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bonny-kookoo · 4 months

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Jungkook

𝐄𝖝𝖊𝖈𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗 | Teaser

When second chances are wasted, there's only one thing left to do.

Tags/Warnings: Dystopian AU, Werewolf AU, Alpha!Jungkook, Omega!Reader, Angst, