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hayatheauthor · 8 months

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Everything You Need To Know About Writing Gunshot Wounds

Welcome to the latest installment in my ongoing series on crafting realistic wounds in fiction! After covering stab wounds and burns, it's time to explore the next wound category frequently explored in fiction—gunshot wounds.

Gunshot wounds are a recurring motif in the realm of storytelling. They're something you can easily come across in every genre, however, authors often poorly portray gunshot wounds due to lack of proper research. I understand finding the right resources to aid with your writing can be hard, so here's my comprehensive guide on how to write gunshot wounds.

How To Categorise Gunshot Wounds

There are certain factors you need to consider before writing a gunshot wound. These details are instrumental in crafting a vivid and plausible narrative while avoiding plot holes. The first and most important one is identifying the type of firearm used to inflict the wound.

Picking The Right Firearm

Selecting the appropriate firearm to inflict a gunshot wound is a pivotal decision. It's not just about choosing any gun; it's about picking the right one to align with your desired outcome and the narrative's overall impact. Here's a quick guide on how to pick the right firearm.

The Impact of Firearm Selection

The firearm you choose can significantly influence the severity and appearance of the gunshot wound. Whether your goal is a graphic, gory injury or a precise, long-range shot, the choice of firearm plays a crucial role. Here are some guns you to consider:

Handguns: These are versatile and commonly used in close-quarters combat. They can result in gruesome, close-contact wounds with a higher potential for damage due to their stopping power.

Shotguns: Shotguns disperse shot pellets upon firing, making them suitable for creating a broader pattern of injuries. If you aim to depict a devastating, close-range gunshot wound, shotguns can be a fitting choice.

Rifles: Rifles are known for their accuracy at longer distances. When you need a precise, long-range shot, rifles are the go-to option. They tend to produce a cleaner wound channel, especially when used for a targeted, well-planned injury.

Choosing the Right Firearm for Your Narrative

The type of firearm you select should align with your story's objectives. If you intend to evoke visceral, gory reactions, opt for handguns or shotguns used in close proximity. On the other hand, if precision and long-range engagement are key, rifles can achieve your desired outcome.

Keep in mind that firearm selection can affect the wound's damage, trajectory, and overall portrayal in your narrative.

Categorising The Wound

Once you've identified the type of firearm, you need to establish what type of wound your character will incur.

In order to bring your character's injuries to life, it's important to first identify what you're dealing with. You can do this by categorising the injury based on several factors. For gunshot wounds, this includes the type of firearm used, the bullet's trajectory, and the specific areas of the body affected.

You can categorise your character's gunshot would into seven main categories, here's a quick breakdown of what these categories look like and the level of severity associated with them:

Penetrating Gunshot Wounds: These wounds occur when a bullet enters the body but doesn't exit. The bullet remains inside the body, causing damage along its path.

Perforating Gunshot Wounds: In this case, the bullet enters the body and exits on the opposite side. This type of wound can have a different set of implications due to the bullet's trajectory.

Ricochet Gunshot Wounds: Ricochet wounds happen when the bullet bounces off a surface before hitting the character. The nature of the surface can influence the severity of the wound.

Through-and-Through Gunshot Wounds: As the name suggests, these wounds occur when the bullet enters one side of the body and exits through the other. The trajectory can greatly affect the injury's severity.

Close-Contact Gunshot Wounds: These wounds result from the firearm being fired at extremely close range. The proximity of the gun to the body can lead to unique wound patterns and burn injuries.

Shotgun Wounds: Shotgun wounds differ from those caused by handguns or rifles. The shot pellets disperse upon firing, leading to a broader pattern of injury.

Long-Range Gunshot Wounds: When a character is shot from a considerable distance, the wound might appear different due to factors like bullet tumbling and loss of velocity.

The Anatomy of a Gunshot Wound

To create a vivid portrayal of a gunshot wound, writers need to grasp not only the external appearance but also the internal effects it has on the body. A well-executed description captures both the physical trauma and the emotional turmoil experienced by the character. Here are some symptoms you should take into consideration.

1. External Appearance and Bleeding:

Wound Size: The size of a gunshot wound can vary significantly based on the type of firearm and bullet used. Smaller calibers may leave entry and exit wounds that are relatively small, while larger bullets or high-velocity rounds can create much larger wounds. Be specific about the size, which can help readers visualize the injury.

Blood Loss: Gunshot wounds typically result in bleeding. The severity of bleeding depends on factors like the wound's location, the size of the blood vessels damaged, and the bullet's trajectory. Mention the amount of blood, but avoid excessive gore unless it serves a specific purpose in your narrative.

Coughing Up Blood: If the gunshot wound affects the chest or lung area, characters may cough up blood. This symptom often signifies a more critical injury and can add drama to your story.

2. Internal Damage and Symptoms:

Pain: Gunshot wounds are painful, and the character should express this pain through their actions, dialogue, and internal thoughts. Describe the sharp, burning, or throbbing sensations as they resonate through the character's body.

Shock: Depending on the severity of the wound, shock can set in. The character may appear pale, sweaty, and disoriented. This state of shock can impact their actions and decisions.

Loss of Function: A gunshot wound may impair the use of the injured body part. Describe any loss of function, such as the inability to move a limb or use it effectively.

Fainting: In extreme cases, characters may faint due to the pain, blood loss, or shock. Be sure to contextualize this within the narrative, as fainting can have significant consequences for the character.

By diving into the details of a gunshot wound's anatomy, you can craft a compelling and realistic portrayal that draws readers into the character's harrowing experience. I haven't exactly covered every symptom out there, but these are the major ones you should take into account when writing.

Medical Assessment and Treatment

Once you've established your gunshot wound, it's now time to focus on the aftermath. One of the main factors to consider is the medical process that follows. If your character is supposed to die from the gunshot then you could probably skip this section, but if they're alive here are things you need to consider.

1. Initial Assessment:

Scene Safety: In a real-life scenario, safety is paramount. First responders will ensure the scene is secure before approaching the injured person. Consider factors like the presence of firearms, potential threats, and the safety of medical personnel.

ABCs of Assessment: Medical professionals follow the ABCs—Airway, Breathing, and Circulation. Writers can reflect this in their storytelling by highlighting the character's ability to breathe, cough, or speak after being shot.

Vital Signs: Mentioning vital signs like heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation can help convey the character's condition and the urgency of their medical treatment.

2. Trauma Assessment:

Focused Assessment: Medical personnel perform a thorough examination to identify the gunshot wound's location, entry and exit points, and any associated injuries. This assessment informs their treatment plan.

Imaging: Depending on the complexity of the injury, X-rays or other imaging may be required to visualize the bullet's trajectory and any potential damage to internal organs or bones.

3. Treatment:

Bleeding Control: Stopping the bleeding is a top priority. This may involve applying pressure, packing the wound, or even tourniquet application in extreme cases.

Wound Care: Depending on the wound's severity, cleaning and suturing may be required. The character's response to this procedure can add an element of realism to your narrative.

Pain Management: Gunshot wounds are excruciatingly painful, and medical personnel will often administer pain relief or anesthesia during treatment.

Monitoring and Observation: Patients with gunshot wounds require careful observation and monitoring for signs of infection, complications, or changes in their condition.

By accurately portraying the medical assessment and treatment of gunshot wounds, you not only enhance the authenticity of your writing but also depict the physical and emotional toll such injuries can take on your characters. This attention to detail helps your readers connect more deeply with the story.

The Psychological Impact

Gunshot wounds don't just inflict physical harm; they also leave lasting emotional and psychological scars. It is important to note that the extent of the psychological impact on your characters will heavily rely on various factors.

For example, you need to consider whether or not this injury is something normal for them. Do they work as a spy, assassin, or other such roles that would mandate such dangerous injuries? You also need to consider who shot them. Does this wound come with emotional damage as well? Think of Aaron Warner’s reaction to Juliet shooting him.

If you’re sure your character will have some extent of a psychological impact, here are some factors you should consider.

1. Shock and Denial:

Immediate Response: Characters who have been shot may initially experience shock and denial. This can manifest as disbelief, emotional numbness, or a surreal sense of detachment from the situation.

Physical Symptoms: Shock can lead to physical symptoms like trembling, chills, or even fainting. Incorporating these details can make the character's reaction more genuine.

2. Fear and Anxiety:

Survivor's Guilt: Characters may grapple with survivor's guilt if they are the only ones to emerge unscathed in a violent encounter.

Anxiety: The threat of recurrence or the fear of returning to the location where the shooting occurred can trigger anxiety and panic attacks.

3. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD):

Flashbacks and Nightmares: Characters who have survived a gunshot wound may experience recurring flashbacks and nightmares, vividly reliving the traumatic event.

Hypervigilance: PTSD can lead to hypervigilance, where characters are constantly on edge, expecting danger at every turn.

4. Depression and Isolation:

Emotional Withdrawal: Characters may withdraw from social interactions, experiencing feelings of isolation and sadness.

Emotional Numbness: Some may describe feeling emotionally numb, unable to experience joy or pleasure.

5. Recovery and Resilience:

Therapeutic Support: In your storytelling, consider how characters seek therapy or counseling to cope with their emotional scars. Therapy can be a path toward recovery and resilience.

By addressing the psychological impact of gunshot wounds on your characters, you create more layered and relatable individuals within your narrative. This depth allows readers to connect with the characters on a profound emotional level.

I hope this blog on Everything You Need To Know About Writing Gunshot Wounds will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

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distantdarlings · 6 months

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RAGE AGAINST ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 4K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After unfairly losing your first Quidditch match of the year, you're fighting to restrain the rage that's filling you. When Theo realizes how upset you truly are, he gets the idea to allow you to take all of your frustration out on him. (Smut)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Dom!reader, Sub!Theo, piv - no protection, biting, choking, bondage, one slap, fem reader, mommy kink, praise, language, brief description of Quidditch injury at beginning, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

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The icy wind bit against your skin, stinging your cheeks and splitting your lips. Your eyes quickly followed the constant movement on the field through your goggles.

Despite the raging winter storm around the pitch, the game of Quidditch pressed on, as violent as usual. One hand gripped your broom while the other stayed shoved in your jersey, allowing the warmth from your body to provide some feeling back to your fingers.

The score was even at nothing to nothing. Few Quaffles shot by any witch or wizard in Hogwarts were going to get by you, save for extreme luck. You were the best Keeper in a decade. The headmaster himself had said so.

And that fact rang through the entirety of this game up until one point. One point that had shot the most severe anger you’d ever felt through your whole body. And that moment was playing through your head on repeat.

As you had been following the Gryffindor chaser, watching her zoom through her teammates in an attempt to get to you, you had tightened your whole body against your broom. You prepared yourself to smack the ball away from the goals.

As she made the shot, the Quaffle flew past your Chaser and headed right toward you. You were ready. In the blurred motions on the outskirts of your focus on the Quaffle, you noticed the Chaser raise her hand and shout.

Before you could react to the Quaffle or the Chaser, a raging bullet slammed into your hip. The force of the Bludger pushed you over the edge of your broom. A yelp left your lips as you just barely caught yourself on your broom, still suspended in the air. Your hands gripped the handle, but the numbness in your fingers and the slickness of the wood had you sliding more and more.

Cheers erupted around you as the Quaffle flew through the goalpost.

“Fuck!” you shouted, disappointed that the Gryffindors had scored points. Your grip on the broom was becoming less and less sturdy. Every urge to get yourself back on the broom was met by another slip.

Your name was shouted near you. You glanced around until you found Theo speeding toward you full force. He circled around you, lowering himself to become even with you. One hand reached down to grip the back of your chest guard. He began to lift, helping you back onto the broom.

Soft grunts left you as you pulled the length of your chest over the handle. Nearly there, you thought just as another force slammed into your side, shoving the breath out of you. Theo’s hand was jerked away from your chest guard, and your loosened grip on your broom was ruined.

There was no time for you to scream as you slipped right between the two things keeping you in the air. Your stomach dropped as you fell, almost as if in slow motion. As your fingers slipped through open air, hoping to grip onto something, your hearing shot from your ears, rendering the world in silence. You could just barely see Theo’s screaming face as he sped down toward you as fast as he could. You hoped to Merlin he’d catch you before you were out for the rest of the season with two broken legs—or worse.

Just before you could hit the ground, you felt your body lift into suspension as if it had suddenly been caught by an invisible force. The air was pushed from your body once again in a quick motion. You glanced around, quickly spotting Headmaster Dumbledore in the staff spectator booth. He stood at attention with a pointed hand raised in the air. As he lost focus, you fell the last foot to the ground, yelping on impact.

“Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Seeker, has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins by 160 points!”

Deafening applause roared around you, practically rattling the goalposts beneath the weather and sound. Your head fell back in defeat, an annoyed groan pouring from your lips. This was your first loss of the year. Fuck! You punched the sandy ground, the half-frozen surface burning through your gloves. You got to your feet and stomped off the pitch, anger coursing through your veins. From behind you, you could hear Theo Accio your broom to him as he descended through the air.

You pushed through the player’s entrance and got to work ripping your gear off, trying to restrain yourself from throwing any of it. You were so mad, you might cry. You couldn’t believe they didn’t call a foul on the Gryffindor chaser and beaters. They would just call strategy on that shitty move, but as the adrenaline was fading, you realized that your injuries hurt like hell. There was no way those moves were just for strategy—they were meant to hurt.

Once your chest guard was off, you winced as you slowly rolled the side of your jersey up over your left ribcage. Though the blood hadn’t completely pooled behind the injury, you could see the reds and purple already starting to form. You did the same with your right hip, checking to see the damage. You were pretty sure nothing was broken or chipped—just bruised. Your jaw clenched.

“Hey,” Theo ran through the player’s entrance, breathless from the run. You ignored him. You didn’t want to say anything you’d regret. You weren’t mad at him, but you had a bit of a temper.

“Baby,” he sighed, walking over to you. He set your broom against the lockers and attempted to press his hands to your cheeks. You gently brushed him away, shaking your head. “Please, it’s not your fault. That should have been a foul.”

“I know,” you spoke through gritted teeth, making rough work of shoving your gear back into your locker, purposefully ignoring the ache in your bones.

“Don’t worry about it—no one is upset with you,” he reassured. You nodded.

“Baby, look at me—”

“Theo! Please stop!” you interrupted, finally turning to face him. “I’m sorry, but I’m very angry. I don’t care if the team is angry with me. I’m angry with myself! I just want to be left alone for a minute.”

He looked taken aback by your sudden hostility, and a flash of guilt ran through you. This is why you’d hoped he would just ignore you. You had a tendency to be mean when you were angry. You didn’t mean to—it just kind of happened. You sighed and pressed your thumb and forefinger to the bridge of your nose.

“I’m sorry, Theo,” you sighed, “I’ll see you back in the common room, okay?”

You didn’t let him reply before making your way to the exit. You wished you hadn’t lashed out in the way you had, but you couldn’t help it. If there was any chance you were going to be even slightly successful in the Quidditch world, you had to at least stay on your fucking broom. You were so annoyed with yourself you could hardly see straight.

You stomped across the courtyard, wanting nothing more than to just collapse onto your bed. It was a Friday, which meant the Quidditch games happened before dinner. You were starving, but the way you saw it, you had only two options. You could go to sleep and wait until breakfast or face your shame head-on. You chose to sleep.

Once you’d finally reached the Slytherin common room, you’d ignored all of your various housemates who wanted to check in on you. You were extremely grateful for them and would tell them that later, but you needed to be alone right now.

You climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitories and wrestled with your own pride all the way to your dorm. When you appeared before its door, you prayed that no one would be inside. Hopefully, everyone was down at dinner or heading there. You pushed through the door with a held breath.

No one was there. You released your breath in relief and shut the door behind you, refraining from slamming it. The bed at the far end of the room was waiting with open arms. All you wanted was to go to bed and forget that match ever happened. You were beyond embarrassed and would likely mull over all of your mistakes for the rest of your life. Something told you that you’d randomly remember glimpses of this match until you were elderly and cringe every time.

A groan left you as you collapsed against the soft mattress, not bothering to take off your underclothes despite the sweat that had dried over them. You’d wash your sheets tomorrow. You made yourself comfortable beneath the covers before shutting your eyes, willing yourself to sleep. Fucking finally.

A knock on the door had your eyes shooting back open. You shook your head and silently refused to get up. If someone wanted in that badly, they’d break open the door. Wasn’t your problem…

The sound of your name being called permeated the heavy wooden entrance. Your eyes opened once more. You knew well enough the face that belonged to the voice outside, but even he couldn’t convince you to get out of bed at this point. The violent mixture of shame, bruised pride, and embarrassment circling through your head had pinned you to your mattress.

“Baby, please,” he said, a low sigh leaving him. He sounded upset. You were not getting up.

“Please, I need to talk to you.” Damn it. You sighed and got to your feet. Maybe it was something important, entirely unrelated to the match. He could be hurt or upset about something else. Maybe he wanted to ask you on a date or something. You pulled the dorm door open. The look on his face told you that he definitely did not want to go on a date.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his fingers fidgeting against themselves by his sides. With a defeated sigh, you nodded and let him walk through the door.

Once inside, he tore his scarf off, letting it fall to the floor next to your bed. He let his jacket fall from his arms and to the other item of clothing already on the floor. You watched in confusion as he seemed to be shedding every article of fabric he had on himself. His fingers fumbled his belt buckle open, the leather splitting and hanging open over the front of his jeans. He pulled the gray sweater over his head, the static from the material crackling against his slowly revealed flesh. The toned, darkened skin beneath glowed pale from the cold weather outside. Before long, he stood in nothing but his jeans and half-undone belt.

“Theo, what the fuck?”

“Use me.”

Your head flickered against the words, double-taking at the expression pulled across his face. One of genuine concern; his lips parted, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw ticked. You searched that expression, desperate to find some answers to his odd behavior. Yet, no matter how hard you looked, none came.

“What—?” you started.

“Use me,” he repeated, his voice serious and unwavering. You had no words. What the fuck was he talking about? Did he want you to hit him or something? He said he had a bad habit of wanting to punch something when he was angry—maybe that’s what this was. You took a gander.

“What? Like hit you or something?” you tried. He sighed and rolled his eyes a bit.

“No, not necessarily,” he groaned, “I want you to do what you want to me.”

“What? Theo, I’m just not in the mood right now—I thought that much was obvious—”

“No, shut up,” he demanded. “Hear me out…if you still don’t want to after I explain myself, that’s totally fine, but let me try and discuss it.” A few moments passed before you finally let out a sigh and nodded. Surely, he didn’t actually expect you to be horny right now.

“I know that you’re angry, and for good reason, and I also know you don’t want to talk about it,” he started, eyes never leaving yours. “But I want you to try and…you know, get your frustrations out another way. I want you to do whatever you want to me…fuck me, hit me, bite me, kick me—I don’t care. Just get it out, okay?”

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get any words to exit your lips. You really had no idea what to say in response to his proposition. You felt like your obvious answer should be no. None of your anger should be taken out on him in any way. Theo wasn’t really your boyfriend—at least, he’d never formally asked you out—but you didn’t want to hurt him in any way, even if he was asking you to.

“Theo, no…I don’t want to hurt you, that’s—”

“Please, I’m asking you to,” he interrupted once again. “You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

He crossed the remaining space of floor between the two of you, stopping only right in front of you. He gently reached down to grab one of your hands from your side. He raised it between the two of you, his fingers tightened firmly around your wrist. At his proximity, the rate of your breath increased.

“Do whatever you want to me. I can take it,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. Your lips parted at the tone of his voice. His eyes watched yours so intently, the pupils blown wide against the salt spray color. You swallowed thickly.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay?” he smiled, nodding. You nodded, as well. His fingers came up to gently pinch your chin between them. His eyes were bright and encouraging. He didn’t let go of you. “Where do you want me, love?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” you giggled nervously. Your stomach was aching with anxiety like the first time the two of you had ever done anything. You felt like you were completely inexperienced again. Your hands shook against you.

“How about I lay down?” he asks gently, still smiling. He lay down against the headboard of your bed, beckoning you slowly with his darkened eyes. It felt as though he had just been smiling with sweet, reassuring eyes, but his expression had entirely changed. His eyes were dark and lidded, his cheeks barely blushed, his lips parted, and his jaw tight. It took your breath away.

“Come here,” he whispered. You walked toward him, allowing him to help you onto the bed and over his lap. The rough material of his jeans chafed against the insides of your bare thighs. His hands rubbed up and down the top of your legs, pushing the material of your undershorts higher against your hipbone.

“What do you want to do to me?” he rasps.

“I…,” you breathed, your confidence wavering. You knew exactly what you wanted to do now but were unsure if you could say it. His eyebrows raised, his head nodding you on.

“I want to fuck you the way I want,” you whispered. With every second, your confidence built, illuminating the heat within your abdomen. More ideas flew through your head. The thought of being able to do whatever you wanted was a powerful feeling. Was that bad? You weren’t sure.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Incarcerous,” you whispered. Wandlessly, you watched as thick, black cords tightened themselves around Theo’s wrists. They wound themselves around the gaps in the headboard, securing him against the wooden material. Your intention behind the spell was not to harm him, and your magic knew what you wanted. His breathing was deep but controlled as he let everything happen to him. You asked if what you were doing was okay. He nodded emphatically.

His core, which rested between your thighs, swelled rapidly. A smirk fell over your face as you dragged your nails down his bare chest. A gasp left his lips, and his eyes clenched shut at the sensation. His hips rolled slowly against you, trying to elicit some contact against himself.

“Theo, if I do something wrong, will you tell me?” you asked. “Say ‘Quidditch’ if it’s too much, okay?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be making you forget about that very thing?” he chuckled breathlessly. You rolled your eyes in response. You weren’t concerned with what word he used as long as the two of you were on the same page.

Once you had confirmed that he wouldn’t let you go too far, you wasted no time getting to work. You had needs that had sprung up rather instantly at the thought of being able to use Theo however you wanted, and you were going to satiate them.

You placed your lips to his quickly, reveling in the feeling of his tongue on yours. Already, he found himself tugging at the cords restraining his hands. He groaned at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hands in your hair. You moved your lips away from his and trailed long, open-mouthed kisses down his abdomen. Small noises exited his lips every time you bared your teeth down against his flawless flesh.

Your fingers found his partially undone belt and set to work removing it from its loops. You gripped the leather material in your hands, making a point to gently trace its rough surface down his marked-up stomach.

You unbuttoned his jeans and roughly dragged them down his legs with little to no help from him. With the fire and confidence blaring through your muscles, you didn’t need any help. You only needed him and his body.

You slid your fingers beneath the band of his briefs, glimpsing the warmth beneath them. You pressed a bruising kiss to both hipbones, feeling the way he jolted beneath your lips at the sensation. Every time you glanced up, his eyes were clenched, and his lips were parted. You adored how reactive he was, no matter what you were doing.

When you slid his briefs down to his ankles, you let the pool of saliva built up in your mouth slip between your lips. As it made contact with his core, you rolled your hand over him, lathering him in it. A very audible groan left his lips at the motion, and it seemed he couldn’t refrain from bucking his hips against your hand, trying to pleasure himself to his end.

“Please, please,” he whispered as you continued to work him up. There was no way in hell you were letting him finish this way, but it was still fun to watch his reactions. Any time he got close to his end, his thighs would tense up, and his eyes would clench harder, and you knew to stop. That’s how he’d always been. You kept that in mind, and just as you began to see those signs, you stopped touching him.

“Ah, fuck, please,” he practically whined as the tension in his body faded away at his ruined high. You ignored him as you tugged your shorts off of your body, with your bottoms quickly following them. You only had one thing in mind at the moment.

A long, deep moan left his lips as you sank down onto him. The built-up arousal and spit around his core made him slip into you with ease. Your lips parted at the feeling, loving the way he filled you so perfectly. Theo had always been perfect for you as if he had been created specifically to please you. He hit every spot he needed to and coaxed more heat from your body every time you lifted your hips, only to sit back down onto him.

“Baby, please!” he moaned aloud. “I’m gonna…fuck, if you keep going like that, I’m—” You laid a slap to his face. His face jerked to one side at the force. His eyes found you in shock, his wrists yanking at the cords. You couldn’t tell if that had been a mistake or not, but you wanted him to stop talking and let you do what he’d asked you to.

“Stop talking, or I’ll make you,” you spoke through gritted teeth. He nodded immediately and shut his mouth. His hips rolled into yours roughly, fucking himself deeper into you. Your eyes rolled back at the motion. When you didn’t respond with your own movement, he continued to do the same thing.

“Good boy,” you moaned, allowing him to push you toward your end.

“Want more,” he groaned out, his hips still pushing into you.

“Theo, what did I say about talking?” you said, your eyes now open and angry.

“I’m sorry, baby, it’s just that—” Wandlessly, you directed another cord from your previous spell to slide its way across his pretty neck. He whined in shock, the feeling surprising him. His lips pressed shut as the cord applied just enough pressure to keep him quiet.

“No more talking,” you warned. He nodded pathetically, forcing his hips back against yours. Fuck what he was saying, if he continued like this, you were going to come prematurely. Even with you controlling the majority of the situation, he managed to make you come close to finishing quickly.

“Fuck, baby, keep doing that,” you whispered. You were closer than you thought.

With what little bodily control he had at the moment, Theo still managed to roughly and accurately fuck his hips up into you at a perfect pace. Every thrust hit something special within you, forcing you closer and closer to your end. Drops of sweat slid down his built chest, coaxing your tongue toward them. You wanted to taste his salty skin, to have his earthy scent engrained in your flesh. You wanted to feel him within you for the rest of your life, never allowing him to pull himself from you. You were utterly obsessed with the boy beneath you and his eagerness to please you. Affection overwhelmed you.

“Yeah, baby? You’re such a good boy?” you cooed, dragging your thumb down his swollen lips. “Such a good boy for me, for mommy?”

At the change in pronoun, Theo’s eyes rolled back, and a muffled groan left his clenched mouth. You could feel his chest shuddering at the onset of his pleasure. His orgasm rolled through him like a wave of electricity, coaxing every last drop of ecstasy from his body. His legs shook beneath you as he released his spend into you, the feeling of which forced you over your own edge. You came hard around him, allowing the proof of your desire to spill around his own.

Once you’d come to the end of your finish, you silently waved your spell and watched as Theo took a deep breath and let his hands fall back down to the bed. He looked content and pleased. His flushed cheeks and sweaty hair plastered to his forehead sent a blush through your stomach. He looked absolutely gorgeous.

“How was that? Was that okay?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“I think I learned a few things about myself, but it was alright,” he murmured, a slight smile on his lips. The two of you giggled silently, falling into each other beneath the covers. Without the warmth of your sex, the wintry weather outside penetrated the windows, laying a cold blanket over the two of you. You shivered giddily.

“I was thinking, if you call yourself that, maybe I should take you on a date…,” he said.

“Oh…you don’t have to. I was just, you know, trying something out,” you laughed.

“Did you like it?”

“It was alright,” you shrugged. “It definitely seemed like you liked it, though.” He rolled your eyes at your teasing tone. “You like it when I treat you like that?”

He said nothing, his words choked beneath the force of his flushed cheeks. You could tell everything you had done had set off some kind of fire within him, whether or not he wanted to admit it. If he didn’t want you to do any of those things again, he’d let you know, but the way he seemed to already be hardening again at the thought of your behavior moments ago had you convinced he’d been a fan of all of it.

*Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth (if you want to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, send me a dm, or message in my inbox. Thanks!)*

#fanfiction #creative writing #writing #reader insert #fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #request #requests are open #fem reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #quidditch

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ethereal-blossom · 2 months

Text

Giving BSD boys a blowjob for the first time

ft. dazai, kunikida

warnings: blowjobs (surprise!) MDNI

a/n: kinda wrote these in mind thinking it was also giving them a handjob for the first time so I guess that's double the fun!

Dazai Osamu ♡

Your eyes looked up to find Dazai's face, searching for a sign of approval. In response, Dazai let out a validating, soft moan and closed his eyes as he nodded. "You're doing excellent, belladonna."

It wasn't unexpected. Dazai, sharp and observant as a hawk, had seen the way your eyes lingered over every small change in his facial expressions. While you were dating, both of you had agreed to take things slow. Even small milestones like holding hands was a huge thing for the man that was wrapped in bandages. The slow burn of deepening your relationship into each other's hearts until it left a permanent mark that even time couldn't erase, was wonderful.

But with time grows desire. Dazai teased you to the point of dilated pupils, hitching breaths, and a blush that cups your cheeks. Exactly like planned, the detective thought, smirking behind the mask of crafted innocence. Except, the plan had been for you to beg him to touch you; not that you would beg to make him feel good as your fingers pushed his hips onto the couch. Dazai is highly aware of his intelligence that makes him read people as if they are a children's book, but sometimes, he thinks he doesn't always grab your nature. The type of nature that has you on your knees in front of him, getting high off of his pleasure.

When you wanted to focus your attention back on the twitching cock in your hand, the sight of Dazai's fingers grabbed your attention. You knew Dazai better than any living soul. Although still a mystery novel that hides behind words of deceive and avoidance to keep parts of itself hidden until the time of reveal is there, this mystery novel was slowly showing you its pages that brought you closer to the truth.

One of the mysteries revealed was Dazai's massive self-control over his external reactions. Emotions were another vulnerable aspect of what it meant to be human, and Dazai hid them masterfully. A part of that was because it functioned as a tactic to reach his goals and stay in control, but a part of you wondered if it was because Dazai feared vulnerability more than a bullet. Emotional suffering is torture for the ones with a sensitive heart.

While Dazai's face was decorated in controlled bliss and his moans playing like a soft lullaby, the slender fingers around the sheets were clinging for dear life. You see... could you make another crack in that composed facade?

Your thumb starts drawing circles over Dazai's tip and with that, you witnessed the twitching of both his cock and fingers. A soft groan escaped Dazai's clenched jaw. "Ah, that's my belladonna. You're soo good to me, hm? Working hard for that reward." That controlled tone...

... It wasn't enough.

Dazai could tell something changed. Even though he had his eyes closed in concentration, clinging to the tiny bit of control he had, he noticed how your stroking became irregular. "What's filling your mind that isn't my- argh, shit." Dazai's eyes shot open as he bolted his hips deeper into your mouth, leaving you gagged for a good second.

That face of pure shock and arousal, the one you rarely got to see on your lover, revealed itself to you as you had taken Dazai's tip into your mouth. "Y/N, that's-"

Another lick and Dazai's original sentence was replaced by a moan, and the detective felt like all control slipped between his fingers when you placed your hands around the rest of his cock.

Dazai grabbed your hair, hissing you to go slower because oh God, he was about to cum faster than he ever did in his twenty-two years of living, and God knows he did not want this euphoria to end this soon. Oh, he really wasn't used to feeling this good-

"Belladonna, y/n, please-" Dazai didn't know what he was begging you for. For you to go slower? Faster? What it was, you hummed in approval. That little vibration was all it needed for Dazai to throw his head in his neck. His toes curled as high-pitched whines fell over lips that had become swollen in a miserable attempt to hide his moans.

When you looked up after swallowing, you were met with Dazai's bangs hanging over his eyes. "Osamu, are you okay?" Worried, you push the chocolate colored bangs aside and... oh.

He was so pretty with scarlet painted cheeks. Dazai couldn't even look you in the eyes, giving up after one second of eye-contact before shyly facing another side with his head. "That was... good. For a first attempt."

You chuckled as your hand caresses the cheek that faced your way and with a slightly hoarse voice you respond: "Good. I'll make you even feel better next time."

Dazai's hands twitch one last time before he closes his eyes and mentally picks up every string that he lost along the way. As the detective opens his eyes, you can see the control and seduction in those dark eyes that you love so much.

Dazai leans closer until you feel his breath on your ear. His lips tickle and a shiver runs down your spine as he whispers: "Someone has earned that reward, hasn't she? Let's see how long I can make you last."

Kunikida Doppo ♡

Rubies could not compete with the radiant red glow of Kunikida's face as he realized what you were about to do. The detective should have known you were up to something when he was preparing today's schedule and you had popped up behind him, placing your arms around his waist as you kissed his neck and whispered: "Keep a spot open at 8 PM, love."

Even when the blond had asked for details, your lips stayed sealed. The only hint Kunikida got out of you was "Dazai has made you work over-hours; I want to treat you."

Naively, innocently, Kunikida thought you might have a dinner or massage in mind. Not that he was wrong! It was just a... different type of massage. With your tender fingers wrapped around his cock, Kunikida clenched his jaw to not make a sound, but the moan slipped away as he sighed your name: "Y/n... I, we-"

"Does it feel good, Doppo?" You made sure to rub his tip with your thumb right then, making the detective's cock drop with pre-cum.

"It- yes... yes, it feels good."

Looking up blessed you with the sight of an orderly man turned into a mess under the tip of your fingers. A wave of arousal rushed through your body, seeing the man unravel in front of you. You figured he would be vocal, but oh-

Kunikida was sensitive. The smallest movement had him throwing his head back and trusting his hip as tiny moans calling your name filled the room. Not only were his cheeks the color of fire due to the heat of your touch, but the intimacy of it all left him flustered as well.

You felt a hand rest on your head, lightly gripping a bit of hair. "Y/n... we, you- I have to make you feel good, too."

Oh. "That has to wait."

"But- ah!" The hand around your hair tightened in response to your mouth taking his cock.

Kunikida's thoughts were twirled up in the storm that was you. Your name rolled off his tongue like worshipping prayers as you brought Heaven to earth for him.

The bliss of touching Heaven became too much, and with one closing word, Kunikida fell apart. He arched his back, forgetting to bite his lip to soften the groans that might slip through the walls where his colleagues live. His grip around you tightens, never wanting to let you go, never wanting to let this feeling go. But then Kunikida realizes he's still on earth and lessens his grip on the fear he's hurting you.

The detective looked into your eyes, but they were filled with lust directed at him and God, it felt so sinful that he had to deflect his gaze. Yet, you grabbed his chin and made your boyfriend face you.

"Do you feel better?"

Kunikida stammered, trying to get out a word. "Yes, that was," an embarrassed cough, "excellent."

Your thumb caressed his lip. "Good."

And then, the world flipped around as Kunikida lay your back on the bed. "I have done a deep-dive research on how to please you when the time was there. Now, let me return the favor."

#dazai x reader #kunikida x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd smut #dazai x you #kunikida x you #bsd scenario #bsd dazai #bsd kunikida #dazai x y/n #kunikida x y/n #dazai smut #kunikida smut

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diejager · 7 months

Note

How would each of the monster 141 react if hunter were like- straight up killed in front of them. Like no wiggle room “oh they might be alive and just unconscious” but just straight up dead. Sorry I am a sucker for angst and I feel like this would be a fantastic read considering how bonded and feral they all are to protect hunter. Thanks in advance! Love the blog! Keep it up 👍

Are you trying to get me killed? Do you want me to have a heartattack?

End of the line Cw: death, suicidal thoughts, angst, mention of suicide, blood, injury, tell me if I missed any.

It had been a mistake, a costly one, but still a mistake. In that moment, everything had lost its point, the mission, the goal, the enemy and the celebration were pointless, forgettable. Time slowed, lagging behind in minutes when the shot rang out, booming in your restless minds until all they could hear was a loud thump, a body slumping down.

It was a rookie mistake made by their eagerness to return home, bodies bruised from the last deployment and still sore, skin painted in black and purple, but you pushed on, being sent from one end of the planet to the other. They were hanging on a thin thread of perseverance and training, practiced to live on perpetual soreness and exhaustion.

But that didn’t ease the pain, the open wound in their hearts. They watched you slump over, blood pooling from the wound in your chest —shot center mass. They dropped everything, Rudy rushing to turn you over, hands shaky and eyes blurry, he choked down a sob and a tear slid down his cheek. You were unresponsive, eyes glazed and dull, the light that they all loved gone in a breath. You upper torso bled, a bullet pierced through your kevlar vest, the bullet’s calibre higher than anything they expected.

Ghost joined Rudy, desperate to see if there were a chance to resuscitate you, to bring you back to them. His hands were frantic, tremors wracking his whole body as he loomed forward, trying to find a pulse, hand pressing against your still warm throat. He felt his fears surging forward, the dark voice at the back of his mind grinding out words, terrors that followed him at every step. It was like the last Christmas, when Tommy and Beth died, when Joseph and his mom were shot, when the people he cared for were killed.

Ghost felt his voice leave him, croaky and dying, it made him unable to utter a single word, and so was Rudy, mind blank. So Alejandro was the one to tell the verdict, but they hadn’t needed him to tell them to know. Soap, König and Horangi heard your heart stop, the powerful muscle in your chest explode from the bullet and grow silent. The pain clawed at their hearts, the overbearing weight on their chest made their retreat harder.

However much Price wanted to cry, to fall to his knees as cradle your body against his chest, he was the TF’s leader, he had to bring the rest of them back home. He ordered Gaz back from his perch for the sniper after he dealt with it, Gaz’s advanced sight catching the glint of the scope. Holding the title of a Task Force’s captain meant a lot, it placed a certain amount of responsibility on his shoulder and he couldn’t let his men down. Price could let a few tears slip, but he had to hold it in until he had a moment to himself in the silence of his office.

Gaz was silent during and afterwards, watching your limp body being carried in König’s arms until you reached the aircraft piloted by Nikolai who shared an equally heartbroken and saddened expression as them. His voice died with you, unable to voice his mind or his sorrows, confining himself to his room in silence. Although he lost himself, he had the others to bring him back like you did when Ghost wandered too deeply into his mind, bringing back up memories.

Soap did what he knew best, throwing himself into the fray, overworking himself with solo mission and spearheading other joint work. He almost worked himself to the bone until Horangi pulled him back, scuffing him and beating your wishes into his mind, telling him that you wouldn’t want them to break away like this, to wither away as if they were never here.

Despite helping Soap, Horangi suffered the same as the werewolf did, silently crying himself to sleep, fingers clawing at his head in desperation to quiet down the loud screeches in his mind, degrading words thrown at himself for failing you. He knew you didn’t want him to hate himself, but how could he quell the bleeding wound in his heart when you weren’t here to ease the pain away? The memory of you did.

Alejandro tried his best, acting and trying to feel better until it ultimately failed, he wasn’t in the right place to see you nor talk about you to others, murmuring your name when he slept and woke up with a start. He wasn’t as lost as Ghost was, didn’t shut the world around him down and closed in on himself, but he was following closely behind if he didn’t have the Task Force.

Rudy was the most human out of them, he felt more strongly but couldn’t cry. His mind was blank, the beat in his chest loud and erratic, yet his mind was silent, a ground of deathly quiet. He couldn’t do anything, work became hard, waking up exhausting, and taking care of himself harrowingly difficult. You’d scold him if you saw how he was behaving, how little care he had for himself —to near hunger and insanity. He hung onto your words, your confession, the three words you gave them as a parting gift, that’s what forced him out of his shell.

While the rest worked through their pain, to reach a stalemate together, none fell as hard as Ghost and König, both having a difficult childhood and a harder time following their enlistment. The lost themselves easily, becoming much more violent and deranged in their kills, ripping men in half and swallowing them whole, leaving all but a puddle of blood behind. The only thing that stopped them from ending their pain, to reaching out towards the knife that hung on the side of their thighs were your words, the handwritten words on your will and a message for everyone.

You wanted them to live, to be happy without you being there and that you’d be waiting for them on the other side until eternity. You were patient after all. At least a part of you hung from their necks, your ashes shared between the eight men and your items spread equally.

“I love you.”

Tag list: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel

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save-the-villainous-cat · 9 months

Note

hey, me again!

I raise you: hero/villain where one shows up to the battle already injured and the other one is very offended because how dare you fight anyone else you cheater

“You little cheater,” the villain whispered, eyeing the injury with something close to compassion, yet possessiveness. They moved the hero’s jacket to the side and pushed them a little forward, observing their bleeding back. It wasn’t pretty but the villain had seen them in worse conditions. “Got shot by a coward.”

“Maybe I was the coward for running away.” The villain let out a sigh and tilted their head. The hero looked frustrated in a suspicious way. As if they were hiding something.

“We both know there’s nothing further from the truth than that.” They took a step back and looked around the alley. With astounding annoyance, they realised that it was jealousy they were feeling. Jealousy. Overwhelming abundances of jealousy.

It wasn’t the fact that someone had hurt the hero. That wasn’t the goal, that wasn’t what they were chasing after. It was the fact that they had a deep, fleshy relationship that was complicated and something they usually didn’t acknowledge. Neither of them.

And that someone dared to come close to that, someone dared to hurt the hero. Dared to kill them.

Thankfully, the hero didn’t seem too miserable. But that was to be expected, wasn’t it? That was to be expected from someone who had grown up fighting, someone who didn’t seem to know anything beside that. Both were fools when it came to that. Fighting every single day. No breaks. No family.

The villain let their thumb follow the hero’s cheekbone, smearing blood across their face but the hero grabbed their wrist.

“I don’t need your compassion,” they said coldly. They didn’t move the villain’s hand though.

“No,” the villain agreed. “You want it, though.”

The hero scowled and let go of the villain’s wrist. Disapproval went over their face. And they looked frustrated.

Disoriented. They took a few steps back and their breathing got heavier. They put a hand on the wall to stabilise themselves.

“Fucking hell…” they gasped.

“Some medical attention wouldn’t hurt.”

“Smart-ass.” The villain rolled their eyes.

They grabbed the hero’s jacket and helped them out of it. The hero wasn’t protesting but they were cursing quietly every now and then.

“I can’t believe you’re fighting other people.” It was meant to be sarcastic. Because, obviously, the villain wasn’t supposed to care about that.

“I thought we had an open relationship,” the hero answered. The villain couldn’t help but smile. They hadn’t expected the hero to go along with it.

“We don’t. Put your hands on the wall.”

The hero did.

“Oh. Then I’m really sorry, my love.” The villain stopped for a second, their hands floating over the wound. They were supposed to be the angry one. But the hero, they were…melancholic? The villain didn’t know.

Before the villain could lose themselves fully to this thought spiral, they put their fingers around the wound, trying to find any broken bones underneath the many layers of skin.

Unsurprisingly, the hero hissed.

“You should see one of your medics. Being a hero doesn’t mean you can walk around with a bullet in your back all day.”

“Eh, should be fine. I can still walk,” the hero answered. They turned around.

“You being in emotional distress doesn’t help the situation,” the villain noted. God, poor hero.

“Well, I got shot. I guess that caused it.” The villain stared at them, unimpressed by the dishonesty.

The hero had been shot a million times throughout their career. The villain had seen their reactions to it. They were getting used to it.

Which was horrifying in its own way.

“And who pulled the trigger?” The hero looked at the ground. “A friend?”

“…yeah, best friend,” the hero mumbled.

“Do you want me to take care of the wound?”

“Yes, please.”

#some sidekick watching them: 😑 they’re at it again jfc #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

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niqhtlord01 · 2 months

Text

Humans are weird: Video Games Part 11

Alien: So what is this one about? Human: Vampires in the wild west. Alien: Sounds interesting. Human: You’d think so, but when the main characters are as animated as the undead monsters they fight it’s pretty hard to take them seriously. Alien: From your own admission they are fighting vampire cowboys…..how serious were you expecting it to be? Human: ……. Touché. ---------------------

Alien: What is “The Quarry”? Human: Murder porn and sadness. Alien: ……………… ------------------------

Alien: “Boltgun”? Human: A man too angry to die because of what a sassy bitch he is. Alien: How does being sassy make you avoid death? Human: Because even death is afraid of being mocked so hard. ---------------------

Alien: Why would anyone want to play an aquatic predator? Human: You ever just look at someone and wonder what they’d taste like? Alien: I believe that is called cannibalism. Human: Not unless you’re a giant fish. ---------------------

Alien: Why does the tiny creature have a machine gun? Human: To stop you from eating it. Alien: Most effective. ---------------------

Alien: I heard this one is a popular game. Human: Eh, I guess. Alien: What do you mean “eh”? Alien: There have been five of them made. Human: It’s mostly made for people that like to watch a slow mo shot of a bullet going through a man’s balls over and over. Alien: What sadistic beings are you?!? Human: You should let me tell you about Meat Boy sometime for more context. ---------------------

Alien: This one looks cute. Alien: It’s about a brother in sister in your primitive era. Human: And a shit load of rats. Alien: What? Human: Yeah, you can make the rats devour a man whole as he screams and begs for his life. Alien: I…..but…..just….why? ----------------------

Alien: Why on florps name would someone want to play a game about manual labor? Alien: is not the point of your entertainment games to seek enjoyment? Human: Some people feel pleasure from a job well done. Alien: That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Human: Didn’t your people worship a rock a couple centuries back because when the light hit it the thing sparkled? Alien: ………touché. -------------------------

Alien: I wish to escape this bunker. Human: You just need to find some dynamite and a plunger to trigger it. Alien: Sounds easy enough. Human: And avoid the ancient giant rat god stalking the halls of the bunker. Alien: What is with your people and rats?!!?!?!? ----------------------

Alien: What is this “Crackdown 3” about? Human: A cops fantasy about how they view themselves. Alien: How so? Human: They see themselves fighting crime when more often they help prop up a totalitarian regime. Alien: Did not the second one have monsters in it? Human: That’s how they see poor people. Alien: Holy gargle…..that’s messed up. --------------------

Alien: What is this one? Human: Designing overly elaborate death machines to murder guys in metal suits with swords. Alien: Is that not what we did to your people during the third age of your species? Human: Come again? ------------------

Alien: Is this game about zombies? Human: More a social experiment. Alien: How so? Human: It has no set rules or goal in a zombie apocalypse, but more often you find people choosing the worst things to do to each other for shits and giggles. Alien: It can’t be all that bad. Human: I watched a group of high level players capture a new player, strip them of their gear, and force them to drink bleach under pain of death for a meme. Alien: ……………….. ----------------------

Human: How’s the new game goin- Alien: *Grabs human friend and sprays them with foam Alien: Good…you’re not one of them. Human: spits out foam One of what? Alien: A shape shifter! Alien: They were everywhere on the station and that made me wonder if those bastards are here in the home as well! Human: Wouldn’t say they’re all bastards. Table: Yeah, some of us are actually nice fellows. *Alien and Human both scream*

#humans are space oddities #humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #scifi #funny #niqhtlord01 #video games

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 30 days

Text

Flower Crowns.

masterlist || ask my anything <3

anniversary masterlist here !!

authors note - hi!! this is the last post ill be doing for my anniversary week and this is one of my most favourite little one shots ive wrote in my opinion so i hope you enjoy, it’s a little bit dark so if that’s not your cuppa then feel free to skidadle ☺️

word count - 1k

in which, harrys your body guard because your father is a mafia boss and instead of him taking a bullet for you, you end up taking a bullet for him.

warnings - mentions of guns and shooting, mafia, vulgar language and blood.

With your books hugged close to your chest and your backpack thrown over one shoulder, The campus is bustling with students, the energy vibrant and contagious. You and your best friend Rayleigh chat animatedly, caught up in the ease of your conversation.

"I can't believe Professor Thompson assigned us another case study," Rayleigh groans, rolling her eyes. "Does he think we have no other classes?"

You laugh, adjusting your grip on your books. "I know, right? As if we didn't already have enough on our plates. But I guess it's good practice."

Rayleigh nods in agreement, her expression softening. "Yeah, you're right. Still, it's going to be a long night. Coffee later?"

"Absolutely," you reply, grinning. "I wouldn't survive without our study sessions."

As you walk through the corridors, you spot Harry leaning casually against your locker. His presence is striking, a mix of calm and vigilance that makes him stand out from the crowd. He's dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

"There's your shadow," Rayleigh teases, nudging you gently.

You chuckle, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

Rayleigh gives you a quick hug. "See you later."

"Bye, Ray," you say, waving as she heads off.

You approach your locker, where Harry straightens up as you get closer.

"Hey," you greet him, opening your locker and starting to put your things away.

"Hey," Harry replies, his voice steady and calm. "How was class?"

"Busy, as usual," you say, glancing over at him. "Professor Thompson assigned us another case study. I'm starting to think he enjoys watching us suffer."

Harry chuckles softly. "Sounds intense. Y’handling it okay?"

"Yeah, it's all part of the deal," you shrug, organizing your books. "How about you? How's standing guard duty treating you?"

He smirks. "S’a bit different from m’usual assignments, but I don't mind. Keeps me on my toes."

You finish putting your things away and close your locker, turning to face him fully. "I appreciate it, you know. Having you around makes me feel a lot safer."

Harry's expression softens slightly. "S’the goal. M’here to make sure nothing happens to you."

You nod, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence. "Thanks, H. It means a lot."

He nods in return, his gaze steady and reassuring. "Anytime. Ready to head home?"

As you walk towards your car, chatting with Harry about inconsequential things, a sense of normalcy begins to settle over you. The campus is still busy, students milling around, completely unaware of the tension that shadows your every step.

Suddenly, you notice a red dot flickering on Harry's chest. Your heart stops. Your mind races, realizing the implications—someone knows Harry is protecting you, and taking him out would make it easier for them to get to you.

Without a second thought, you push Harry out of the way. "Harry, look out!"

A gunshot rings out, splitting the air, and you feel a searing pain in your shoulder. You scream, falling to the ground in front of him.

The world spins as you hit the pavement, agony spreading through your body. Students around you scream and scatter, the chaos erupting in the once peaceful campus.

Harry is at your side in an instant, his face a mask of panic and horror.

"No, no, what have you done?" he cries, crouching down next to you. "Silly, silly girl."

A tear slips down his cheek, and your heart aches at the sight. You've never seen him cry before, not once in all the time you've known him. The anguish in his eyes is almost too much to bear.

You manage to smile weakly through the pain. "Harry... you're too pretty to cry."

"And you're too pretty to die," he replies, his voice breaking. "S’was never supposed to happen. S’my job to protect you."

He presses down on your wound, trying to stop the bleeding, his hands shaking. "Everything is going to be fine. Just hold on, help is coming."

You focus on Harry’s face, seeing the raw emotion and determination in his eyes.

"Promise me….you'll be careful," you manage to say, your voice barely audible.

"M’promise," he says fiercely, more tears falling. "But y’have to promise me you'll fight. Fight to stay with me."

You nod weakly, using every bit of strength you have left. "I'll... fight."

As the world around you blurs and fades, Harry’s face is the last thing you see, filled with raw, heartbreaking emotion. He leans closer, his voice trembling.

"I love you," he whispers, his words like a lifeline pulling you back from the brink.

Love.

You had always loved Harry, you can’t pinpoint a time when you first felt it, perhaps it was when you first met him, or when your lips first connected to his, but it was a feeling you had always felt and always would feel.

"I... love you too," you whisper back, your voice barely more than a breath. The pain is overwhelming, and you can feel yourself slipping away.

"Tell my father..." you start, struggling to get the words out. "Tell him I want a flower crown... when I'm buried."

Flower crowns had always been your thing, your mother had taught you how to make them when you were little and your father always had one in his office, as a reminder of both you at her.

His girls.

They were a symbol of your family.

Like a family crest.

Harry shakes his head fiercely, more tears spilling down his cheeks. "You're not going to get buried because you and I are going to get married and live forever. We'll have babies and grow old together."

You manage a faint smile at his words, the thought of a future with him a beautiful distraction from the pain. "Harry..."

"Stay with me," he pleads, his voice raw with emotion. "Keep your eyes open. Don't you dare close them."

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 9 months

Text

*NSFW* Breathe (Yandere!Monster x AFAB!Reader)

CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, bed bug inspired monster, minor character death, Non-Con, traumatic insemination, blood, physical torture, mental torture, impregnation, necrophilia

(Reader) breathed deeply, bouncing side to side in the back of the armored vehicle. The men and women by their side held equally grim expressions, not knowing what they were about to face. Three days ago an outpost went radio silent, the group of military scientists sent out an SOS before cutting communications. (Reader) had no idea what the scientists were studying, nor why they needed military protection in the middle of nowhere, but it wasn't their place to know. That's what they continuously told themselves as they practiced their deep breathing, secretly unnerved by how little their team was informed about this mission, and by how uneasy their teammates were.

The van rattled as it parked, and everyone exited the vehicle, guns pointed and night vision on, patrolling their designated routes throughout the empty land. (Reader) was followed by Davis and Jones, surveying the backside of one of the buildings, and praying for someone to be found alive. It was a bit dramatic, assuming that everyone was dead, but with how everyone seemed to keep this mission "hush hush", keeping important info from the men and women entering the "possibly dangerous" area, with the goal of "information retrieval" being considered a higher priority over extraction of survivors, it didn't sound like even their superiors were hopeful.

Everything was suspicious, and made everyone on edge. That worry became a very real fear when (Reader) entered the building through the back door and found the floor painted in blood. A body was mere inches from the exit, and the back of his head was torn open, exposing a cracked skull.

"Jesus Christ.." Davis covered his mouth.

(Reader) bent down, turning the body over to observe the face, comparing it to the portfolios of the personal working at the outpost they had memorized on the drive. They clicked on their walkie, speaking low. "This is (Reader), we've discovered a body, appears to be Dr. Romero."

Rodriguez's voice crackled quietly in their ears. "Copy that, this is Rodriguez, I've got two more bodies over here."

"What the hell happened to him?" Jones whispered.

(Reader) couldn't answer. There were scratches on the skull, and the skin was red and puffy surrounding it. The face was purple from the pooling blood. It didn't look like a gun shot, but (Reader) couldn't imagine what it could have been otherwise. "Let's continue on." The three left the body behind, creeping down a hall in procession.

"Movement." Behind (Reader), Davis urgently hissed, motioning towards what looked like a rec room. The formation changed, following Davis as he entered the room, focused on a couch. As they drew closer, a quiet gurgling could be heard, along with something wet dripping onto the tile flooring.

What looked like a man, naked and hunched over, was cradling a corpse, rocking back and forth. In the odd lighting of the goggles, they couldn't tell that there was something wrong with him until it was too late.

"Turn around, and put your hands up." Davis commanded, frightened and ready to shoot. The head of the corpse lulled back, revealing it's neck was completely devoured. In the second it took to blink, the creature had lunged at Davis, tackling him to the ground. (Reader) and Jones opened fire, but the bullets seemed to bounce off his back in the dark. Seeing a slight difference in texture between his back and neck, (Reader) took a chance, aiming at his neck.

The creature screamed, holding his neck and jumping to his feet, taking a moment to reveal his almost human face to (Reader), before crawling up the wall, and through a trap door in the ceiling.

"Davis!" Jones picked up his brother, patting his armor.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Davis panicked, grasping at Jones to ground himself. "I think he was trying to bite me, but- but couldn't get past my mask."

(Reader) got on the radio again. "This is (Reader), we've just been attacked. No injuries, but.. but I can't explain what just attacked us. It looked like a naked man, but it crawled up the ceiling like a bug."

"Not funny, (Reader)."

"That wasn't a joke, Rodriguez. I unloaded a clip into it, and it didn't die. It went into the attic, do I follow?"

"We're on our way, wait for backup."

Davis looked horrified. "I don't want to go up there!"

"C'mon, man-"

"No, Jones. You didn't see that thing's mouth!"

Everyone went silent as something scraped against the floor boards above them, clenching their weapons in suspense.

The front door was kicked in, Rodriguez and her crew entered the rec room, lowering their guns. "Alright, what happened here?"

"Something Humanoid was in the center of the room, eating.. whoever the hell that once was. Davis told him to put up his hands, when it knocked him to the ground, trying to bite him. Jones and I shot his back, but it didn't seem to affect him. I hit it's neck, but that only got him off of Davis, then he climbed up the wall and went through that door." (Reader) pointed at the attic door.

Rodriguez narrowed her eyes in disbelief, glaring up at the ceiling. "Let's find another way up. If there's nothing up there, we'll go back to the van, check your body cams."

Davis raised his voice defensively. "You think we're lying about this?"

"I think, it fucking reeks in here. It doesn't smell like a gas leak, but I don't believe in monsters. I'm not ruling out a hallucinogen of some kind. (Reader)-" She then nodded to (Reader), signaling to get a move on.

They searched the rooms before finding a ladder, and no other doors leading up. (Reader) sighed. "Good enough."

Davis held the ladder as (Reader) climbed up, followed by Rodriguez, then another soldier, Alistair. Inside the attic the smell was worse, like rotten fruit. It was so bad that Alistair gagged a little, trying not to throw up. "Fuck me, what is that?"

(Reader) flinched, seeing something curled up in the fetal position. "Rodriguez."

The three approached the figure carefully, the smell worsening as they approached, then, (Reader) was close enough to see that the creature wasn't breathing. They kicked it, putting a hole straight through it's stomach.

"Oh God!" Rodriguez recoiled.

However, (Reader) almost threw up, not because of the stench, but from the overwhelming fear that suddenly pulverized their spirit. "It's a shell."

"What?"

Rodriguez bent down, gingerly pulling (Reader's) foot out and examining the body, finding it to be a combination of hard shell and molted skin. "I can see why you couldn't kill it. It's back is like a bug's exoskeleton. Looks like the front is a more... human.. texture."

"But doesn't that mean it's still here somewhere?" Alistair nervously asked, glancing around in the dark.

"We need to get back to the van, call this in to our superiors." Rodriguez commanded before picking up the walkie, calling out the the other three person team. "Jackson, return to the van."

Silence.

"Jackson, you there? I said get to the van."

A barrage of shots fired from outside, echoing through the encampment. Everyone raised their weapons and fell into formation, rushing outside quietly while scoping the area. A scream from one of the newer lieutenants pierced the silent air, before choking loudly, and then returning the outpost to silence once more.

