷h̵

Everyone stands outside the hotel, weapons in hand. As Heaven opens up, Alastor’s shield forms around the perimeter. Only a few Exorcists make it through and they’re easily disposed of. “It’s working!” Charlie exclaims excitedly.

Just when you think the last of the Exorcists are dealt with, Adam’s fist shatters the entirety of the shield. Shit - ready or not Al, here he comes. You continue to fight alongside the others, using your daggers in between healing some of the more vulnerable cannibals. Then it begins.

Golden blood begins to drop from the sky. Cherry Bomb. Nifty. Your chest pounds reliving the very nightmare you’ve watched unfold multiple times. A shout of pain brings you out of your horror filled haze. You watch an Exorcist throw a spear into Rosie, luckily only hitting her shoulder. You swiftly toss a few daggers to drop the Angel and grab ahold of the Cannibal Overlord.

“Miss Rosie, I got you.” You press a kiss to her hand, flinching slightly from the pain radiating through your shoulder. Her expression is both shocked and impressed, “Handy little thing aren’t ya? Thank you, dear!” She lovingly pats your face then begins tearing apart the Angel on the ground.

The flickering of the neon above you makes your heart drop. You freeze, watching the battle on the roof. All the air leaves your lungs as Adam swings, only instead of hitting Alastor, you hear a metallic snap followed by a wail of pain. Fuck fuck fuck I need to get to him. As you rush towards the building a black shadow slides up your legs, holding you in place. “No! Let me go!” you scream to the ground.

An eerie silence falls over the battlefield. Charlie runs over and clings to you, “Please…it’s Pentious…tell me you can do something!?” She starts to sob into your shoulder, “Please…Adam zapped him and the Egg Bois…” she whimpers. You look around but don’t see them anywhere, “Charlie, I’m sorry. I can only heal what I can see and touch…I - I can’t bring back the dead…”

She screams out, transforming into her demon form and taking off on Razzle towards Adam. You remain held down by Alastor’s shadows. “Take me to him now!” you beg the shadow attached to your legs. Your pleas go ignored. Enraged, your hand begins to glow, “GET OFF!” you scream as your power pushes the shadowy fingers off your legs. Finally free, you continue towards the hotel. Before you hit the door a large blast rips through the center of the building, making the walls crumble around you. The shadows once again flood around your feet but this time the world around you fades out. Your body swims through darkness. In the past you’ve always been sent straight to another location. This time, however, he holds you within the shadows.

After who knows how long, the world begins to fade in again. The demolished remains of Alastor’s tower surround you, clouded by dust and smoke. Being held in the shadow state for so long felt like being on a ship in a storm. You stumble to your knees trying to regain your balance. “Alastor?” You call out, coughing from the thick air.

Pained grunts can be heard to your right. You stagger over and find Alastor sitting up against a broken beam. Blood gushes from a wound across his chest, “Damnit…” You mumble, straddling his legs to get a better look at the gash and keep him still. “Don’t!” He snaps as your hands run across his chest.

You sit back on your heels with a puzzled look, “Don’t what? Heal you? Are you stupid? You’re going to bleed out!” You place your hands on his shoulders, pinning him in place, “Hold still, I can -” “I said don’t!” he shoves your body to the side and shuffles away from your reach. You freeze watching the blood continue to drip down his body. “I should have had him. He was weak!” he huffs angrily through the pain. “At least if this kills me, we won’t have to worry about Lucifer’s deal.”

“Not funny.” you whisper, slowly crawling back towards him. He holds a hand out in protest, “You’re already weakened from healing the others. I don’t want to risk what this could do to you!” you ignore his resistance and continue to climb over him. Your legs cage him in and your hands gently press his body to the floor by his shoulders. His eyes flicker between red and black as he pants under you.

“Please, my love, this is not your pain to bear. You’re not strong enough. Not after everything -” he pleads weakly through a raspy voice. His eyes begin to glaze over and his smile fades. You cup his cheek, grinning through teary eyes, “There was only ever one choice when it came to the deal with Lucifer. I love you, and I’d die a thousand times more if it meant saving you.”

Before he can respond, your lips crash into his. He captures your screams of pain with his mouth. You feel his arms wrap around your writhing body as a hot white fire burns across every fiber of your being. You peek through blurred vision long enough to see a single teardrop fall from his eyes.

He breaks the embrace and sits up to cradle you, “You stupid, stubborn, beautiful woman…” he coos while brushing the hair away from your sweat soaked face. You spasm in his arms, the fire still tearing through you, gasping for any air your lungs can contain. Your eyes start to roll back and he shakes you gently to keep you awake, voice wavering, “No, you don’t get to leave me now. There’s too much we still need to do.”

Through the blinding pain, you feel him slip something onto your finger. He leans down and kisses your forehead. “I choose to never live without you.” He breathes against your skin. You can almost make out a bright glow of pink and green growing around you before your vision fades and your body goes limp in his arms.

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tojisun · 1 year

Text

our shallow graves — 02

recom miles quaritch x recom fem reader

!! smut (between fwb outside of main pair) - minors dni; heat (as theme); mean quaritch; power imbalance; reference to (made up) past; worldbuilding; fast slow-burn; switching povs; weapons; reader adopts a nickname (callsign) which gets used // 5.1k words

: luvv writing from a chara’s pov n not just the reader’s <33; my bff wanted a love triangle but noo there would never be, i swear; replaying lady gaga and thenbhd as i write this; i hope u guys would luv this!!

↦ hydra - recom machine gun (not the door gun in the samsons); y70 - bullpup rifle/skel bullpup

prev // m.list // next - tbp

camaraderie with the colonel seemed to deteriorate overnight. your only saving grace is that it seemed like no one understands why his slight recognition for your talents evaporated quickly, the team having been reduced to shooting you with concerned glances whenever quaritch continues to ice you out.

you wanted to believe that it didn’t bother you much, but the taste of failure sits heavy on the tip of your tongue. quaritch is your superior, someone you were willing to interact with at an arm’s length, but now, even that seems impossible.

“give him time,” walker says as you two enter the gun range, modified with an open ceiling to allow your na’vi bodies to breathe without the need for the respirator. “he’s probably still pissed because recon was delayed but c’mon now, we need extra time to take on the hellhole pandora’s about to be.”

you hum, your mind far away, as you begin to line up in one of the shooting stalls. you feel bare without your hydra but walker insisted on practicing with the Y70.

“for good time’s sake!” she said, laughing when you rolled your eyes at her, calling her out on the fact that she only preferred the rifle because it was what she was exceptional at.

your tail swishes behind you slowly before stilling, suspended in the air – a perfect imitation of your focus. you purge your mind of all thoughts, steadying your breath as you gaze at the moving targets. thrill runs down your spine at the first fire, the bullet going through the head of the target in a clean, single shot right at its temple. it is almost too natural how you were able to fire off the other bullets, muscle memory kicking in as your years of experience rush back to you, engulfing you with a single focus.

clean shot upon clean shot; head, heart, lungs – every vital organ and artery that you were aiming at were hit. it is like nothing existed in that moment, not your new life or your repeating nightmares of your death or even quaritch. it is just you and that rifle, against the world.

it was the first real taste of freedom you ever had from the moment you woke up in pandora, fifteen years after the war.

walker stalks towards you with a grin, her rifle slung on her shoulder, looking smug as she shows you her perfect tally. you grin at her, feeling your tail finally untense, swishing around in languid satisfaction.

“look at you with the perfect shots,” she says, dramatically whistling as though she wasn’t a better marksman than you are.

“i have a good teacher,” you reply, winking at her. she chuckles, shaking her head, and you wish she had her braids down just so you can see them bump against each other.

“and you are welcome.” walker places a hand on her chest before bowing theatrically, making you erupt in hearty giggles.

comfortable silence settles as you two walk back to your quarters, ears flicking at each sound that rumbles from the belly of the compound.

the sensitivity of your heightened senses brings you back to the night the colonel caught you sneaking out of mansk’s room, pure anger shimmering within his beautiful golden eyes and poison coating his hissed-out words. you do not know what set him off – you do not want to believe that it simply had been because you and mansk fooled around, not when quaritch has done worse.

(in your brief encounter with the human colonel quaritch, you have seen them together only once. the babe was swaddled in thick blankets, leaving only tufts of sandy hair visible to curious eyes.

you tried not to linger when you saw how the colonel walked around with the child in his arms, cradled gently, carefully, his usually-stern face melting into something kind. into something human.

the harbinger of destruction. a father.

you couldn’t wrap your head around the man. not even as you watched in silence, obscured from his line of sight, as he nuzzled his nose on the boy’s forehead, breathing him in.

pandora’s real first human, a boy blessed by eywa, and there he was, held in the hands of the man who would threaten her balance.)

“maria,” you call, slowing down your steps and turning to look at your friend.

walker hums, tilting her head to meet your gaze. “what’s up?”

“do you, uh, know what happened to the kid?” you didn’t need to specify who it is that you meant.

she stops walking, her brows furrowing in hesitant confusion. you lick your lips, wondering if you might’ve overstepped, after all, walker may be your friend, but her loyalties will always be with the colonel. even back in hell’s gate, she always separated her friendship with you from her duty – it felt like she constantly lived two different lives.

“it’s just that i can unwind with you,” she used to say, huffing when the clips she used to pin her bun got lost within the gelled strands of her hair. you would pull her to your bed, chuckling quietly, before taking over, gentle hands familiar with her hair like it was yours that you were grooming.

“why do you ask?” walker responds, twisting so she can fully face you.

you shrug. “i don’t know,” you say, a half-truth. “the memories are coming back to me slowly and one of them is him.”

walker remains quiet, studying you with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, before a sigh creeps out of her lips. you feel your heart lighten up, your body uncoiling from the tension, and you shoot her a small smile, grateful for her trust.

“i dunno, to be honest,” she says as you two begin walking again, your steps this time are more languid. you two don’t entertain the gawking humans who scurry out of the way as you and walker make your way back to your rooms, busy murmuring to each other.

“they probably sent him back to somewhere in terra where relatives could take care o’him.”

you grunt, nodding, choosing not to prod any more.

just before the two of you can part ways to enter your respective rooms, lopez comes running down the hallway, hollering your names.

“les’ go! colonel’s back from the meeting, and word is that we get our mission today!”

“thank fuck for that!” walker whoops. she meets your eyes. “rico, come on!”

you try to ignore the sudden swoop of paranoia that settles in your stomach, choosing instead to follow as walker and lopez run to meet with the others. you had hoped that you would’ve been able to fix whatever it was that happened between you and the colonel before the mission, but it seems like you don’t have that privilege anymore.

it seems like with quaritch, you don’t get mercy.

-------

just like what lopez said, the colonel returned with orders from the brass that you all would be sent out soon – the omatikaya stronghold changed upon the return of the humans, and now you are all tasked to draw jake sully out. you are all given a week to prepare for pandora’s beasts – you are aware that they meant the na’vi more than the actual animals roaming the lush jungle.

recon was cancelled, the new schedule no longer permitted such opportunity; the general had, instead, ordered your squad to move in and navigate the hard way. you tried not to shrink at the withering look that quaritch shot you as he mentioned that. mansk shifted close, as though to show that he stood with you even against the colonel’s seething glare, but it seemed like it was the wrong thing to do as quaritch only seemed to grow angrier.

you tried your best not to react, but your tail dropped, coiling around your thigh in the face of the colonel’s disapproval. you are too ashamed to look at the others, not wanting to see their own disappointment or even their pity so you kept your eyes on quaritch, using his authority to hide from the attention that your squad was giving you.

the meeting reaches its end, the colonel ordering wainfleet and zdinarsik to take over. mansk hovers, falling into step with you as you both move to leave the room together when the colonel’s voice stops you.

“rico, you stay. mansk, y’r dismissed.”

mansk shoots you a quick glance before nodding at the colonel and leaving with the rest. wainfleet had taken the lead as they all marched out with zdinarsik covering their back, the taller recom nodding at you upon meeting your gaze before closing the door behind her.

there is silence in the war room as you stand still, waiting for quaritch to make the first move. you rack your mind for another fuck up that he can berate you with, but nothing comes up, leaving you grasping at nothing but the bubbling anxiousness gnawing at you.

“i suggested to general ardmore that we bench you, rico.” he raises his hand at your visceral reaction – your jaw falling open as you flinch, protests about to slip from your lips, as a now-aborted step almost draws you close to him. “listen to me first, corporal.”

you blink at the realization that his voice doesn’t denote any malice, the rich baritone is painfully neutral, and you think, then, how hearing his indifference just stings a whole lot more.

you remain silent, watching with bated breath as quaritch pulls a chair out and motions for you to sit down. your legs feel like lead as you fall into it with no grace, your body going taut with tension when the colonel takes the one just in front of you.

the space between the two of you is decent – it is the normal distance – but you can’t help but feel the warmth emitting from his bigger figure, almost like your body is singing for him. you try to breathe through your mouth, afraid that you will get a whiff of his scent, reducing you into a puddle of uncertainty and need.

you blink your glassy eyes up at him, trying to focus, to listen, but it is like all those times that quaritch pushed you away had made you hypersensitive about him. he is all you can focus on; past the need to prove to him of your worth, he is all that fills you up. the way he smells, the way his eyes study you, the way his voice rips through the static – you want all of it.

heat builds up in the pit of your stomach.

fuck.

“you doin’ ok there?” the colonel asks, his indifference melting as worry bleeds into his tone.

“i, uhm,” you begin, your voice faltering. you try to reel in your mind, grinding your teeth to snap you from your trance.

“yeah.” you clear your throat, breathing in shakily. “i mean, yes sir.”

quaritch grunts, his eyes still pinned on you. “this is exactly why i wanted to leave you behind.”

that brings you out of the haze, your attention snapping back into a singularity. “permission to ask why, sir?”

quaritch sighs. “the science pukes mentioned how y’r still lagging behind. kid, i’m gonna be honest with you – i can’t afford a weak link.”

his words feel like knives carving into you. you’ve always thrived in your capabilities – you wouldn’t have gone far if you weren’t good, if not one of the best, and yet, in his eyes, your single fumble has cost so much.

“pandora is gonna eat you up and spit you out – well, it already did, otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. and yet, general ardmore still insisted that we take you.”

you watch as the colonel leans over, eating up the miniscule distance between yourselves to peer at you. “tell me, rico. just why are you so important to her?”

you wish you have the answer; you wish you have anything to give to him, to make sense of your own purpose, but nothing comes up. it is like you’re constantly floating around, untethered, and yet severely burdened at the same time. they tell you how the general favours you, and yet she has yet to tell you that herself, leaving you alone in navigating your position amongst the other recoms.

the loneliness doesn’t stop eating at you.