The team splintered apart, separating back into their three man groups, covering more ground in hopes of finding the last three members of their team. (Reader) smelled that fruity stench again, and motioned to their men to follow them in the smell's direction. They entered a tent covering what looked like an excavation site, a deep hole roped off with caution tape. A uniformed body laid headless in the dirt next to the entrance. In the bright green view of (Reader's) goggles, they could read Jackson's name on the vest.

Further down the large tent, a disgusting squelching noise was rhythmically slapping, along with animalistic grunts. (Reader) stepped as soundlessly as possible, stepping over torn clothing; a military vest with Adams' name, her jacket, her tank top, and even her bra, torn to shreds and strewn about, leading to the noise.

Behind a metal desk, seconds clicked by like minutes, the adrenaline forcing (Reader) to take in every detail of the horrific scene. The monster, now much larger than it was before, had Adams' corpse in it's arms, her nude upper body violently shaking as it ground it's pelvis into her abdomen, splattering blood around them. As the scene came together, (Reader) began firing, aiming at the side of his head, hoping to hit a soft spot.

The creature angrily stood up, Adams' body sliding off of what appeared to be a curved spike protruding from it's groin. It screamed, rushing (Reader) and ramming into them, knocking them off balance which sent them tumbling down into the hole.

(Reader) heard their team cry out for them, and gunfire, but they kept falling, bouncing off the walls of the hole before landing hard at the bottom, snapping their arm at the bottom.

The shouts of terror didn't last long above ground, ending with sounds of bones cracking and bodies falling. (Reader) struggled onto their feet, feeling discomfort in their rapidly swelling ankles. There didn't seem to be any rope or ladders to get back out, and they didn't know if it was safe to call for help on the radio.

Spinning around, something moved in the dark, scaring (Reader) onto their ass and fumbling for their gun. In the dark, another naked monster, smaller than the previous one, crawled over on all fours towards (Reader), chest heaving like he was sniffing the air. He approached (Reader) who still couldn't find their gun, and cautiously tapped on their goggles, searching their masked face with deep, sunken eyes. His mouth was split open, showing off his jagged, saw like teeth. This monster was about the size of the first one before it molted.

It continued open mouth sniffing (Reader's) head, almost making them vomit by it's rotting body odor, when suddenly it flinched, whipping his head up to see the bigger creature climbing down head first into the pit. The younger looking monster grabbed (Reader's) face tightly, pressing his hands against their mouth and squeezing, forcing them to hold their breath.

Sweat felt like lice as out dripped down the fine hairs on (Reader's) neck. They hadn't prepared to be holding in their air, so they were already beginning to feel light headed. The larger monster paused halfway down, sniffing hard into their air before screeching at the smaller creature. He howled in response, still keeping his hands in place on (Reader's) face. (Reader) understood that the two were communicating, and that it seemed like the smaller monster was on their side, because soon the killer turned around and retreated back up, more than likely to kill more of (Readers) brothers and last remaining sister.

After a painful amount of time, he removed his hands, and (Reader) wasted no time grabbing their walkie. "Hello? Does anyone read me?" They whispered frantically.

"(Reader), we found more bodies-"

"Jackson and Adams are dead, possibly Davis and Jones as well."

"Jesus.."

"We found the monster in a large tent covering what looks to be a dig site. I was thrown into a hole, broke my left arm, lost my gun, and possibly sprained both ankles." (Reader) swallowed their rising bile, watching the monster mimic their movements. "Don't breathe. If you hear rustling, don't breathe. The monsters can see, but I think they find their victims through their breath or something."

"What? Wait, did you just say monsters?"

"There's a smaller one here in the hole with me. I think he saved my life. The one from the attic is much bigger now, this other one is still small. He made me hold my breath and it made the bigger one leave me alone."

"Jesus, alright. That sounds crazy. But.. look, just stay there, we'll be there soon. Can you see a way out?"

"No. No ropes or ladders down here."

"'Kay. Stay quiet, call back if that thing down there tries to attack you. Even if we can't get you out, I can at least throw you down a weapon."

"Thanks. Stay safe up there."

(Reader) leaned back, the pain settling in as the fight or fight response cooled down. They groaned in pain. The monster hopped up, crawling back over to inspect (Reader).

"Curious little monkey, aren't ya?" (Reader) panted, becoming nervous at how he sniffed the air excitedly as they did so. He crept back over, becoming far too close again, and starting touching their mask and goggles, confused. Long sharp claws reached under the mask and pulled it down, startling himself. He retreated to the other side of the pit while whimpering.

"Hey, that was just my mask." (Reader) tried to console him. They didn't know if it was because he saved them, or if because he acted like a scared child, but they weren't nearly as scared of him as they were the other one. Seeing that it was just a piece of fabric, and not (Reader's) face accidentally being ripped off, he shuffled back over, rubbing his dirty fingers across their lips.

He tapped his nails across their teeth, pulling open their lips carefully, feeling their jaw and chin, running his hands over every little bump and scrape. Learning that the bottom half of (Reader's) face had been covered by a mask emboldened him to tug on the goggles, coaxing (Reader) into removing them, leaving them completely blind in the dark. His breath tickled their face as he shuddered, purring deep in the back of his throat as he placed his nose on (Reader's) forehead, pressing into them in an almost cat-like manner, smelling them and rubbing his oily skin over (Reader's) entire face.

Uncomfortable by their lack of vision, (Reader) replaced their goggles, much to the monster's dismay. "I need these. Protection." They put back on the mask as well, ignoring his whines of disapproval.

Dirt fell onto (Reader) as Rodriguez stepped near the opening. "You still alive?" She stage whispered down into the chasm.

"Yeah. Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah. I think with the footage we got, and the documents, they'll understand if we don't take any bodies back with us." Her words were harsh, but (Reader) knew she was just as distraught as they were. "Your gun's up here, want me to throw it down?"

"No. I'm guessing you didn't find a ladder?"

"No."

"Then I'll try to climb out."

"Didn't you say your arm was broken?"

"Unless you killed that other creature, it's too dangerous to hang around here." (Reader) readied themselves to climb, immediately hissing as they grabbed into the dirt. The monster panicked, growling at (Reader). But they didn't stop, kicking a foot in, creating a hold, and pulling up. White hot pain flashed through their body.

An arm grabbed them around their waist, and swung (Reader) around; the monster had picked them up like a sack over his shoulder, and began climbing the wall with one arm.

"Jesus Christ." Rodriguez grabbed at (Reader) as soon as they were within reach, yanking them away from the monster. He snarled in response, trying to cover (Reader) with his body, but (Reader) wearily pat him on the head, trying to show that they were fine. He calmed down, but still glared at Rodriguez suspiciously. "What the hell are you?"

"Where's the rest of us?" (Reader) questioned, only now seeing that Rodriguez was alone.

"Only one other guy made it, Davis. He was fucked up when we found him, I got him in the van."

"I'm sorry.."

"It wasn't your fault. Let's go." Rodriguez helped (Reader) to their feet, handing them their gun, and the three left the tent.

Bodies of (Reader's) mates were in pieces, littering the ground with organs. Everyone was wrinkled. Whatever blood hadn't spilled on the ground while being murdered appeared to have been siphoned from their bodies, the chunks nearly mummified. The two soldiers watched their new companion as they snuck back through the outpost, using him like a blood hound to sense if his more dangerous relative was near. There were moments when he would pause, a frightened look crossing his face as he clung to (Reader), and both humans would hold their breath, desperately clinging to the faith that this monster was actually trying to save them.

The sun was still hours away from rising, and horror movie plots drifted through (Reader's) mind, pondering what kind of creature was clinging to their arm at that moment, and what could possibly kill it. (Reader) sped up their pace, rushing to the driver's side door as Rodriguez pulled the unwilling monster into the back with her, wrestling him as he tried to follow (Reader).

Each team leader had a spare key for the truck, so it didn't matter who drove it back, but Rodriguez did have more hands on experience with first aid, so it made sense for her to be in the back with the barely conscious Davis during the ride, just in case his health took a turn for the worse.

The van started up, worryingly loud in the silent town. (Reader) pulled off their goggles and flipped on the lights, flooring the gas as they took off, knowing it was no use trying to be quiet at that point. From the back of the van, the monster started crying.

"Hey, something's wrong with this thing!" Rodriguez called out to (Reader), before the entire van shook under the weight of something dropping onto the roof. "Shit!"

Without thinking, (Reader) spun the wheel to the left, throwing the bloody monster off their vehicle and sending him tumbling into the road. He was able to shake off the fall, standing upright and staring at (Reader) from the road. Now without the night vision, (Reader) saw him clearly in the headlights, the difference between his brown armored shell pieces, and the mammal like skin, almost paper thin in the light, pulsated with the blood of (Reader's) teammates and the doctors they were sent to find. The skin was stretched tight over how swollen he was, growing to almost twice its natural size.

"Hold on!" (Reader) barked, speeding towards the man in the road.

His head snapped forward as his chest connected with the grill, bouncing off the hood as (Reader) drug him back towards the buildings, driving him towards the house with the rec room. (Reader) kept on full speed until they crashed into the wall. Blood splashed across the wall and van as the monster popped under the force of the collision.

"Shit! Are we good?"

The body twitched a few times, choking on it's stolen blood as it feebly clawed at the metal crushing it before falling still, finally dying. "Yeah. We're good."

Back at the base, it was a horrifying shock for the troops awaiting their return, guns raised and pointed at the young monster they brought with them, however, they didn't shoot, as he held onto (Reader) tightly, making no move to attack anyone. They uploaded their body cam footage, corroborating their testimonies of what they saw, save for Davis, who was rushed back to the hospital wing for emergency surgery. (Reader) and Rodriguez were also eventually treated for their injuries, Rodriguez only needing a couple of stitches and getting diagnosed with a concussion, while (Reader) had their arm placed in a cast, and both ankles had to be wrapped up for compression to fight the mild puffiness.

The two sat next to each other, finally alone after the military dragged their monstrous savior away. "God, I need a shower." The dark haired woman complained, sniffing her hair that had been let down. Her face scrunched up in disgust. "I smell like those things."

"Ha. Yeah, like rotting fruit."

"Rotting raspberries. So gross." Rodriguez's forced smile melted, incapable of pretending to feel relief. "Why do you think he saved you?"

Clashing with the smell of the sanitized hospital and the saline aftertaste from the IV drip, (Reader) could still smell the pungent scent of the monster on their body, just as Rodriguez pointed out. "I don't know."

"What do you think those things are? Vampires?"

The image of Adam's limp body sliding off of a thin spike resurfaced in (Reader's) mind, making them nauseous. "I don't think so." They leaned forward, scooting closer towards Rodriguez. "I didn't see your body cam video.. did you see mine?"

"No. Why?"

"Did any of the bodies- I mean, this is going to sound.." they sighed, licking their lips and trying again. "When I entered that tent, with the hole, I found the monster with Adams. It had.. torn off her clothes, and it looked like he was.. stabbing her abdomen, with a claw out of his pelvis."

Except for the normal hospital beeping, (Reader's) words left the atmosphere feeling far too silent. "Are you saying it raped her?"

"I don't know.. maybe. Did you see any other naked bodies?"

"..no." They both laid back, exhausted, and frightened. "But if you're thinking that it could tell she was a woman, why weren't we attacked? I mean, I know you're not a woman, but if those things went by smell or pheromones.. I don't even know what I'm saying." She drug her dirty hands over her face.

"Maybe because our's is a kid. I mean, he's the size of that first monster before it molted, so maybe he isn't.. sexually mature?"

Before Rodriguez could think of a response to that a doctor came in, asking to see her out in the hallway. "I'll be right back." She promised, patting (Reader's) shoulder as she left the room.

(Reader) nestled back into the thin pillow and accidentally fell asleep while waiting for their friend to return, the awful rotting smell never fading.

It wasn't until a banshee worthy scream echoed throughout the hospital that (Reader) woke up, looking up at the clock on the wall and seeing that it was 19:31, revealing that they had slept through an entire day, and that Rodriguez was not in the room with them. Something down the hall shattered, followed by another terrified shout. Unarmed and now incapacitated, the only course of action their adrenaline flooded mind could think up on the fly was to hide, ripping out their IV and sliding under the cot, hidden from view by the crossing metal bars and plastic barrier.

Footsteps passed by (Reader's) door. They took a deep breath, holding their face to keep in their air. The door opened and whoever it was entered the room. (Reader) was only capable of seeing the bare feet painted in blood as they stepped closer to the bed. The bloody individual leaned on the mattress above (Reader), pressing their weight into it, before stepping away, touching other things around the room. Blood dripped onto the tiles from the drenched body. (Reader) began shaking, trying not to take a breath as they waited for the thing to leave, tearing up at the possibility of it being the creature they willingly brought back with them. The feet disappeared from view, then they heard the door close. Still, just to be safe, (Reader) kept their hands to their mouth for a few more seconds, unable to hear if he left because of the blood rushing through their ears. Quietly, they released the lungful of air and slowly sucked new air back in.

A hand grabbed one of their swollen ankles and pulled (Reader) out from under the bed. In the dim light of the flashing buttons, (Reader) saw the freshly molted monster, smiling down at them with blood coating their face and dribbling from their lips.

"No!" A casted fist attempted to punch him, but he caught it, rubbing the puffy fingers against his face affectionately. He leaned down, rubbing his nose across their face like he had done back when he had first saved them, sniffing loudly. (Reader) began sobbing, knowing what would happen to them after Adams. The thin hospital gown was easily ripped off, pleasing the monster who made that purr-like rumble in the back of his throat, still smiling.

A long, thinly tipped aedeagus unfurled itself, curved and sharp, just like (Reader) remembered it looking.

"Please don't.. please.. I don't want to die!"

Their words weren't understood by the monster, too busy rubbing (Reader's) side. He laid down beside them, hugging (Reader) tightly as he positioned himself, still sniffing their neck as he did so. Between (Reader's) pleas a stinging pain entered their side as he pushed his hypodermic penis into their midsection.

The sound of pain (Reader) made was unlike anything they had ever made, or heard, before. Incapable of jerking away because of his hold on them, he continued making noises of pleasure, rolling his hips as he pressed deeper, splurting blood as he wiggled back and forth inside of them, trying not to puncture anything important until he could get deep enough to what he needed.

His prick pierced (Reader's) uterus, the burning torture as they felt something inside getting stabbed was hell. Their eyes rolled back as his hips rubbed sensually against their side, unable to hold on as they began to pass out. He screeched horrifically, scratching (Reader) as his grip constricted happily, cumming straight into (Reader's) uterus. Even after they fell limp in his arms, his fluids continued pouring out, overfilling the poor organ; his elastic liquid solidifying near the hole like a polyp.

Contrary to what (Reader) thought, the monster who caressed their body was intelligent. He was far smarter than his brother, who had been so desperate to implant his seed he fucked that poor woman to death, not taking into account that human females hadn't evolved to handle the method of reproduction that their species used. Even their own could die if they mated multiple times, so he really should have been more careful. He held onto (Reader) dreamily, using their gown to stop the bleeding as he pulled out. He took the time to ensure nothing was damaged inside his wonderful little mate, so the only bleeding he had to worry about was the skin. Some of his sperm clung to the tip of his needle like cock, so he rubbed it across (Reader's) face as they laid unconscious, just so that if another male of his species did somehow follow them, the could smell that (Reader) had already been claimed.

When he was searching the hospital for (Reader) he had seen stitching, and learned what it was for by watching a doctor from afar before killing him and the patient. It wasn't too difficult to figure out.

(Reader) would live. It would hurt, but imagine how happy they'll be when they awake to find themselves pregnant! It made him purr with joy, wondering how many children he'd have with his beautiful human.

After all, unlike humans, his species only needed to fuck once and their sperm would survive inside the host body for years, creating a kind of sac to plug up the hole in the uterus and protect the sperm from the forming infants, releasing sperm whenever there is a vacancy in the uterus to immediately impregnate the host again.

His mate shifted under the needle in their sleep as he fixed them up. It brought him such pride, imagining that he could almost see them becoming pregnant at that very moment. He knew from the second he smelled (Reader) down in the dirt he was unburied from that he was born to be their mate~

#yandere #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #cw noncon #cw death #cw violence #cw monsterfucking #traumatic insemination #bed bug inspired #bad writing #not proofread

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mindisrotting · 4 months

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𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 | simon "ghost" riley

tags | wife!reader, parenthood, a little angst, fluff, mentions of murder, not proofread (sorry for any mistakes)

special thanks to @athanasialove for inspiring this little fic <3

Imagine Simon Riley, who sometimes before going to bed thinks about the things he went through. He found friends, and he found love, unconditional love, but he will never forget what Roba put him through, all that torture and grief of having to see his lifeless family on the floor of his home.

He's become a tough guy, a ghost, but he still has feelings and emotions. Sometimes he feels paranoid, the thought that in some corner of this cruel world there's someone who wants to cause him pain by hurting those he loved, his wife and precious kids, won't leave his mind. They're his reason to live, to survive, to give the best of himself. His little family will always be the light at the end of this dark tunnel. So no matter how much he wants to brag about them—to tell his squad about the perfect goal his son scored on his last football match or how his daughter recently learned how to read, and now she will read every word she sees aloud—he's terrified. Until Task Force 141 is coming back from a mission that ended with him getting shot twice. The surgeon had told him that he got lucky, if the second bullet had perforated a few centimeters more up, he would be in a body bag instead of laying on a hospital bed.

When you picked up a phone call from an unknown number, the last thing you expected to hear was your husband shaky’s voice. With tears in your eyes, you listened as he told you everything. Even though that wasn't the first time he's got hurt on the job, it was the first time he did since growing his own family, and it unlocked a new fear he never experienced before. He never wanted to leave you, not like this. When he asked you to do something, he wasn't thinking about the enemies he's made in all his years of service, he wasn't thinking about everyone seeing them in broad daylight.

When the military plane landed, and everyone got out to reunite with whoever was waiting for them to come home, everyone assumed Ghost would just say goodbye to Johnny and be on his way alone. But he went down the aircraft steps rapidly, because in the distance, he saw two little people running towards him with an older person walking behind them. He got down in one knee and opened his arms, waiting to feel the impact. When it did, he cried—the last time he shed any tears was when his daughter was born at only 28 weeks, she was so fragile and small, but she was a survivor—feeling the warm hug of his seven and four-year-old, it was the best feeling in the universe having two tiny humans yell “Daddy!” at the tops of their lungs and saying how much they missed him. Johnny was bewildered, because he never knew those people existed. He looked at Price but he was just as shocked, he looked away knowing it wasn't his business. Then came you, his beautiful wife of nine years, the mother of his children, his bridge, his strength, his everything. You, too, cried as you hugged him, knowing that he’s home safe and well. You stayed like that for longer than normal because Simon refused to let go of you.

When he was laying in the bed of his cold hospital room, he knew he needed to see you as soon as possible. He couldn't wait for the aircraft to land at base and then take another flight and drive an hour to his home in the countryside of England. He begged you to go with the kids to the base, and without hesitation you agreed, knowing this is what he needed.

He unwrapped his arms from you and took your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs while his kids stood patiently. Then, your gaze directed from his brown eyes to the man standing looking at the scene, you motioned to Simon to turn around. He told you who the man was and crouched down to meet his kids’ eyes.