“colonel, i really don’t know,” you finally utter, breaking eye contact to stare at the ground.

quaritch clicks his tongue. “no, there’s gotta be somethin’ i’m missin’. i read your files, you know that?” he grins meanly when your eyes snapped back to him. “oh yeah, i did. and imagine my goddamn disappointment when it showed me nothin’ noteworthy.”

he stands up, his voice gaining strength, and you realize that you can now see his fury in its entirety.

“yeah, you’ve got a way with flying, but that skill’s practically useless unless we can get our own banshees. and even then, they ain’t machines – your skill’s obsolete. y’ve got a way with guns, sure, but so do the rest of my squad; it ain’t just lyle who’s got a great shot, after all. and yeah y’r hand-to-hand combat is good, but it ain’t the best.”

you feel tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as quaritch continues his admonishment. you feel like everything that you are is suspended in the air, carelessly peeled off and overturned until you are nothing but your skin and bones.

“y’know what i saw?” the colonel asks in a barely-contained snarl.

you do not reply, but it doesn’t matter to him anyway.

“i saw how y’r just a goddamn nobody because if you were any better, i would’ve taken you in before. so tell me rico, just what the hell are you doin’ here?”

you do not know what urged you to do it, but next thing you know you are standing mere inches before the colonel, breaching his personal space to poke at his chest. “i don’t need to prove myself to you,” you hiss.

(it was a lie. after all, it was all you wanted to do. for him to acknowledge you. for him to – what do the na’vis call it? – see you.)

quaritch scoffs, pausing, before he lunges forward to grip your jaw, forcing your head to tilt up and making you look at him. you feel your breath leave your lungs, the blood rushing to your ears and deafening you. anything else seemed to stop, leaving you alone with your petering rage as you gaze up at him.

his breath tickles your lips and you gasp, soundless, feeling the desire exploding in your chest. you do not know what it is that he originally wanted to do because in the next heartbeat, just a slight stutter, all you feel is his lips meeting yours.

quaritch devours your hiccuped squeak, his searing lips moving against your own, pulling out more of the little desperate sounds from your throat only for them to be swallowed hungrily by him. the kiss is hot, messy, but you can’t help but be obsessed with it.

his scent fills you up, settling deep in your chest and making you throb with want. you grip his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to touch more of him. but at the feeling of your hands, quaritch rips his lips from yours and scurries to back away from you.

you stand there, your chest heaving as you catch your breath, feeling your lips tingle from his kiss. you watch as his face crumples at the realization of what he’s done before it reverts back into faux stoicism, as though he isn’t affected by the kiss. as though he doesn’t feel the same burning desire that engulfed you whole.

“colonel-”

“no fraternizing with a squad member,” quaritch utters before he lifts his hand up to rub at his lips with the back of his palm.

“oh, so now we’re following the golden rule?” you mutter, the words bubbling out before you can stop them.

you know that you crossed a line at the mention of what he’s done with socorro but you are too filled with a blazing storm of conflicting feelings, rendering you uninhibited as they clash in your chest and drain you of all your energy. you feel yourself shake at the intensity of your emotions – of your yearning – but the colonel continues to stand far away. far from your grasp.

he’s made his decision.

“get going, corporal. y’r dismissed.”

you run out of the room, not caring of the way the tears slip from the corners of your eyes to drench your cheeks, and pretending that you cannot smell the faint scent of the colonel sticking to you.

pretending that you do not feel something in you break.

-------

looking for mansk was the easy part. not using him to drown out the weight of your conflicting feelings, that was the hard part.

mansk has taken you in his arms, cradling you close as you wept on the crook of his neck. he was silent, like he already knew what it is that aches you, and you wonder how could he. you barely knew why you feel betrayal sit in the pit of your stomach; why you feel so drawn to quaritch – attuned to the sound of his voice and the staccato of his footsteps.

why do you ache for his touch?

if it is heat, if it is all biology, mansk does a good enough job in extinguishing the flames of painful need curling within your blood. and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from seeking out bigger and rougher hands and a gruffer voice, the southern accent looping around the vowels, making your stomach clench with desire.

quaritch is all that you’ve ever wanted ever since he first called your name, unknown familiarity sinking in your chest like a rock chucked to the ocean – the paradox is a metaphor of your feelings. funny, isn’t it?

“i don’t understand,” you murmur, sniffling as you pull your head from mansk’s shoulder. you wipe at your eyes, groaning at the futility of it when fresh tears fall and drench your cheeks anyway.

mansk remains silent, his hands have fallen from your back to grasp at your wrists, the warmth from his palms not doing anything to soothe your nerves.