“wanna meet uncle Johnny?”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #ghost cod

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padfootdaredmetoo · 11 months

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Hi lovely! Hope you’re doing well. I really like your writing and I was wondering if you’d be open to do a Tangerine smut where he realizes how much effect he has on reader (like with using pet names and stares and stuff) and he decides to make use of that?? Idek if you like something like that so if you wanna adjust pls feel free! Thanks so much💗

Heyo,

Thank you for this request, it's honestly been on my mind FOREVER. This is a mess with poorly written conflict and plot, but hopefully, I make up for it with spice. Thank you for sending this in and for being so patient with me, love. Enjoy!

Warnings: BIG dom/sub vibes, shooting, guns, violence, bad plot, smutty smut, established relationship, anxiety, mentions of the reader having a rough childhood, fingering, fucking, idk all the spice I guess, very supportive partner? good aftercare, very loving

So far vacation was an excellent idea. Lemon was occupied, flirting with anyone he could manage leaving him the space to fully enjoy the lovely lady pressed to his side. The relentless tropical heat placed you in various soft summer dresses. He watched you sip on your drink, providing commentary on Lemon’s interactions across the bar.

He was only half listening, recognizing that your tone was relaxed and happy. His shoulders relaxed, a feeling he found strange. He and Lemon were out. That life was long gone behind them. The past few months were strange in their predictability and slow pace. There was something else though, in the pit of his stomach. Something told him the other shoe would drop eventually.

There was only so much he could handle before he wanted that dress discarded on their bedroom floor. He pulled you up and enjoyed the flash of electricity that sparked in your eyes. Your red lips curved into a grin and he regretted the decision to go for drinks so far away from the hotel.

You leaned into his side as his arm came around your shoulders, Tan hoped that he wouldn't have to live a day without that feeling.

You both enjoyed the warm air as you walked along the boardwalk. His eyes fluttered around, checking every shadowed corner, every vantage point. He knew that he might relax a little, but some things would stay with him forever.

He could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise up before he heard the shot fire. He pulled you behind a closed kiosk. It was quiet except for the ringing in his ears. He looked across the street to an empty warehouse. Pulling you along he made a run for it, putting you in front of him.

Once inside he rounded the corner and heard a familiar voice yell out “GET DOWN.” He was distracted by the immediate rage he felt that Ladybug was here. Causing trouble and now giving him orders. Piece of shit. He didn't realize that you had immediately ducked down behind a large metal barrel instead of following him to the shipping container.

He could see your face in the shadows. Your eyes were wide and your hands were shaking. Another round of gunfire exploded from the entry.

There was a horrible bird call that made Tan smack his forehead despite feeling relieved that Lemon was there. He hoped, for your sake, that Ladybug would be siding with them in whatever mess this was. Then, when it was over, he would kill him slowly for dragging you into this.

His eyes only strayed away from your face to survey the space around you. That barrel was going to give away eventually and he needed to tell you to run across when they reloaded. Stuff like this never needed to be spoken with Lemon, but you had clearly never been in a spot like this.

Using his hands he tried to explain what to do. You mimed it back to him the best you could and he gave you a thumbs up. He held his hand up telling you to stay in place as the bullets cut through the space between the two of you. Your arms covered your head but thankfully you were tough enough to keep your eyes on him, focused on the goal.

The fire stopped and he took a breath motioning you to run across. He stepped out and provided cover. He could hear Lemon somewhere on the rafters also picking off the enemy. He could tell that Lemon had the advantage and he knew it would be over soon. He caught you in his arms and held you close. He guided you down to a crouched position. His hands ran across your body looking for the slightest bit of damage.

“Good girl.” He whispered breathlessly. Despite the chaos, he lived for the way your face changed. Your eyes got heavy, and you sucked in a breath. He knew you were in shock, probably not in your right mind, but he put his thumb on your bottom lip. His fingers brushed your neck, feeling your pulse hammering. He should stop, this was not the time or place to be distracted. But his confidence in his brother’s abilities awarded the darker parts of him a few more moments with you like this.

“You did so good for me.” His voice was thick with intention he was consumed by the way you went under for him. Being shot at in a foreign place tucked behind a storage bin, you clearly had too much faith in him. His other hand slid up the inside of your leg, just high enough to brush across the wetness that he wanted so badly. You closed your eyes and he heard Lemon’s victory cry. Reluctantly he helped you stand up.

“Finish this later” He mumbled righting himself. He hated himself for doing it, for enjoying it, when he should have been protecting you.

Ladybug told them a long-winded story about the mission he was on as he drove the large SUV away from the warehouse now consumed with flames. Tan knew that he brought those idiots here to where they were because Ladybug knew they would help him. Stupid fucking ididot.

“I’m sorry where are my manners -” Ladybug's eyes landed on you from the rearview mirror and Tan gave him a look. Apparently, it did its intended job as Ladybug gave him a respectful nod and made no reference to you for the rest of the drive.

The night became longer and longer. They packed up their hotel room and Ladybug got them onto a private flight. The getaway was smooth, and they were comfortable all things considered. Tan was obsessed with you, unable to understand your behavior. You didn't lean into him, you clung to him. He thought about everything he knew about you as they got carted from plane to plane - then from car to car. He felt he had surely made the top three traumatic events in your life.

He would get you somewhere safe enough to snap out of whatever haze you were in. You would rightfully lose it at him and he would return you home and pay for some extra security on your apartment.

You didn't want to talk, you just drifted in and out of sleep holding onto his arm. He was thankful that Ladybug ignored your existence while still handing Tan blankets and a hoodie for you.

Eventually, they ended up at a safe house they had in Norway. He carried you into the cabin, noting that he would need to get you some new clothes tomorrow. The place was freezing having been abandoned.

Tan sat you on the edge of the bed and stepped back out into the hallway to see what Lemon needed from him. Without looking up from the laptop on the center island of the kitchen, Lemon just pointed back to the bedroom. Tan was relieved, and let Lemon do the setup.

Unsure of how to start the conversation he shut the door and sat on the bed next to you. You tucked your knees to your chest and wrapped the many blankets around yourself.

“So, well. Erm - bit of a mess back there huh?” He hated himself even more for his inability to do the right thing.

“That was a lot. Sorry, I’m not really prepared for this type of stuff. I don't know how to push it down like you guys.” You said with chattering teeth. Your words ran through his mind a few times.

“Your apologizing?” He was suddenly angry, he would never be able to fully understand how badly your parents had messed you up.

“Yeah, I was kinda useless. No gun, but also not a lot of training either - not to mention I sort of just shut down after.” You shrugged. “Sorry, I couldn't bring more to the team.”

He wanted to shake you and shout. Tell you to be angry, show you how. Instead, he remembered the last time he shouted at you and how much pain it caused you.

Instead, he grabbed your shoulders. “Sweetheart. Baby.” He said calmly. “You should be very angry at us.”

He watched you slip away again and he wanted to punch the wall.

“I put you in a lot of danger.” He watched you focus on his lips, eyes heavy. He considered derailing this conversation entirely but knew how important it was that you understood.

“I didn't mind.” You mumbled airly. He let out a sigh, swearing under his breath.

“Baby, you should mind.” He said seriously. “Look -”

“Tan, you kept me safe.” You whispered back. “This is the best thing I have. I don't mind if it’s dangerous.”

“You should - You-”

“Please” You pleaded with him in a wet voice.

“What?” He asked caught off guard.

“Just - not tonight. I want you to -” You couldn’t find the words and nodded at him like he would figure it out. “Just do the thing,” You said finally.

“What thing babygirl?” He gave up and decided he would punish himself for it later. “You tell me what you want, baby.” His tone of voice was enough to send you into the haze.

“I don’t know, just want you.” You said in a small voice and he finally kissed you, eating up the moans that escaped your lips. You were dangerously submissive. Something he wanted to handle delicately but struggled with as you would beg him for more.

He slowly got you out of your clothes, not wanting to push you. You laid back on the bed looking almost pained by experience. He brought his hand out to rest on top of your chest. He felt your chest sink as a large sigh escaped you.

“So beautiful” His words painted a thick blush across your face that ran down your neck.

“Did so good for me today.” He praised you and you looked possessed as you bathed in his words. “Such a good girl.”

It was even more evident how badly neglected you must have been as a child. Anger swelled in his chest before he reminded himself that he might as well shower you in it now. That's what you wanted.

His hand ran slowly down your chest. His hand cupped your breast and he slowly encircled your nipple before giving it a light squeeze. He watched your patience wear thin at his slow pace. He was sure you would snap at him like you usually did. This time was different, fat tears swelled in your eyes and spilled over your cheeks.

“Baby what’s wrong.” He asked brushing the tears off your right cheek.

“Want you.” You choked. He didn't think it was humanly possible to be this vulnerable and open. Yet here you were, tied up in knots over how badly you wanted him.

He shushed you soothingly. It was impossible to deny you. He ran his hand down your stomach and finally to the place you needed him.

He gave you praise over every little moan and twitch, watching you fall apart. He got you to climax, thinking this would snap you out of it. Your chest was heaving and the dreadful tears were back.

“Please.” You gasped. He again, could not deny you, even if he wanted to.

“Be a good girl and wait for me.” He said firmly removing his hands to take off his clothes. You lay there on your back, legs still wide apart, for the first time without shame. You always wanted to be under the sheets or hidden. He looked down at the wet mess between your legs, he felt pride in making you happy. This wasn't something he was taking from you, this was something he was giving you.

Once coming to terms with this being about you, his hesitation left him. He knelt between your shaking legs, enjoying the way his fingers slid through your folds with ease. How his two fingers slid inside you with no resistance. Your body was truly desperate for him.

You moaned and contracted tightly around his fingers.

“Good girl, squeezing me so tight.” You let out a ragged breath in response. He wanted to stuff his cock as deep as you could manage, but he was enjoying the way you unraveled for him too much.

He pushed the length of his cock through your folds enjoying the way your hips bucked wildly as the head of his cock brushed your clit.

“Fuck” He breathed. “So good for me baby.”

He circled your entrance again with the tips of his fingers. “Gonna put it right here, baby.” He watched you squirm with impatience but pushed you further. “That what you want?” The pushed his fingers in slowly. “Want my cock right here.”

Your walls contracted around his fingers again as you let out a moan.

“Please.” You begged.

“Please what? Use your words. Be good for me.” He chuckled as you tightened around him again.

“Please let me have your cock, there - please.” The words were a struggle for you as his fingertips rubbed against the sensitive spot.

“Good girl.” He removed his fingers and with much control, he pressed the now slightly purple head of his cock against your entrance. The wet heat was unbearable, he took a deep breath and as slowly as he could manage pushed into the spongey tightness. You choked out a sob that was jarring to him. He stopped and watched you try to buck your hips up. His hands came down on your hips pressing the down into the soft bed.

“No,” He said firmly. Your face twisted up with impatience. You relaxed then he pushed inside slightly further. Your back arched and he stayed at that depth, slowly moving in and out. Even with your hips being still, your hot walls tried to pull him in further.

He had never understood it. Never had any reason to pursue it. If anything, he thought it was weird. When the words fell from your lips with such reckless abandon, all his self-control snapped.

“Dady”

He left no time for embarrassment to worm its way in. He was now consumed with desperation. He pushed into feeling himself stretch you out fully. Your cervix crowned the head of his cock and he retreated, only to press into you hard and fast.

Your mind and body broke down around him. Nothing made sense anymore, no time, no problems. Just you all around him.

You came, coming down around him tight enough to push him out. This only made him hold you down harder wanting to be in you fully when he found his own release.

“You going to cum again like that for me baby?” You let out a strangled noise and he pushed further. “I want you to cum nice and hard for me, help me off, baby.”

He felt your body start to fill with tension.

“Help me cum” Your body started to get tight, this time he held you down. “Just like that, good girl.” He grunted. Your body swallowed him down before constricting around him. Your body choked around with enough pressure to force him to release. It hit him like a truck, staying still as your body pulled his seed from him. After what felt like an eternity of breathlessness and pulsing he collapsed and tried his best not to crush you.

He felt your arms settle around his neck. Your fingers running through his hair.

“I don't know what that was. I don't know why I liked it. But I did.” You said firmly and he let out a chuckle.

“Did I get you back then?”

“I’m here.” You said.

“You mad about everything?” he asked, happy to be able to talk to you with a clear mind.

“I feel a lot of things right now, mad isn't one of them.” You whispered giving his hair a slight pull.

He enjoyed how you didn't protest him when he tried to look after you. You were always so eager to show that you were independent, so certain he would punish you for anything less.

Now you were letting him wash your hair. Your muscles relaxed as his hands ran over you with soap.

Once dried off you curled up against his side and fell asleep. No nightmares, just sound asleep at his side.

It was almost enough to make him feel like this was meant to be.

The time he shouted at her

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine imagine #bullet train 2022 #bullet train #bullet train movie #bullet train imagine #Bullet train smut #tangerine bullet train #tangerine smut #aaron taylor johnson

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rookiesbookies · 6 months

Text

Recovery

Soap x Price’s Niece!Reader & and exploration of his platonic relationship with his teammates based on what we’ve seen in the games.

Content Warning: Hurt-Comfort, mild angst, bittersweetness, some fighting, and it’s over 5.2k words

It’s all under the cut from here, big thanks to @shotmrmiller for editing my crap

When Soap had been shot, he had gotten incredibly lucky. The bullet hadn’t gone all the way through and had ended up lower than Simon swore he saw.

Well, I suppose ‘lucky’ is subjective. Johnny would be in the hospital for months healing. He had lost degrees of peripheral vision in both eyes, so there was no way he could go back into the field, he had to learn how to walk again, and some of his motor skills were to be relearned. He had been confined to a wheelchair for months. Complaining constantly about losing his muscles and how it would ruin his charm. His hands shook, he’d be unable to do any of the demolition and explosive work he used to.

He felt as though who he was, Sergeant John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, was completely lost.

Captain Price and Laswell had been well overpatient with him.

Johnny had flung food trays at them when his hands shook too much to eat, constantly missing his mouth. He had had amnesia for the first two weeks or so after he woke up from his coma. He had had surgery after surgery, his mohawk shaved off to make it easier, the final piece of his identity stripped from him.

Price had never seen Johnny cry until the realization of who he became someone he could never be again.

Price still had no clue what had possessed him to call her.

His sweet niece, at least that's what he called her. She had been an exchange student, studying abroad for advanced college courses, when she lived with Laswell and her wife. They had volunteered so she could practice medicine on soldiers. Field medic had been her goal, but Price did reverse nepotism to make sure his niece never left the base.

He knew deep down she was the only one he could trust with the care of his sergeant. He also knew he could trust the Sergeant with the care of his niece.

It was a dream she had given up on, and she had planned to come visit anyway. Maybe this was an excuse to see the closest thing he had to a daughter again.

Laswell and her wife had offered to adopt the girl, Price told them they’d have to fight him for the chance. Maybe it was Price trying to atone for being too overprotective to let her fulfill her dream.

He had introduced Johnny to her before. Back when she had visited the second time. Johnny was still much younger, just earning his sergeant rank. He had threatened both Gaz and Soap, saying that if either tried anything he’d make them do work outs until they were in the medical station.

He knew Simon wouldn’t have been an issue.

Johnny and his niece were only a few years apart. Their first run in was when she was running to give Price some papers, it was before he had even introduced them and she had been on base. The floor was wet making sure she accidentally slipped and slide tackled poor Johnny. It wasn’t until she read his velcro on his uniform that she realized it was Price’s sergeant. She had been red in the face and embarrassed. Her papers littered the wet floor and she had been so apologetic she hadn’t even seen Johnny pick them all up.

It made their official introduction awkward, to say the least.

Johnny hadn’t seen her in a couple years when she walked into his room this time. His head was wrapped tight in a bandage, hair growing back in a small fuzz that he found embarrassing. His lips were red, cracked, and bloody from his angry chewing at it. He was so pale too, paler than a Victorian child. He didn’t smell of the arousing male musk he normally did, he looked weak. His pearly white teeth weren’t on show, his blue eyes weren’t bright.

“Johnny,” she said softly, “it’s been a while.”

“Don’t look at me, lass. I’m a sight to make eyes sore, not a sight for sore eyes.” He grumbled. Doing his best to cross his shaky arms and sigh. His voice wasn’t smooth or suave as it normally was with his natural Scottish gravel. It was dry, dusty, and crunchy like a gravel driveway in the summer.

They had flirted heavily. Or at least she had to him back in the day. An American who made disapproving jokes about the brits as he did. He couldn’t deny he found her attractive, the chemistry was undeniable, but he didn’t dare flirt back in the public eye for fear of his life.

She walked over and sat on the edge of his bed. Reaching out to rub his chin, feeling the rough scruff that was longer than he’d usually keep it. Small knicks littered his face from when he tried to shave. She used this as an excuse to pull his face to look at her.

“I don’t know what you mean, I still see the same Johnny I always did.” She spoke softly. She knew being delicate with patients like this was crucial. She ran her thumb over his cracked lip. “Here.”

She pulled a lip balm from her purse. Telling him to pucker a bit so she could rub it on.

He couldn’t bring himself to say thank you, but she saw it in his eyes. The desperation, the want to cry, the defeat.

“I doubt yer just here to visit me.” He grumbled, having to stretch his arms out as keeping them crossed made them begin to shake like earthquakes instead of the small tremors that they were prior.

“Uncle John called me. I take it he and Laswell haven’t told you the plan.” She said softly, taking one of his hands in hers. He tried to pull back but quickly let in. “Just means I get to deliver the news.”

He cocked a brow.

“The plan is to fake your death. Put you in hiding. Get you out of here.”

“Lass, yer probably too bonnie to think about this, but I can’t wipe my own arse.” He snapped, like a hurt animal, not an ounce of malice or hate.

“Why do you think they called me in?”

“Yer not wiping my arse, love.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” She mumbled. Looking to the door to wave Price and Laswell in, Ghost and Gaz filing in behind. It had been months since he had seen those two. She saw the way his eyes almost lit up and quickly dimmed. Hollow. Like a fire that tried to start but the spark burned out too fast.

“We’ve already filled out the KIA.” Laswell started. “We’ve started filing the paperwork to put you in witness protection. You’d be moved to at home care, somewhere quiet. Given new identification, new everything.”

“My girl is going to look after you. I expect you to do the same in turn. I'm trusting you with her, MacTavish.” Price said, a poor attempt at playfulness with the dead inside young man before him.

“We’re going to start your PT. Help you with your motor skills. You should have the ability to move to at home care in a month or so.” Laswell tacked on.

John’s niece got off Johnny’s bed. Putting a hand on her uncle’s shoulder and nodding to Laswell before they filed out. Giving him a moment with his teammates, his brothers.

“Yer both gonna let them tell this poor girl she can wipe my arse?”

“Really stuck on the ass wiping thing, huh,” Gaz mumbled.

Ghost turned to close to the blinds on the door before sitting and pulling his balaclava off his head.

“Johnny.” He said as softly as his sharp voice could. “Maybe this is the fresh start ya need.”

“I don’t want a fuckin fresh start. I want my old body back.” Johnny growled.

“You can’t get that bloody back,” Simon snapped back before returning to his soft tone, “Price and his niece are doing your sorry arse a favor. This poor girl has agreed to be married to yer ass for an indefinite amount of time, don’t ya get that ya bastard?”

“A favor I didn’t ask for.” Johnny grumbled. He looked over at his gear, which sat sadly on a table.