“it’s like he needed that little blip in my performance to finally rationalize the hate he feels for me, and then it just didn’t stop,” you continue, breathing in shakily. “and i wish i could just ignore him but, fuck, i can’t.”

you shake yourself from mansk’s touch, standing up from his bed to pace around his room. the pads of your feet are quiet on the metal floors and you ignore the shot of coolness that comes with every step. your braids, chopped just below your jaw, frame your face with stray strands sticking on your damp cheeks despite your frantic moving.

“he’s there and he’s nowhere at the same time, devin. like, i try my best to avoid him but he’s always a consistent presence in my life. it doesn’t fucking matter if he’s ignoring me, not when he’s always in the same room, within the same space.” your voice raises, scratching your throat as anger and hurt bubble up, ever-so expanding until you are grasping at the remnants of your rationality.

“and i want him. i feel like dying when i’m not with him and he-” you pause, a choked sob getting punched out from your lungs. mansk startles, clambering from his bed to hover by your side, not really closing in but standing just near enough that you can see the downturn of his ears, his worry etched on his face.

“he doesn’t feel the same way, dev.”

you crumble, feeling lightheaded from the explosion of anguish burning at your seams, and mansk finally embraces you.

the first kiss was hesitant, chapped lips meeting bruised ones, and he doesn’t move until you are pawing at his shirt and tugging him close. mansk falls into his role easily, nipping your bottom lip as a distraction which you take eagerly.

quaritch’s snarl from many nights ago creep into your mind, his southern accent tearing through the sudden buzz of mansk’s touch, taunting you – “you reek.”

you think just how upsetting it is to feel your desire expand into fanned flames at the memory of quaritch. at the memory of his anger – the only thing of him that he’s given to you freely.

mansk rips his lips from yours, panting, his eyes dilated with desire. “rico, y’smell so good.”

your shirt is torn from your body, your cargos thrown over broad shoulders – not broad enough, not tall enough, not angry enough.

you try to forget, to stop thinking, as mansk fucks you; thin fingers sliding along your slit and sinking into your heat, curling to prepare you for his length. not even the way three of his fingers overwhelm you with the feeling of being stuffed can silence the thoughts – ‘not thick enough, not long enough, not rough enough’ – and you bury your face on his pillow, trying to smother the tears.

the slide of his cock should’ve rendered your mind into white static, but it seems like your veins are thrumming with a visceral need, one that you know only quaritch can quell.

“choke me,” you mumble, blinking wetly up at mansk, your chest heaving at the muted desire filling you up.

“what?” mansk asks, breathless, his body shaking from the crashing heat.

“choke me,” you repeat, this time clearer.

mansk hesitates, his wide eyes growing bigger, his scent curling into something darker. the wrap of his hand around your throat is sure, gentle despite your plea, before he squeezes. the pressure grounds you, feeding into your desperation. into your delusions.

(you think of quaritch. it seems like you never stop thinking about him.

he will take you the same way lava takes everything – devouring beyond flesh, nipping right into the core until all it leaves is the flames of a thousand suns. his desires will crush you, filling up the spaces between your blood vessels and your synapses with nothing but him.

and you will love it. you will let yourself be scorched because ever since you have met him, all you knew was fire and how they lick up into your chest, swallowing your heart, almost like they are branding his name directly in you.

like you have belonged to him even before.)

mansk wipes you with a towel, murmuring soft apologies when your body jolts in oversensitivity at the rough drag of the cloth. he passes you his shirt and then pulls you underneath the sheets, tucking you in for the night.

“thank you,” you say, weakly smiling at him.

mansk returns the smile, brushing your braids away from your face. “just like old times.”

your eyebrows furrow, confusion triumphing over exhaustion. “old times?”

“yeah,” he grunts, falling beside you. “you’ve always liked the colonel and granted we didn’t fuck then, but you always vented to me so, y’know?”

mansk’s words wash over you like a crashing tide, pulling you from the shore and submerging you into the depths of the unknown. you grasp at your memories, flitting from one to the other, trying to find pieces of your affection for the colonel only to fall short. surely, you would’ve remembered. surely, the feelings, with how intense they are, did not just go away; that you did not just lose a piece of yourself.

you think of the haunting, how the colonel and socorro appear in your memories in fragments, and feel a twinge in your heart. was it not indifference? that all this time when you remembered her, when you used her to learn more about quaritch, it was because you liked him too?

were you always a fool like this? searching for bits of quaritch in the hands of another, trying to claim the stray parts like they could be yours to begin with.

“rico?” mansk’s voice breaks through your reverie.

“i… i don’t remember.”

he turns to you in surprise. “what do you mean you don’t remember?”

“just that,” you say, your voice faint. “i don’t- i can’t remember.”

-------

the moment miles saw his reflection – blue and distinctly not human – he knew there was little of himself left in the hellhole that pandora had become. autonomy and freedom no longer meant much, not when he’s become a weapon.

he’s died once, they said. had he still been the commanding officer in the compound, he’d have the shrink do drills at the stupidity of pointing out his untimely and obvious demise.

no fucking shit he died. miles would’ve remembered turning into a goddamn na’vi if he didn’t.

but, at the end of the day, his anger didn’t matter. like a freak show, he’s back – not really as the same man, but similar enough that the old colonel’s ghost thrums with hymns of vengeance, carrying over to miles’ own person. because miles may not remember his death, but he remembers jake sully’s betrayal.

the boy had chosen his people and miles had chosen his, it is that simple.

the mission was straight-forward, but miles isn’t deluded enough to assume that it would be just as easy. he’s failed once already, after all. perhaps being a na’vi could switch the tides; perhaps being one wouldn’t matter – whatever it may be, miles is ready to carry the burden of killing jake sully.

with a single focus, miles lets the unfamiliarity of his new body roll off his skin like dew before forcing himself to learn and to adapt. painstakingly, he even tried to salvage the pieces of augustine’s research, hoping to find any scraps of information regarding the na’vi in her ramblings, but the compound has scrubbed themselves off the traitor’s books. don’t mind the fact that augustine’s the best goddamn na’vi expert, apparently, they rather bitch around under the pretence of unnecessary patriotism, instead of taking advantage of her research.

when he asked who he should talk to regarding their physio, he was told that augustine was replaced by cooper. unsurprisingly, cooper was unable to fill in the shoes that augustine left, but miles preferred him anyway. the man has lesser empathy, lesser curiosity about the wonders of pandora.

‘that’s good,” miles thought upon meeting cooper. ‘checkups will be clinical. none of that bitchin’ about morals.’

which was why it should’ve been easy transitioning into his recombinant body. it should’ve been.

then, you came along.

sweet, little, pretty thing that you are. you don’t even know what you do to him, walking around looking like you’re pulled straight from miles’ spank bank material. you look darling with your short braids, pulled back with little clips like those that he remembers walker using, as your smooth voice ripples against the heavy tension building in miles’ chest.

there’s always this sweet scent that follows you, and it reminds miles of something that he couldn’t really pin down. it’s faint, teasing his senses with the little bursts until he began to be addicted to it. to be addicted to you.

he had been content with only getting a whiff from every time the two of you crossed paths, your chin ducking down in respect, saluting so beautifully that it had miles pretending that he didn’t have the itch to pat your head in approval.

(you looked like the type to adore praises; the type to want to hear how you’re being such a good girl. all for him.)

he didn’t want to pursue more, remembering what happened when he last made that mistake, but it just felt so impossible to dismiss his interest in you as something that is only fleeting; something that is only physical, bound by the biological nature of his new body.

maybe if he just pushed back harder against the general, then maybe he could be rid of you. maybe there would be nothing thrumming underneath his skin – he refuses to call it desire, afraid that by doing so, he would chain himself to the ache that he feels – and maybe you would no longer be his growing problem.

then: a spike in the air churned the insides of miles’ head, bolting his legs onto the floor. there was a sort of static, a rumbling charge that pierced past metal walls and choked miles into madness.

he didn’t even realize what it was until he picked up the sound of your voice, pleasure curling against your words as you cried out a name. miles felt lightheaded, warmth crept up from his fingertips to the base of his neck.

(a shackle, one that spelt out your name.

again, do you know what you do to him? what you reduce him to?)

the scent of your euphoria sent him into a feverish state, molten lava replacing blood as he burned. his breaths came out in ragged rasps, and miles gulped down the air as though he could taste you from it. as though that would’ve been enough.

miles knew what danger looked like, he knew what it smelt like, but he never expected that it would take your shape, testing him past his capabilities. so he lied, spitting in anger and lashing out as he held your hand, ignoring the way his skin tingled when it met yours, and he watched as your eyes glimmered with hurt.

fine. that’s fine. miles repeated this mantra until he clambered into his room, almost tripping over his boots, and made his way to his bed.

there was a heavy pressure in miles’ ears as he tore off his belt, his teeth snapped together as he pulled his length out and fucked into his fist, breathing into the other one to chase the fading scent that you left.

he lost himself in his thoughts, imagining that it had been him who reduced you into a moaning mess. that it had been him who you came to for your heat; that it had been him who made you cry, your whimpers slipping past shut doors until everyone could hear your sweet cries.

miles has always been possessive, he doesn’t need the soul drive to know that.

his orgasm ripped through him in muted pleasure, not enough to stoke the heat rumbling deep in his belly.