“Johnny yer still young.” Simon sighed. “She’s a good girl, let her care for ya. We’re actively working to get permission to visit ya when yer all settled.”

Gaz stood, looking out the window at nothing, “ya know some would give a lot for an opportunity with a girl like that.”

“Then I’ll trade ya,” Johnny snarled back in a low voice.

Simon looks Johnny in the eyes one last time maskless in the room, “don’t fuck up yer chance at a new life, Johnny. Be smart for once ya bloody dense bastard.”

Ghost pulled his mask back on over his face. Blonde hair disappeared as he shoved it back under properly. Gaz moved to fix the window covering on the door, pulling it back open.

A couple of nurses filed in to change his bandages, the two men disappeared out to the hall.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea, Uncle Price,” she started, rubbing the back of her neck, “he doesn’t seem as… enthused as he normally would have been.”

“He’s in there, he’s just adjusting.”

“Hard to adjust to being helpless.” Gaz mumbled.

“Once he starts PT- the physical therapy will help.” John’s niece interjected. “The lack of is what’s been causing problems. Once he tries harder and has goals he may pep up.”

“I think it’s the loss of his beloved mohawk. I vote to get him a bloody wig.” Ghost threw in.

Laswell sighed. “Poor boy. He’ll pull through, it will just take time.”

Getting to Johnny to do PT was like leading a horse to water, you can’t make it drink.

His Commanding Officer yelling orders at him hadn’t done it, John’s niece couldn’t get him to do it with soft cooing and coaxingand even Simon failed. Johnny just ended up throwing the crayon he held in his hand to work on writing, and let himself fall as he tried to walk. Shouting about being a lost cause and how it was a waste of time.

“Johnny, please,” she pleaded, “just a few more steps. You’ve made such good progress.”

“Yer not my bloody girl, quit tryin to sweet talk effort out of me. I can smell yer pity.” He hissed, sitting back in his wheelchair.

17 steps.

They had gotten 17 steps out of him today. Which was a step and a half more than yesterday.

At least Simon hadn’t needed to pick him up like a giant baby to get him back to the chair today. He had also stood a good 10 minutes before needing a break.

When it was Simon’s day to motivate Johnny, he was by far the hardest on him.

“I'm going to keep pickin your sorry arse up and making you walk until you double what you did yesterday,” Simon growled through his mask. “I can tell yer not giving it your all.”

Anyone with eyes could see how emotional it made Simon. He was pushing his dear Sergeant sometimes well beyond his means.

It was also beyond a struggle for Simon to communicate how hard it was to watch Johnny just give up. Price could see how Simon’s eyes turned shiny as glass as he yelled at Johnny. He heard the small cracks in his voice as he picked Johnny up and made him walk those few more steps. He could see Simon’s pushing was all out of desperation to get Soap back. To get his partner back.

John Price had known Simon a long time. Well before he became Ghost, Price worked with him. Johnny was one of the few that brought Simon out in Ghost. Price and Gaz did as well, but not the way Johnny did. Johnny and Simon had the same dry sense of humor, there was a sense of understanding between the two that Price was proud to foster. That sense of understanding flooded the team, but whatever was between Simon and Johnny was just that bit more in depth. They were a team of brothers in arms, but those two were true friends.

Anyone could see Simon blaming himself for what happened to Soap as the two snarled back and forth. One of the two only let up when a physical therapist touched their arms or John’s niece quietly told them that arguments didn’t lead to progress.

Simon wasn’t supposed to be here even helping Johnny. Price had tried to tell him no. That it added risks, to which the lieutenant snarled that if the Captain could go see him he could. That it would arguably be safer for him since no one knows his face but the team.

Simon had never spoken to Price like that before.

Gaz had typically decided to wait outside for the sessions after the first one, it would have ended with Johnny fist fighting a physical therapist if he could close his fist without violently shaking and using all his strength.

Johnny didn’t see Simon blaming himself until the day he got so fed up in the private session he threw his mask to the floor to scream at him. A pointed finger to his chest as Simon finally exploded.

“Are you fuckin blind, Johnny? We’re not fighting against ya!” Simon practically screamed at Johnny. It was the first time he had yelled at anyone in years. Even stunning Price. “We’re not the enemy. We’re a team! We’re trying to help you get back to yourself.”

Simon took in a deep, shaky breath, “We don’t care about Soap, Soap is just a callsign and nothin more. We’re here for Johnny, ya dim bastard! Each and every one of us. We ain’t fightin ya, we’re fighting for you.”

A rogue tear, an enemy operative, running down his eye black. No one would have believed it if the trail wasn’t clear on his face. It was as if Simon’s tough love finally registered in his mind. As if someone else’s feelings were finally registering in his mind. This wasn’t the orders of a superior. This was love from a true brother.

It was the first time Johnny hadn’t had a snarky quip in two months. There was no snarl back, no growling, no yelling. Johnny just did his best to open his arms for a hug. Bracing himself with his brother’s body. Finally realizing he wasn’t the only one affected by this, that Simon and his team had genuinely thought he was dead. That they wanted him to truly live again.

The sight had the poor Captain teary. His niece took his hand to comfort him, watching carefully at the sight as months of Soap’s attitude turned into soft cries against Simon’s shoulder. She also distracted her uncle and herself, giving the two men some privacy.

The poor ferocious beast licking its wounds turned back into a scared little boy. One that muffled cries about losing who he was, not knowing what was next, fearing he’d never be the same, that feared he’d lose his team- his only true family- to this weakness and pain.

Simon just listened. He did his best to lift a bit of Johnny’s weight from his feet. Knowing he couldn’t stand long enough, or hardly at all. A small gesture, a bit of consideration for his friend.

It was the longest John MacTavish had stood since the accident. While he wasn’t unsupported, they all counted it as progress. A great deal of progress.

“It could only have been you to get through to him, ya know?” Price said with a sad playfulness as he nudged Simon.

“He’s got a thick skull, the bastard does.” Simon sighed, trying to return the playfulness, but all he only sounded defeated.

“I think where we are is evidence of that enough,” Price laughed dryly. Kneeling in front of Simon in the recreation room on base for the team. “Never seen ya yell like that, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t like yelling, but the ringing in his ears must still be there.”

“Still think it’s because he doesn’t have the mohawk?”

“I’m getting the idiot a wing from party city and gluing it to his head next time he tries to fight me,” Simon grumbled with a smirk under the mask. Price could see it, even if he couldn’t see it.

It was sad humor before John gave him a nice little love tap before going to bed.

The rest of the night was quiet. Johnny was wheeled to his room, legs aching from weak muscles and hands shaking from gripping things. He didn’t sleep. For now, he has the drive to keep going. A newfound understanding for his new chance. A second one. He took the large oversized and overly thick pencil from the best side and the giant clipboard. Hands shaking in attempts to grip them.

“Come on, Johnny.” He mumbled to himself, resting the clipboard and paper on his thighs. He took the kiddy pencil in his right hand.

His grip faltered a lot. He worked to even put enough pressure against the paper to draw a line.

Then a line turned into squiggles.

Squiggles turned into a name that looked like it was written by a toddler, but it was a name. It was his name. He put it all on his bedside table and picked up his old journal.

He gingerly flipped through the sketches and words.

Why had he given up on being an artist? Why had he let it go completely and only continued as a hobby? He had been an Advanced Art Student in school as a boy, how could he let it go? How could he have taken it for granted?

He ran his fingers over the pages. He laid it in front of him lower on his thighs, bringing the clipboard and pencil back, flipping to a new blank page. He groaned at how run down the pencil was, he’d need someone to sharpen it soon.

He weakly gripped the pencil so it was vaguely horizontal with the blank paper.

“Come on, Soap, ya wee bastard. Just do it like you always did.” He mumbled, hands shaking as he tried to touch the pencil to the paper.

He made sure the lines were faint, going over it 3 or 4 times to create darker ones to make sure it was all in the shapes he wanted. He tried to copy an old sketch of his red skull mask.

It was clunky. Looked like bad cubism mixed with a toddler's hand turkey if that were possible. He worked on it all night. Copying it until his pencil was worn well to the wood.

When the nurses came to wake him the next morning, they found him asleep lightly holding the pencil with his journal and clipboard on his lap.

One of the nurses snagged a photo of it, all the scattered copies around his bed and beside it, sending them to Price’s niece, who was listed as the emergency contact. It wasn’t proper and the nurse knew that but they figured the family would want to see such progress.

She had sent the images to Simon, telling him to bring Soap his sharpener, and more big pencils. Simon was scheduled to be Soap’s first visitor of the day, taking to rotations on days that weren’t PT days made it easier on them all.

Price was usually the last visitor.

In a way, he blamed himself more than Simon ever could. He gave the two that mission, let them take it on. Let them get lost. Let them get pinned down.

He stopped Johnny from shooting the fucker when they had the chance.

It was more than easy to see that Price dreamed of being a family man- craving two or three kids to come home to, a dog, a white picket fence, and a missus to keep his life in order. Sadly, it was a dream he gave up on a long time ago.

In a way, he did have three kids. Three boys he adopted risk their lives day in and day out for the safety of others - it made him prouder than anything. It was hard knowing that Soap- John MacTavish- had no known family. No real family to take care of him. No one to notify if anything happened.

Price had tried too, using what samples the military had from him to find any family.

What Price found broke his heart. All he learned was that Johnny had been an orphan since he was a kid. His parents were lost in a car accident, t-boned by a super speeder at an intersection. Johnny had been home with a babysitter, still practically a baby. He did his best to find other relatives, but none knew of Johnny, all were too distant.

In a lot of ways, he looked at Johnny and saw his son. Johnny had always made him proud since the day Price first met him. Johnny had always been willing to go the extra mile to be the best.

Laswell jokingly called Johnny ‘Junior’ to Price. She saw a lot of resemblance to a younger Price in the Sergeant.

She found Captain Price sitting outside Johnny’s room, he was clearly deep in thought as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s tough as nails, John, he’ll pull through.” She said, sitting next to the Captain.

John pulled off his hat, holding it in his hands as he slouched forward. He braced himself with his forearms against his thighs.

“Can’t help the worry.” John mumbled.

“He’s getting better.”

“It’s taking so long.”

“Healing from anything takes time, especially something physical and mental like this.”

“He didn’t deserve it.”

“No one said he did.”

Laswell gently rubbed circles on John’s back. “No one believes he did,” she mumbled again.

“Terrible things happen to the best of people, the ones who deserve it least especially.” She said, watching the tears bead up on his lashes as he tried to blink them away.

“Blaming yourself for this isn’t what happened, no one on the team is at fault. No one could have known what would happen next.”

“I should have let him shoot the bastard,” Price mumbled, his hand moving up to hold his forehead. Trying to cover where the tears fell down his cheeks before getting lost in his beard.

“You can’t blame yourself for not knowing then what you know now.”

Price sighed.

“You can’t, John.”

“I gotta ask myself if it should have been me,” John mumbled against quivering lips.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

He stayed silent as she kept up her circles on his back before she stood up to go.

“If you can’t be strong for yourself, be strong for the kid.”

Gaz sat quietly in Johnny’s room. He had never been much of an artist so Johnny figured they could both learn as he relearned.

Gaz held up a poorly drawn humvee, “remember the time we superglued the zipper to Price’s sleeping bag and because he always had it all the way up he got stuck and Ghost had to cut him out of it?”

“Yeah,” Johnny gave a chuckle, “remember the time when we made a bet that whoever couldn’t get the nurse’s number from Alejandro’s base had to buy the rounds at the pub when we got home?”

“I remember us both losing.”

“She didn’t have a wedding ring, I didn’t know she was married!” Johnny laughed, holding up his crudely drawn humvee. Johnny snorted, “Looks like we’d be great cubists.”

Gaz cocked a brow.

“It’s an abstract art style, looks goofy. It’s the one famous artists do when they get lazy after becoming famous for super detailed work. They just slapped a name on laziness.” Soap snorted, “reminds me of my hot art teacher from school. What I would have even for a chance with that braw lookin lass as a 13 year old.”

“We all had those teachers, mate.” Kyle laughed. “Had a Spanish teacher with big ones,” he said, holding his hands in front of his chest, “I learned nothing in that class.”

Kyle clapped him on the shoulder as they both laughed. Then a silence fell.

“Next time I may just be wheeling behind you as we make our great escapes.”

“How about I push you instead,” Kyle said, holding out his fist for Johnny to pump.

And he did, weakly. But it was far from the amount of shaking it would have taken him to hold a fist weeks ago, or a month ago when the process started.

Johnny held out five folded pictures to Gaz, “been working hard on ‘em, they’re labeled.”

Gaz nodded and gave him a hug with a chuckle, “I’ll make sure they get to the right people. Get some rest, dishy lad.”

It didn’t hurt as bad for Kyle to be around Johnny.

Kyle was grateful for that, he had his buddy back.

He shuffled through the folded paper in his hands.

One for himself, Simon, Price, Laswell, and Price’s niece.

He patted Price’s back, “ready to head back?”

“How is he?”

“In a much better humor than a month ago, even has gifts for us.” Gaz said, holding up the papers.

When they got back to the waiting room, Gaz dished them out.

Each slowly unfolded the papers with their names on it. Price’s niece was the first to get her’s open, a soft gasp leaving her mouth as her eyes began to tear up.

It was a sketch of her standing between Price and Laswell from when she was first introduced, the paper had clearly been torn from a journal. A second paper fell to the floor from behind it and she snatched it up before it hit the floor. It was a copy of the image, its lines were sharky and it was clearly one of the blank printer paper sheets they had given him to practice writing on, but the image was pretty close to the same.

‘Always thought you were such a bonnie lass, hope my bad attitude didn’t scare you off.

-Johnny’ was written in the bottom corner of the page with a small heart. The writing was as shaky as the art but it didn’t stop her flushed face and her shocked tears that threatened to fall.

Simon hadn’t intended to open his until he got back to his own barracks, but when he peered over and saw the niece’s he could help himself.

“What did the jammy bastard do now,” Simon grumbled. Eyes going wide as a photo of him and Johnny on their skull masks fell out. A polaroid Alejandro had taken with a camera they found. Simon told him to burn it. Apparently, he never saw Johnny slip it into his gear. An older sketch of it Johnny had done and a small scratchy sketch in there too.

‘Remember when Gaz and I tried to see how many of your stupid masks we could steal before you got mad when we were new on the squad? I remember you waited us out until we had to get the baklava off your face. The ass kicking you gave me for coming close to getting it in your sleep definitely scared me straight.

-Johnny’ Simon ran his fingers over the scratchy words before folding it up for safe keeping. He’d give Johnny back his polaroid later.

Price’s was a sketch of the photo they took before their first 141 mission, it always sat on his desk in his office. An old one he had done probably a year ago and a new one.

‘Couldn’t have asked for a better CO. Thank you Captain. We had a good run.

PS: I knew I was always your favorite sergeant, I didn’t tell Kyle though.

-Johnny’

Price didn’t even register the tear sliding into his beard and the sad chuckle that left his lips.

Laswell unfolded hers, it was a drawing of her and John from the back and her with her elbow on his much taller shoulder.

‘Make sure my team doesn’t get into too much trouble. I won’t be there to bite the next bullet for them.

-Johnny MacTavish’

Laswell gently held the two sketches side by side, chuckling at his terrible joke about his situation. It was from the day Price made Kyle do a pushup for every tooth in the zipper of the sleeping bag because he took the fall for the prank. He made Johnny and Simon stand behind them and watch so they knew what would happen if they messed around. Laswell laughed fondly at the memory, it was a bittersweet chuckle.

Gaz was the last to open his. Softly unfolding the papers. The sketches were of an old selfie they took from the time they were stationed at the same base for training. The rest of the recruits behind them and the two made overly dramatic shocked faces with Soap - with Johnny pointing at the angry General staring at them. The new shaking sketch only focused on himself and Johnny and their stupid faces. A reference to a terrible meme they had seen earlier. He remembered fondly that one of the sergeants on base made them mop the rain outside that afternoon because they had already pissed off the General before that morning at breakfast. He forgot how he really only talked to Johnny at training, Johnny starting just after him.

‘Don’t forget to consult me on any base antics, I still have plenty of ideas. Bonus points if you guilt trip Price and tell him you’re doing it in my honor when he tries to get you in trouble.

-Johnny’

They all sat there quietly before saying goodbyes, going their separate ways.

Price’s niece slipped away back towards Johnny’s room with a knock, earning a, “come in.”

“Hey Johnny,” she said, moving to where he patted her at the edge of his bed, near his hips. “I had no clue you did so many sketches.”

“Had to fill my free time somehow, you can only walk around the base so many times before you lose your mind.”

“They’re beautiful, both of them.” She said softly, looking at them again, “I had no clue you drew me.”

“Woulda done it like one ‘a my french girls but yer uncle didn’t like the idea.” He chuckled, cut off by her planting a soft kiss on his temple. She held his chin with her hand gently, thumb dragging lightly over his lower lip. His face flushed as she treated him like glass.

“No sassy retort?” She asked with a giggle. Face not far from his.

“I got brain damage, lass, and out of practice, gotta give me time to get back in my groove,” he chuckled. “Also, ya missed.”

“What do you mean I missed?”

“I’ll show ya,” he said, planting a kiss on her lips. It was quick, testing the waters, making her face flush and her eyes widen. “So glad yer uncle won’t yell at me now for this, been waiting a while for this chance.” Johnny pressed another kiss with more pressure as she giggled against his lips. “Promise to make sure I don’t eat Mexican so wipin’ my arse ain’t so bad.”

“Again with the wiping the ass thing?”

“Just gotta remind you what ya signed up for,” he said with a chuckle, planting a lingering kiss at the corner of her mouth.

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see! Also Comments are always appreciated! I love hearing from yall!

#cod x reader #call of duty #captain price #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod #kate laswell #laswell cod #laswell mw2

225 notes · View notes

niki-phoria · 5 months

Text

YOU'RE MY HEARTBEAT

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angst word count: 674

warnings: mentions of blood/broken bones

notes: had an idea and couldn't stop thinking about it so enjoy :) based on the el gigante fight, couldn't figure out how to mention the wolf :// ambiguous ending unless you read part 02

you feel paralyzed - almost as if roots have crawled up from the floor, planting themselves around your feet and twisting around your ankles until you’ve all but been cemented into the ground below. and maybe you are. after all, you had been infected with whatever parasite has taken over the island, turning who you assume were regular, happy people into mindless monsters with the only goal of attacking and killing.

the beast before you growls; its arms flex as it revs up, preparing itself for yet another swing in your direction. thankfully, it’s now that your body finally catches up with your mind, leaving you with just enough time to duck out of the way, only narrowly dodging the tree the monster slams into the ground beside you. you scramble to your feet, shaky hands gripping your gun tightly though you doubt bullets will do any real damage.

leon takes the opportunity, firing a few shots of his own into the creature’s back. it howls in response, twisting around and stomping towards the man.

you follow leon’s lead. aiming at the monster’s head, you fire as many shots as your gun allows into its flesh. despite your best efforts, however, it seems to ignore you entirely. dust clouds your eyes and fills your lungs when it beats its fists against the ground, angrily screaming. you resist the urge to cough, scrambling back up to your feet.

a pang of terror strikes through your body like lightning when the dust around you settles. it feels like one of your nightmares has come to life. leon kneels on the ground, still trying to gather his bearings. a small pool of blood has already begun to gather on the ground near his left leg. through the cover of darkness you can still clearly make out the way he winces as he forces himself to stand.

dread fills you. leon isn’t moving fast enough. the monster is stronger - it’s clearly used to fights like these. leon is simply a man. a hurt man. no amount of training or grenades or guns will ever change that. and he isn’t moving fast enough.

the monster is fast approaching. if you didn’t know better, you would think it’s getting a sickening sense of satisfaction from this. leon is simply another win for the scoreboard. another kill to add to its count.

your body is moving before you even realize. your heart beating wildly in your own ears serves as a sick sort of soundtrack. movie scenes flash through your mind. you can almost see it now - the beloved hero, sacrificing themself to save the life of another. their choked goodbyes whispered through trembling breaths and teary eyes. their head lulling to the side to signify: this is the end. the hero is dead.

you can only pray your story has a different ending.

it all happens in a second. the world blurs. you feel leon’s body against your hand as you shove him out of immediate harm’s way. you feel your knees press into the cool earth below you. you feel your own heart beating rapidly in your chest. you feel… everything.

leon’s pained scream of your name echoes loudly in your ears. there’s a loud crash - the horrid noise of your own bones cracking and bricks being smashed from the force - and, maybe even worse, the gut-wrenching bloom of pain immediately spreads throughout your entire body. you’re sure you’ve never been more aware of each individual nerve ending hidden in between layers of muscle than you have been right now; all of them scream at you. your head spins.

splinters and chipped pieces of rock dig into your arms as you pitifully attempt to push yourself up. your chest heaves as you desperately try to force air back into your lungs. you’re dizzy. disoriented. even in your admittedly poor state of mind, you can tell: something is horribly wrong. leon’s voice is just barely loud enough to cut through the ringing in your own ears. and then, the world disappears.

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my resident evil masterlist <3

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sunkiss3dlily · 5 months

Text

to you, i'm just a man (to me, you're all i am) part four | joel miller x reader

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5916

Summary: Time is running out for you in the fight against David. Joel comes to your rescue.

Note(s): Okay, so now it's become five parts. I should just never set a goal for how many chapters I'm writing because I always exceed it hahahaha but at least Joel and reader are reunited!! I'm not gonna lie this took so long to write because I hated writing for David. He is so creepy and I felt so gross. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed, and I promise this time, the next chapter will be the last haha! Thank you for all the love I'm so grateful! And as always feedback is appreciated, but please be respectful! Please give me any (detailed, please!) requests in my inbox or comments if you have any, I would love to hear them! Thank you so much for reading! ♡

Taglist: @wonwoosthetic @paleidiot @orcasoul @slut4mascss @paqerings @missladym1981 @oscarisaac2099 @stilllivindue2spite @aspecialgreenie @amyispxnk @caitlynsixxx

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

The bitter cold stole your every sense of direction in the relentless blizzard, pushing you to stumble aimlessly through the thick snow, much like you had the day before, only this time you were no longer the hunter but the prey.

All around, the storm howled, and your every step was one of desperation in the search for any sign of David and James' group.

"Stay alert, everybody; if this man's not already dead, he's dangerous." David's voice calling out from the other end of the street had you bolting to hide behind a fence, your rifle clutched steadily in your hand. "And the woman too; she can’t be fully trusted, either."

Clutching your rifle, you took a shaky breath, straining your hearing to catch the next set of orders.

“What about the little girl?” James' voice cut through the harsh wind, and a surge of protectiveness swelled within you at the mention of Ellie. You silently vowed not to let any of them get near her—not one step.

“We bring her back with us." David responds. "Her, and the woman.”

"Try it, motherfucker," you muttered, biding your time as they started advancing down your end of the street, where you remained safely hidden, at least for the moment. There was no need to risk wasting bullets and missing a shot; you had to be smart about this.

A loud scoff cuts through the air, and a voice that you haven't heard before rings out: "That woman will kill us all in our goddamn sleep if we let her stay with us."

"Yeah, I agree," James cuts in soon after. "I don't mean to question your sense of mercy, David, but we can kill the man and the woman and just let the little girl go. If we bring that little girl back with us, she's just another mouth to feed."

You peek out, taking your aim and squeezing one eye shut.

"If we leave either of them out here, they'll die," David chastises, still seemingly set on having you and Ellie come back with him.

As if you'd let that happen.

James scoffed, and as the group approached, you could now count their numbers.

Five.

You watched as James bitterly shook his head, and almost instinctively, you raised your rifle, focusing on the moving target. "Maybe that's God's will."

David's head snapped to look at his taller friend, but before he could speak, your first shot rang out.

James practically folded in on himself, the bullet finding its mark right between his eyes. Genuine shock registered on David's face before a darker expression replaced it just as swiftly. The other four members of the group looked around in utter bewilderment, raising their weapons and expressing a mix of fear, anger, and shock.

"Holy shit!"

"What the fuck do we do, David?!"

"They killed James!"

Too preoccupied reloading your rifle, you didn't notice David's eyes settling on the neck of your gun, which was slightly peeking out from behind the fence.

"Split up. Find the house they're staying in and get that little girl back to me alive. I'll take care of the woman."

As the three scatter in different directions, you finally look up, and that's when you notice David approaching the fence, his own gun at the ready, aimed and dangerous.

You feel it before you hear it—the burning sensation as the bullet rips through your coat and shirt, sinking into the skin of your shoulder. The sickening whoosh of the bullet through the air is only heard after. Had your senses been more in tune, perhaps you would have dodged it. Instead, a muffled cry of pain escapes your lips as you slam them together, forcing yourself into a standing yet crouched position. Running along the back of the fence, you do your best to ignore both the pain and the sensation of your blood coating your fingers, compressing the wound as you move, the rifle held limply in the hand of your injured arm.

"Get back here!"

Your legs turn to jelly as you sprint through the snow, heading straight for one of the houses. Despite the intensifying pain in your shoulder, you strive to keep your cool. Bullets whiz dangerously close to your tattered boots, narrowly missing as you move just a fraction too quickly for David's shooting ability.

“It doesn’t have to be this hard!”

Gasping for breath, you reach cover at the side of a nearby house, pressing your back against the cold exterior. The bitter wind bites at your exposed skin as you take a moment to assess the wound on your shoulder, your fingers coming away stained with blood. You reach back, whimpering to yourself as you feel the unmistakable hole in your shirt and coat, realising that, for one small mercy, the bullet has gone straight through.

"I didn't want to hurt you." David's voice echoes chillingly close, urging you to retreat to the back of the house. As you hastily assess for an entry point, he adds with a sinister tone, "You forced my hand."

Despite the searing pain in your shoulder and the fear gnawing at your senses, a twisted sense of relief settles in as you reach the back of the house. The knowledge that it's you who David is pursuing, and not Joel or Ellie, somehow grants you a twisted comfort.

“There’s no need to keep fighting me like this. It’s pointless.”

With trembling hands, you fumble to open the door, your mind racing faster than your jittery heartbeat.

The wooden door creaks open, revealing the dim interior of the house. Staggering under the weight of pain and panic, you stumble inside, the world spinning as you navigate the all-too-familiar surroundings from when you were desperately searching for any first aid for Joel the day prior, so you already know there is nothing here that is going to help you. The urgency of your situation intensifies, and you quickly slam the door behind you closed.

The house offers a brief respite from the relentless blizzard and the immediate threat of David's pursuit. As you move deeper into the residence, your unsteady footsteps echo against the worn floorboards. The muted sounds of the storm outside contrast with the thunderous beating of your heart.

A narrow staircase comes into view, and with each step, your legs feel heavier, like lead. The ascent is a gruelling task, with your battered body protesting with every movement. As you reach the top, you catch your breath, realising the vulnerability of your situation. You're wounded and isolated, and you're at the mercy of your surroundings and David.

Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you push forward, weaving through the upper floor. The pain in your shoulder becomes an unbearable companion, gnawing at your resolve, and your vision blurs. A distant bedroom beckons, and you stumble towards it, guided more by instinct than conscious thought.

With each step, the world becomes more of a blurry haze. You push the bedroom door open with a light swing, revealing your final refuge from the chaos. Collapsing against the far wall, behind a double bed, you sink to the floor, your breaths ragged and laboured. The room spins around you as you succumb to the exhaustion, your body finally finding a momentary sanctuary amid the turmoil.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

The unmistakable echo of a gunshot reached Joel's ears, shattering the relative silence of the basement and snapping him out of the uneasy rest he had slipped into.

It felt like just moments ago that he had watched you leave, resolute in facing danger to protect him and Ellie. The mental image of you willingly sacrificing yourself for their safety wound around his heart like barbed wire, each beat accentuating his feelings of pain and helplessness. Staring at the closed door, he had been consumed by profound desperation, silently yearning for you to turn around and come back to them, to him. But, as the seconds ticked away, it became clear you weren't coming back.

Ellie's eyes had met his, her dark pools of pleading tears watching him as the weight of sleep threatened to pull him under.

"Joel! Wake the fuck up! We have to go!"

Suddenly, Ellie was gripping his shirt, the surge of adrenaline from the shock of it all combatting the heaviness of his slumber. The gunshot's resonance wasn't just a haunting echo of his nightmares about Sarah; it was the stark reality now centred around you. Whether you were the shooter or the one being shot at, Joel couldn't allow himself to stand, or rather lay, by while you faced danger, even in his weakened state.

"Joel!" Ellie repeated, shaking him just as furiously as before. "Fuck, wait a second."

She disappeared from his sight for a moment, peripherals included, and for some twisted reason inside of him, the thought of her leaving too made him even more scared. He couldn't lose both of you.

"Ellie," he called hoarsely.

She was back within a few moments, seemingly fueled by the sound of his voice as she kneeled beside him, syringe and medicine bottle in hand. "Yeah, I'm here. Just give me a minute. I've never done this before."

He held still, barely breathing as the needle pricked his wound once more, not wanting to freak the kid out any more than she already was.

"Ellie," he repeated. Her eyes fell to his as she continued to plunge the syringe slowly, just as she had watched you do so many times. Her dark eyes were still watery and held so much fear that she attempted to hide with her otherwise stoic expression, barring the slight trembling of her lips. "It's...it's gonna be okay."

"Yeah," she nodded, though her gaze fell away from him as if she didn't believe him. "I know."

Silence settled between them, a void that you typically filled. As Ellie withdrew the syringe, returning it along with the medicine to her bag, the echo of a second gunshot pierced the air, prompting them to exchange uneasy glances.

The heavy footsteps from above spurred Joel into action, breaking the inertia that had held him for days. He staggered to his feet, his unsteady legs protesting disuse, and gently guided Ellie into the corner beneath the stairs. Pressing his rifle into her hands, he saw the horror in her eyes. A shake of his head preceded his retrieval of her knife from the bag.

"If anything goes wrong, you shoot and run, alright?" Her mouth opened, but he silenced any objections, his tone unwavering. "No. No questions, no smart remarks. You run."

Joel's voice carried a resolute authority, his eyes revealing a blend of concern and determination. Ellie nodded, her grip tightening on the rifle as she comprehended the gravity of the situation.

The clamour above intensified, muffled voices now accompanied by the crash of furniture in front of the basement door.

Time seemed to stretch as they waited, breaths suspended in anticipation. As the footsteps finally seemed to reach the top of the stairs and the door opened, Joel whispered one final directive, his voice barely audible.

"Face the wall."

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

A tender touch, brushing hair away from your forehead, coaxes you back to awareness. Initially feeling numb, the haze lifts as you blink away blurriness, and the searing pain in your wound snaps into focus. A cry escapes your lips, and instinctively, you reach to cover the injury, as if the pressure could quell the pain. Surprisingly, a make-shift bandage is wrapped around the bare skin of your shoulder, and as you withdraw your hand, you find no fresh blood, only the remnants of dried staining from before.

A fleeting sense of relief washes over you when you suddenly realise someone is taking care of you; you've been saved.

"You were lucky; I'll give you that."

Anticipating Joel's deep, somewhat soothing tone, the sudden and chilling sound of David's higher voice jolted you. Startled, you looked up and blinked rapidly, only to find the devil himself kneeling in front of you, his hand resting on your cheek.

"Getting the jump on us like that. It was smart." He chuckled slightly, unsettling you further, prompting an instinctive flex of your fingers to search for your rifle. It must have been moved, and you think you can see the handle just behind him on the bed. The sheet on top of the mattress appears to be torn, evidently being what was used to conceal your wound. "I won't say it'll earn you many brownie points with the folks back home, but I understand. I understand why you did it."

You draw in a shaky breath, attempting to breathe through the pain and panic, while desperately searching your mind for any semblance of a plan.

David withdraws his hand from your cheek, replacing it with two fingers on your neck's pulse point, holding them there for a moment. "You know, I was worried you weren't going to wake up at all."

You make your best attempt to shrug him off, disliking the sensation of his cold fingertips on your skin. Despite your weakness, you glare up at him and retort, "You should be more worried than I was."

He smiles with a glint of amusement in his eyes, and you despise the gut-wrenching feeling of vulnerability blooming in your chest at the notion of being stuck in this man's presence. A chuckle escapes him, and he sucks his teeth before raising his hand, causing your head to snap to the side as the back of his hand connects with your cheek, a ring on his finger slashing your cheek upon impact.

Stunned to silence, you manage only a few heavy breaths as blood dribbles down your cheek. Eventually, you compose yourself enough to meet his gaze once more.

David releases a heavy sigh, observing you with a gaze that combines pity and satisfaction as he sits back on his knees.

“I like you. I do."

You glare back at him, biting back a snide comment.

He smiles, releasing a soft chuckle. “You’re so much different from the women back in my village. They’re so docile, complacent, and scared of their own shadows. You, on the other hand, are feral. Violent. A murderer.”

You swallow uncomfortably, unsettled by the excited glint in his eyes as he gazes at you.

“I like that. It’s realistic. A woman who does what she has to do to get what she wants. It’s the only way to survive, right?” David smiles, reaching out to clasp your limp hand that sits on your lap. “We’re very similar in that way. We do what we have to do to provide for the people who rely on us. No matter what, right?”

You fight the urge to snap his fingers in your palm, feeling his thumb stroking roughly over your skin, a poor imitation of Joel's comforting touch from only hours ago.

“You see, I’m not your enemy here.” He whispers in an attempt at a soothing tone. “I never have been. In fact, I am your equal, and in being that, I believe you would make the perfect addition to stand by my side in leading our people through the darkness that this winter has brought.”

You shake your head, but he raises a hand and emits a shushing noise.

“I know. It’s a hard concept to grasp when you’re in this fight-or-flight headspace. I’m sure you feel you won’t be accepted by them for all your sins and for all the heartache you’ve brought to our community, but they, as well as you, will come to understand, in good time, that reformation is indeed possible.” He squeezes your hand tight—so tight that it becomes uncomfortable very quickly. You breathe your way through the pain. “And if you can’t, then you can provide for our community in another way.” He lifts his other hand to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “My people are hungry, you see. I wouldn’t be a good leader if I didn't do what I needed to provide for them, despite sacrificing what would be the closest thing I have to my equal. You understand the necessity of that, right?”

A sickening feeling churns in your stomach. Whatever he has in mind for you is likely nothing you want to endure. You bite your tongue, resolved to maintain composure and conceal your fear.

“And then, I suppose, your daughter will be the one to take your place beside me.”

Your entire body tenses, and he seems to notice the fire blazing in your eyes at the mention of Ellie, a light smirk settling on his lips.

Quick to wipe it off, you wrap your palm around his middle finger and tug it back with all the strength you can muster, causing a sickening crack as it breaks, ricocheting around you. He lets out an anguished cry of pain, filling you with relentless satisfaction. As he releases your hand entirely, you shove him backward and use the wall to guide you to your feet.

Rushing for your rifle, your movements are short-lived as you feel his hand wrap around your ankle, grabbing hold of you. Swinging your arm around to hit him, he tugs you forcefully via your arm, causing you to flop face down on the floor beside him.

Releasing angry pants, he flips you over onto your back and uses his free hand to press down on your wound, keeping you down and eliciting a cry of unbearable pain from your lips.

“There it is. There’s that fight in you I like so much.”

You spit at him, aiming directly for his face, and raise your knee to strike him in the crotch. He releases your wound, and you take a sharp intake of breath, readying your hand to deliver a strike to his face. But he's too quick, grabbing your wrist and yanking it hard, exerting so much force that you feel your arm being ripped out of its socket.

A blinding wave of pain overwhelms you, bringing all your struggles to an instant halt. Your pain threshold has been entirely depleted. You're done fighting. It's all too much.

He clears his throat as he shifts to hold himself above you, his gaze a mix of satisfaction and disappointment as he looks down at you.

“Is that all you’ve got in you?” He laughed breathlessly. “I’m disappointed. Underneath all that strong facade, you’re just the same as every other woman. Weak. I should’ve known you’d end up just the same: under my mercy."

Your strength waned, unable to conceal the overwhelming fear as his weight bore down on you, and instead, you opened your mouth, releasing a gut-wrenching scream.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

It was guttural—the scream that tore through the streets—and it sent a shiver down Joel's spine. Ellie was huddled at his side, his arm protectively encircling her, marking the first substantial contact between them. The moment he tensed, he felt her reaction mirror his own.

Joel held tight to Callus' reins in his other hand. Although logic dictated that he and Ellie should be riding towards your safety, the events in the basement lingered in Joel's mind. Forcing two out of three men to reveal your whereabouts, even with Ellie upstairs and out of direct earshot, it had been a traumatic ordeal for the both of them. Joel couldn't deny Ellie the comfort of being close to him after such a harrowing experience. Contrary to his initial fears, it became evident that Ellie wasn't terrified of him; in fact, the very opposite seemed true.

'"That's her," Ellie said through chattering teeth as the biting winds whipped around them. "We have to help her."

Joel nodded, his gaze firm and determined, tugging Callus along once more. "We will. We'll get to her."

Once again, your scream, fraught with fear and desperation, reverberated through the desolate streets. The chilling sound momentarily froze time, leaving Joel feeling utterly helpless about where to go or how to reach you. The haunting silence that followed became almost unbearable, casting an oppressive weight on Joel's chest, which he tried to ignore with every stride he took, Ellie in tow.

Abruptly, just as it had ceased, your screaming resumed, and Joel couldn't summon the strength to look down, yet he could feel Ellie's tears soaking his shirt. Each agonising note sliced through the air, and this time, it seemed to pierce Joel even more deeply than before. The raw, visceral sound of your distress clawed at his heart, dismantling any remaining walls that held back his emotions towards you. He despised that sound—the sound of you in pain, the sound of you scared, the sound of you broken—and silently vowed to do whatever it took to never hear it again.

However, amidst the torment, there existed a perverse sense of gratitude. Your screams served as a guiding force, leading Joel, Ellie, and Callus through the relentless blizzard in pursuit of you. A steely resolve tightened Joel's jaw, determination etched across his weathered face as you fell silent once more, only to start screaming again seconds later. The idea of you enduring suffering was unbearable, and an urgency to reach you surged through Joel's veins, propelling their movements forward through the biting cold.

Reaching the front of the house from which your screams echoed, Joel gently pulled away from Ellie's trembling frame. He tried to ignore the way she instinctively sought to move closer, holding her by the shoulders. "I need you to listen to me, Ellie."

Her face was pale, tear-stricken, and concerned, lacking the strength to argue. She nodded in response.

"I need you to ride Callus to the furthest house away, to the very last one in this neighbourhood, okay? Not one sooner. The very last one."