“fuck!” he growled, frustration bubbling up into his mouth as he screwed his eyes shut, trying to forget the way you look; the way you walk, the way you shoot your hydra or the way you maneuver a bird as though you and the machine are one.

but it was futile. he’s ruined.

you’ve ruined him.

tagging (pls lmk if you wanna be added or removed!) - @hinataashoyos @babyduk213 @ilovebluedilfss

#suns.f #miles quaritch x reader #quaritch x reader #recom quaritch x reader #recom miles quaritch #miles quaritch #atwow quaritch #quaritch avatar #avatar the way of water #suns

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hero-israel · 1 year

Note

Something that I just need to get off my chest, and tbh I'm curious what you and your followers think about this topic: I'm Jewish and for shorthand purposes, a Zionist, but out of fairness and intellectual honesty I do try to read opinions/articles coming from an anti-Zionist perspective. I specifically look for ones that aren't explicitly antisemitic (which narrows it down substantially) and acknowledge the valid claims of both peoples (narrowing it down even further.) In several of these more balanced articles, I've seen extensive analysis of "Jewish fear" and how the politics of fear impact the situation. At first I was trying to take this perspective in, because I have seen fear (even legitimate fear) be weaponized. On the other hand, though, the longer I think about it, the more I really don't like how most of them approached that discussion. It comes across very "get over yourselves" and "get past the past," and I just find that extremely frustrating. Because the thing is this: it's not paranoia, or post-trauma, or even particularly remote in time. It's a completely rational fear when one looks at the last 2500 years of history and stacks that up against what Palestinian leadership's stated goals are re: removing Jews from the land. And there's never any real concrete plan for how to keep Jews safe from another genocide (or multiple) if we don't have self-determination somewhere, ideally somewhere we have a valid historical claim to. It just gives me strong "go back to your husband and save your marriage; I'm sure he'll change" energy. Why should we believe that it'll be different. The bones of Babi Yar weigh that scale down pretty far and so far there's naught but a feather on the other side. Hopes, wishes, thoughts & prayers, etc. Anyway it really rubs me the wrong way.

It's not remote at all.

Less than 90 years ago, major cities from Vienna to Warsaw to Alexandria to Baghdad were all 25% Jewish. To put that in context, New York City today is about 18% Jewish. 100,000 Iranian Jews were forced to flee for their lives from an "antizionist-not-antisemitic" regime in 1979, the same year Alien came out. Poland banished its pathetic surviving remnant of Jews in 1968 as collective racial revenge for defeating the Soviet bloc's Arab client states; that was 8 years after Ruby Bridges climbed those school steps.

What is ancient history? What doesn't matter anymore?

You are right to see it as a "go back to your husband" vibe. Whenever I have told social-justice leftists about the unreliability of America, about the Jewish need for a state that is guaranteed to defend us if America goes the same way all prior diaspora countries did, several of them have told me that American Jews must stay and fight for their country and force it to be safe for them. I can't help but notice that they say no such thing about Mexicans or Syrians, for whom fleeing to a safer country is seen as an unquestionable right - no matter how much racism that safer country may have anyway.

#judaism #zionism #jumblr

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paladin-heart5 · 5 months

Text

Save Her (Part One)

Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary; Leon's fiancee has been captured by an underground black market group. He needs to save her, but once he does, he needs to prepare for her recovery.

CW; hurt/comfort, captivity, swearing, blood/bruising, mild suicidal thoughts. (lmk if I missed anything)

Three weeks. For three weeks his best friend, no, fiancée, has been missing. And after all that time stressing, all those sleepless nights, he's got a solid lead. An underground gang that sells bio-weapon prototypes. They buy blueprints off the black market and build them to sell to high bidders. With the intel Hunnigan found, they gotta be the ones who have her. The question is, why would they take her? They better not be experimenting on her. He'll have to put a bullet through every head, just like the undead he spent most of his life killing. Maybe he'll do it anyway. When he came home from work one day, he found the door broken open, many signs of a struggle, but they still got her. No ransom notes, nor blood. The anger in his eyes was strong, they can't just take her away like that. She's going to come home safe and sound. She has to.

“The location has been sent to you, but you'll need to be careful getting down. There's likely going to be some form of security, definitely cameras. Keep your head down.” Hunnigan explains as Leon, Chris, and Rebecca gear up. Leon knew he couldn't do this alone, he needed his friends. Jill is on another mission, and Claire is traveling for TerraSave. Chris wasn't going to let him do this in the state he's in. Barely a wink of sleep, very little food in his system. He had to force him to do both just so he wouldn't kill himself. He can't save her when he's passed out on the ground. “Head to the warehouse, clear the area, and find the hatch. The rest I won't be able to help much with.” She finished explaining, earning a nod from Leon.

“Got it, thank you, Ingrid.” He says softly. Ingrid gives a hint of a smile.

“I care about her too, bring her home safely.” She states, pointing at them. Leon chuckles and gives a two finger salute. The three of them are off in no time, settling into Chris’s jeep before taking off. Rebecca looks through her computer for possible access to the cameras at the warehouse.

“It doesn't seem like there are many camera's underground, just in the warehouse itself. So I'm guessing there might be some muscle down there. Judging by some old files, their number of sales on the black market have increased by 40% in the last three months.” She explains to the men. Leon's leg bounces anxiously as he listens, Chris frowning as he thinks.