Her lips parted, wobbling, but your scream from above tore every word from the tip of her tongue. She made her way to Callus, placing one foot in the stirrup before Joel helped launch her onto the horse completely. He held back a wince as his wound ached with every movement, and raised his rifle for her to take.

"I'll come and find you as soon as we're out. You don't leave for anything. You stay right there, hidden, until we come back. Got it?"

Ellie took the rifle, slugging it onto shoulder, before gripping Callus' reins and nodding. "Got it."

"Good." He hummed, stroking Callus' side before meeting Ellie's eyes. "Go on."

She simply sniffled, murmuring, "Let's go," to the horse before she and Callus thundered off down the street.

Joel watched as Ellie rode away, his rifle slung over her shoulder, and as he turned back towards the house, it took him about a second to realise you were no longer making any noise, and it only took half of that time to send him into utter panic.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

The carpet beneath your fingernails was the only sensation you registered as David's hand coiled around your throat, tightening its grip and stifling any more attempts at screaming.

You weren't fighting back anymore. You couldn't. You'd lost it all the moment David had you pinned down and injured. The likelihood of Joel succumbing to the brutality of David's men gnawed at your conscience. Imagining Ellie, now alone and convinced you were lost too, fighting desperately to escape their clutches added another layer of anguish to your already shattered resolve. You didn't want to risk that becoming a truth, and so you just lay there.

Time seemed to stretch with each agonising blink, your eyes lingering shut for longer intervals. As David's suffocating grip on your throat gradually released, you struggled to focus through the haze. His lips moved, likely weaving a twisted soliloquy, but the only sound that reached you was the persistent thud of blood coursing through your veins. Each breath you managed to draw felt like a desperate attempt to refill your lungs, your chest heaving with the effort.

His vice-like grip on your neck finally released, and as you dared to steal a glance downward, all you saw was his hand moving towards his zipper.

You clutched at the carpet, fingers digging in, and drew in a wheezy breath, steeling yourself for whatever might come next.

David's face and body loomed over you, paralysing you with fear. Just as you thought it was all over, the sudden impact of your rifle against the side of his head sent his looming figure crashing to the floor beside you. Through the haze of your vision, you could vaguely make out a blurry figure in a brown coat gripping your rifle and ruthlessly slamming it down repeatedly onto what appeared to be David's body.

Unable to discern many words, you could only catch snippets of angry and pained sounds. Fear gripped you, but in a moment of reprieve, you managed to turn on your side. For perhaps the first time since you woke up, you felt a semblance of relief, as if you could finally afford to breathe again.

Your body ached, and your lungs burned with each precious breath of fresh air, reminiscent of a dog lapping up water on a scorching day. Curled into a foetal position, the only sounds that reached your ears were the haunting echoes of sniffles and whimpering. It didn't take long for you to grasp the painful realisation that those anguished sounds were escaping your own lips.

A hand gripping your ankle jolts you into immediate action, fearing the worst. A distressed wail escapes your lips as you kick out, refusing to glance at the person who has a hold of you. Slowly crawling away, you use your uninjured arm to support yourself, doing your best to fight the searing pain flowing through you.

The hand lets up, and then it moves to land delicately on your back. Gentle and light, it hovers, assuring you of his presence.

Everything seems to move once more in slow motion as you continue to kick out, eventually flipping onto your side and meeting your would-be assailant's eyes once more.

Except it's not David.

It's Joel.

His lips are parted, and he is speaking to you softly. His face is taut with concern, distress, and fear.

"..'s me; it's just me. It's me."

The sound of relief escaping you doesn't come close to the immense relief flooding your insides.

As Joel senses the realisation dawning in your eyes, his expression eases slightly, a fraction of his concern dissipating.

You can't help but avert your gaze, your eyes falling upon David's battered body lying a short distance away. The butt of your rifle, stained with his blood, rests by his side. It's evident that Joel has discarded it and hurried to your aid.

His touch on your cheek is gentle, coaxing you to meet his gaze once more.

"Look at me," he urges, his voice a comforting murmur. "You're okay. You're with me. Just keep your eyes on me. Keep focusing on me."

Your lip trembles. "J-Joel...he…he…”

"I know," he murmurs softly, his face etched with pain as he gently covers your hand with his own on the floor. The gesture makes you flinch involuntarily, and memories of David flood your mind. "I know, honey. I know."

Honey.

The term is uttered with such tenderness, so delicately, that it catches you off guard. His eyes glisten with unshed tears as he regards you with the utmost care, as if he can hardly believe he's reached you in time.

Tears stream down your cheeks, unnoticed, until you feel his arms enveloping you. It's surprising the sheer gentleness emanating from a man hardened by years of violence, his fists having shed blood from countless adversaries. Yet here he is, cradling you as though you're the most precious gift, as if it's the most natural thing for him to do, as though he was born to love and protect you, no matter the time it took for him to realise it.

His hand finds solace in your matted hair, anchoring you to him as you weep against his chest. For a long while, he remains silent, allowing your sorrow to seep into him as if, by some miracle, it might alleviate your pain. You feel a shift in his posture, and then his chapped lips brush gently against your forehead.

Drawing back slightly from the comfort of his embrace, you meet his gaze.

"You're... you're alive," you breathe out softly.

The corners of his lips twitch up a little, and he nods gently down at you. "Your stubborn ass saved me, remember?"

"I... I had to. I couldn't... couldn't lose you," you respond, still teary-eyed. Your gaze darts around frantically for a moment. "E—Ellie? Where's Ellie? Did they get Ellie?"

Joel shakes his head quickly. "We... I got 'em, I swear. They didn't touch her. She's safe."

"They... they were really bad people, Joel," you whisper, a slight desperation in your voice, as if you need him to believe you, though you have no idea why you feel the need to justify it. "Really bad. They... they... the things he wanted to do."

Your gaze starts to drift back to David's body, but Joel gently redirects your focus to him with a tender touch on your cheek, his thumb wiping away the blood from where David's ring had cut your skin. "No, no. Don't look at him, alright? Just keep looking at me and listening, okay? Focus right here on me and me only."

You nod, your attention fixed on him.

“You did good, sweetheart. You did so good. You saved me and Ellie, and…and you’re still here with us. It was always going to be your life over any of theirs. You did what you had to do.”

Weakly, you nod and rest your trembling hand on his arm.

He glances down at your hand, resting his own atop it, and takes a breath. Using the next few moments to assess your condition, he notices the blood-soaked sheet wrapped around your shoulder, his face paling considerably. Then, his gaze falls on the swollen part of your arm where David has torn it from its socket.

He releases your hand and rises to his feet, prompting a soft cry of his name from you, as if he might leave you in that state.

"I'm right here. You're okay," he assures you, reaching down to cup your cheek. "I just need to... I need to help you. You're hurt, sweetheart. Just keep your eyes on me. I'm not going anywhere; I just need to..."

Glancing over to the bed, where the ripped sheet lies, he reluctantly lets go of you and strides over to retrieve it. Returning to your side, he offers reassurance. "See? I'm still here."

You watch him carefully as he tears the fabric apart with his bare hands, studying his every move.

"Joel," you say softly at first, catching his attention only when you repeat his name with a bit more urgency.

"Yeah, what's up?" He responds, turning to you.

"I'm... I'm glad you're here."

His worried expression softens, though concern still lingers in his gentle brown eyes. After a moment's pause, he replies, "Me too, honey." Taking a breath, he continues, "Now, I'm gonna ask you to do something for me, okay?"

You weakly nod your agreement.

"Just stay still while I see what I can do about your arm, alright?" he instructs.

He shakily reaches over to lightly press your swollen, deformed-looking arm, retracting his hand almost immediately when you cry out in pain. The anguish in his eyes mirrors your own hurt, and once the wave of pain has passed, you grasp his coat with your uninjured hand, murmuring your apologies.

"It's okay, it's okay," he reassures you softly, cupping your cheek and meeting your gaze with his intense one. "I need you to trust me for a second, okay? This is going to hurt, but you are going to be just fine, I promise. Everything's going to be okay."

Tears brim in your eyes, but you nod. "I trust you, Joel."

He smiles softly at you, leaning forward to press a kiss on your head before he reaches out and takes your injured arm's hand in his own. With a shaky breath, he asks, "Can you feel that?"

You nod with a sniffle.

"Good. That's good." He squeezes your hand gently. "And you feel that?"

Again, you nod.

He squeezes once more, meeting your eyes. "Still with me?"

Another nod.

Taking a breath, he squeezes for the third time, a nervous expression clouding his face.

It takes you a moment to process his confession as pain overwhelms you. But when you realise what he has said, everything stops hurting for a moment, and a relieved tear slips down your cheek.

He smiles weakly back at you.

And then he tugs.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

"Almost there, sweetheart," Joel murmurs, his hand light on your back as he guides you through the blizzard, mindful of your delicate state. "I've got you."

Your injured arm is cradled in a makeshift sling, and a fresh bandage, fashioned from the same sheet, is carefully tied over your bullet wound. Despite the lingering pain, being with Joel feels like a balm to your soul, as if you're walking on air. The thought of being reunited with Ellie soon fills you with hope, giving you the strength to keep moving forward, despite the weariness weighing down your legs.

Every little noise puts you on edge, whether it's the howl of the wind or the thud of snow against a roof. But Joel is there, a reassuring presence, whispering words of comfort each time you tense up, trying to reach for a weapon and inadvertently causing yourself more pain.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay," Joel assures as you come to reach the last few houses on the road, the sight of horse prints visible in the snow-covered ground. "Look behind us; look around. There is no one here but us. No one is going to hurt you, I promise."

You look around nervously, seeing that he is right. You are simply overwhelmed by paranoia right now.

“No one is going to hurt you,” Joel repeats gently, a change from his usual tone but a welcome one. You've never felt safer.

You nod, scooting closer to him all the same.

The horse tracks lead up to the final house on the road, and Joel is grateful that Ellie followed his instructions this time.

He shuffles as slowly as you need up the short distance of the porch steps, and when you both reach the top and you begin to lose your ability to keep moving forward, he wraps your uninjured arm around his neck and keeps you moving. “I’ve got you. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re just tired, that’s all. You’re going to rest as soon as we get inside, alright? Talk to me; let me know you’re still in there.”

“Still here..." you assure quietly, though your vision is beginning to blur and darkness is beginning to form in your peripherals.

“Atta girl, stay with me.” He presses a gentle hand over your ear and pushes the other to rest against his chest. He raises his voice, though muffled to you, as he kicks the front door as he has no hands free. “Ellie! Open up! It’s us!”

By the time the door opens, you are halfway through succumbing to the darkness.

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

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writeforfandoms · 9 months

Text

Run Wild 3

Find the series masterlist

Mink's first mission with KorTac doesn't go as smoothly as it could, and there is a definite learning curve to joining a new pack.

Warnings: Brief canon typical violence, shooting, injury, blood, death of unnamed characters, pack dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, everybody is allergic to emotions.

Word count: 1.9k

Eventual Horangi x König x f!reader

You'd known from the beginning that you'd get sent out. That was part of belonging to a PMC.

But you hadn't counted on being part of a pack.

Horangi and König both seemed relaxed, but then, they both had more experience than you did. You tried to let their ease help you.

This was supposed to be a relatively simple op. The goal was to rescue several prisoners. König would be leading the group to rescue the prisoners.

You and Horangi had been assigned to the outside group, taking care of any resistance before it became a problem.

It was odd being with Horangi but not König. You'd gotten so used to the two of them being together all the time over the past weeks that having just one was a little strange. Which probably meant that you needed to spend more time with them one on one, honestly.

Horangi tipped his head down at you, one eyebrow raising over the rim of his sunglasses. "Ready?" He asked, keeping his voice quiet.

"Yes, sir." You breathed in slowly, shaking out your shoulders. Gear all felt good, you were as ready as you could be.

Horangi led you over to the group, and you kept close to him. He didn't say a word, but you could smell the amusement rolling off of him. You just huffed softly.

Naturally, the two of you were paired up, and sent off to get to your assigned location. Neither of you spoke, Horangi taking the lead easily.

Then you had to wait. Because of course you did. Even here there was a lot of hurry up and wait.

"Nervous?" Horangi purred from next to you.

You didn't startle at the sudden question, but you did side-eye him. "Eh. Only a little."

He snorted softly but didn't offer anything else. You just kept watching for anything worthy of alarm. Or shooting.

The first part was quiet. Neither of you spotted anything, the comm in your ear keeping you apprised of the other team’s movements.

The hostages had just been secured when you heard something other than the comm. You turned slowly, head tilting, listening. You could just see Horangi turning to look at you, clocking your sudden alertness.

Which was the only reason the bullet hit him in the shoulder and not the chest.

He went down and you swore, bringing your gun up and crouching next to him. The shot had come from behind him, where another two-person team was supposed to be set up.

“Alpha?” you asked softly, focusing on the glint of a weapon, following that to the single sniper clearly still searching for the two of you.

“Not gonna die,” he grunted, teeth clenched. “Line up a shot.”

Your grin felt a little feral, blood singing with the promise of getting a little retribution, even as the smell of blood filled your nose. A bullet hit the rock you were sheltering behind, but you didn’t flinch. You waited, patient, breathing slowly, ignoring the sounds of Horangi moving himself to better cover.

And as soon as you saw the sniper poke out from their own hiding spot, you pulled the trigger.

The sniper crumbled to the ground, and you hummed in satisfaction.

“One wounded,” Horangi was in the middle of reporting in as you tuned back in, satisfied that the threat was eliminated. “Sniper down.”

“Copy,” came the growl from the other end of the line. Oh, König was not happy. You glanced at Horangi but couldn’t tell anything, his expression hidden and scent camouflaged by the blood. “We are on the way to exfil.”

Horangi grunted, pushing to his feet. You were at his side a moment later, not quite hovering but close in case he needed anything. “Take lead,” he grunted to you.

You hesitated a bare moment before you nodded, stepping ahead of him, gun up, listening carefully for anything unusual. But there was nothing the entire way back to exfil. Horangi moved steadily behind you, only the occasional hitch in his breathing betraying him.

“Anything I can do?” you asked softly, not relaxing enough to look back at him. Not yet.

He chuffed, a sound far too feline to have come from a human throat. “Don’t fuss.”

Your shoulders tensed, pulling up towards your ears, and it took a moment to force them back down. But you didn’t say anything else, just led the way down to meet up with the rest.

The hostages were safe, the rest of the team coming back in. Two casualties, two injuries. Half a dozen hostiles had managed to circle up on two of the pairs, killing two operatives and injuring Horangi and one other before they’d been eliminated.

You sat away from Horangi and König on the ride back to base, choosing instead to put earbuds in and tune out. You needed to figure out your own emotions first, before you reported back to them.

König glanced back at you once before he hustled Horangi off. Probably to medical. You went to give your report, wanting to be done as soon as possible.

And then you headed for one of the common rooms. Not the pack room. Figuring yourself out came first, then checking on your alpha.

Or avoidance. That came first when someone roped you into a game of Mario Kart. That was definitely easier than facing whatever had gone wrong earlier, how Horangi had dismissed your concern.

Before you knew it, everyone was heading off to bed. You left too, a little slower. You had a room to yourself, tiny but yours - one of the benefits of being a registered shifter, apparently. You didn’t know if König or Horangi had updated your paperwork. It didn’t really matter, anyway.

You sat on your bed, still too wired to sleep. Maybe a nice swim would help. Technically you weren’t supposed to after lights out, but… If you were sneaky, nobody else had to even know.

That thought in mind, you snuck out of the barracks and towards the pool instead. You left the lights off, using the bits of moonlight coming in the windows to show you the way. Base was odd this time of night, much quieter than you were used to.

You left your clothes in the locker room, shifted, and scampered over to the pool. The water was pleasantly cool, and you dove down to the bottom of the pool. Not that you had anything to chase in here, but it felt good to just swim.

You drifted idly for a bit, letting the comfort of weightlessness help settle you. For all that you spent a lot of your time with Horangi and König, you didn’t know them well. Which was fair. It took time to know someone. They didn’t exactly know you well, either. Misunderstandings were bound to happen.

You ducked your head under the water and blew out a stream of bubbles. Just a misunderstanding, not a real push away. It was fine. Everything was fine.

A splash caught your attention, and you twisted in the water to look for the source. Horangi had his feet in the water, sitting at the edge of the pool, sunglasses gone. You blinked at him, hesitating, before you ducked under the water again.

If he wanted you, he’d get your attention somehow.

You spent a few more minutes swimming, mostly under the water, before splashing drew you nearer to Horangi. You popped back up to the surface of the water to find the alpha already watching you. He beckoned you closer, and after a moment of hesitation you obeyed. He held his hands in the water, clearly expecting you to come all the way to him. You did, though you chittered at him to let him know that you would jump back into the pool if he squeezed you at all.

But he surprised you, picking you up very gently and holding you close to his chest, heedless of the water that soaked into his sleep shirt. “König fusses like you wouldn’t believe,” he grumbled, thumb gentle as he stroked the top of your head. “It’s been the two of us for a long time.” He didn’t look down at you, but he did lean back a little, settling you more fully against his chest. With the lack of gear in the way, you could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong.

You leaned into him, chittering softly at him. You understood, kind of. Although it had been a long time since anyone had fussed over you.

He huffed softly. “Do I need to spell it out?” he asked, half-despairing.

You blinked up at him, shifting your weight in his hands to put your front paws higher up his chest and chitter at him.

He sighed softly, breath warm through the barrier of his face mask. “I was not trying to dismiss you, earlier,” he grumbled, soft and gruff. “One packmate fussing is bad enough.”

You tipped your head, considering him. He was telling the truth, that much your nose confirmed. And he clearly didn’t like speaking so plainly, although whether that was because this had to do with emotions or his own opinions you weren’t entirely sure. You didn’t yet know him well enough to guess.

So you decided to take it easy on him. You huffed and climbed the rest of the way up his chest and around the back of his neck before going boneless, draping yourself there like a fuzzy scarf.

He snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re small,” he mumbled. “If you fall asleep, I’m not picking the lock to your room.”

You huffed and briefly dug your claws into his shirt. Then you went limp again.

You used to do this with your father often, before everything.

You shied away from the memories and pushed your nose against Horangi’s neck, focusing on his scent, and the way he swore softly at your tiny cold nose against his skin. He still smelled a little like blood and antiseptic, but you could ignore that.

Finally calming again, you closed your eyes and dozed, just a little. Just until he stood. Then you chittered at him, tensing and digging your claws into his shirt again.

“Calm down,” he grumbled at you. “Locker room?”

You huffed but settled down again. He walked over to the locker room before he plucked you from his shoulders, scruffing you easily. You hissed a little, not enjoying dangling from his hand this high above the floor, but you didn’t try to escape. Or attack his fingers.

“We’re all off tomorrow,” he told you, holding you up to eye level even though you desperately looked anywhere but his eyes. “Come to the pack room after breakfast.”

You squeaked at him. Agreement and demand to be put down rolled in one.

“See you in the morning.” Horangi put you down next to your clothes and walked out of the locker room.

You shifted back and took a quick shower to wash the chlorine out of your hair before getting dressed again. The trip back to your room was just as dark and quiet, and you made it back with no problem.

Feeling better and more settled, sleep came easily to you.

#run wild #shifter au #horangi x könig #horangi x reader x König

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