“I just don't understand, what do they want with Y/n?” The muscular brunette asks. Rebecca hums and types for a couple of minutes before answering.

“My guess, using her knowledge as a biologist to build their newest experiment. Though I can’t seem to get through this inscription, so I won’t know for sure until we get there and see it for ourselves.” The professor explains.

________________

The echoes of men cheering down the hall caused a spike in her heart rate. The cold floor of the cell she’s on makes her shiver as she sits in only a dirty hospital gown and undergarments. Her hair is greasy, and knotted. She'd kill for a shower if she wasn't so weak. Y/n hugged her knees to her chest, the chains connected to her ankle making a clanking sound. Bruises and cuts litter her skin, all that fighting ended in such pain. She just wanted to be home, resting in bed with her soon to be husband. But those words from the fuckers that took her. They haunt her, every day she starts to believe them.

“He's not coming for you, doll."

“And even if he did, he won't love you.”

“You belong to us now.”

She squeezes her eyes shut as she holds her head. Tears starting to prick her eyes for the hundredth time since she's been stuck here. Leon would never leave her like that. He loves her, he promised that when he proposed. “He's just having trouble finding me.” She mutters, but still; as time goes on, hope continues to fade.

____________

The ringing of gunshots caused her to wake with a start. She can hear shouting and footsteps all around. Y/n curls up and covers her ears, too afraid to even try to see what's happening. Could be friend or foe, but it's hard to tell at this point. All those torturous nights of scaring her into talk, forcing her to do tests. She's simply too tired to move, to think. She's not even sure she wants to live anymore.

“Leon! Check all the cells! We have to get her out quickly if we're gonna blow this place.” A familiar voice called out, followed by footsteps nearing her cell. Why can't she remember that voice, and did he say Leon? As in her soon to be husband? Perhaps her mind is starting to play tricks on her. That little bit of hope left could be tricking her.

However, the footsteps get louder. A shadow of a man draws closer, and she isn't sure what to do besides try to hide herself. When the footsteps stop suddenly, she peaks her head up slightly. A tall man, fairly muscular and sandy blond hair stands in front of her cell. His eyes are a beautiful blue, but they seem dull. As he sees her, his heart stops, breath hitches. It's her, his future wife. Y/n stares at him in disbelief, this definitely has to be a trick, that man looks just like Leon.

“Y/n..” The sound of her name was breathy, but it immediately made her feel a sense of comfort. His voice, deep and smooth, it's very soothing. Though she still can't be sure that her mind isn't playing tricks. She hugs herself tighter, shaking as he approaches slowly. He kneels down in front of her, worry and sadness clear in his eyes. He frowns and slowly reaches his hand out towards her face. A whimper escapes as she tenses, which only makes him feel worse.

“It's me, baby. It's Leon.” He says softly, managing to graze his fingers along her cheek. Her eyes widen, they look almost lifeless to him. They become glossy as tears quickly begin to pour.

“You're- you're really.. here?” She asks quietly, earning a nod from the blond. The tears fall heavily down her cheeks as a loud sob racks her body. Leon quickly grabs her hands, trying not to let himself fall apart because he just can't. He has to be strong for her, he needs to get her to safety. Chris runs by and hears her cries, stopping in his tracks. He looks over and his eyes widen. He begins to step into the cell, noticing the chains. He then pulls out a set of keys that he collected from one of the guards.

“Leon, here.” He calls softly, giving him the keys. Leon looks back and smiles thankfully. “Where's Rebecca?” He asks, quickly unlocking the chains around Y/n’s ankles.

“Grabbing the files so we can figure this out. Let's go, quickly.” Chris states before rushing out. Leon looks at his fiancee and cups her cheek.

“Baby, I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? Just hold on to me.” He watches her head nod in acknowledgement before carefully lifting her up. She grabs his vest as he carries her bridal style, following where Chris went. Her glossy eyes wander around tiredly as they move. Everything feels fuzzy, the sounds of gunfire become muffled. Even Leon's voice fades in and out, but when she realizes he's talking, she looks up at him slowly. He holds her close, realizing how pale she is. When they finally find Rebecca, she goes to Y/n to check on her.

“We have to get her to a hospital. Now.” She states with a firm tone. The two nod and get what they need. Chris sets up some C4 in the computer room before they all rush out. Another group of guards enter the hallway, guns blazing. Leon takes cover, shielding her from harm, while Chris and Rebecca clear them out. Once they're all down, they run out to the warehouse and jump into the jeep. Leon looks down at his lover to see she's unconscious.

"Shit, Y/n!" He calls, trying to shake her awake, but she's out cold. He feels her neck for a pulse, luckily it's there, but faint. He shouts at Chris to hurry, and Chris detonates the bomb before speeding to the hospital.

Please be okay.

~~~~~~

A/N; Welcome to the first part of my first little series! Hope you enjoyed it, more to come soon!

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #fanfic #resident evil #chris redfield

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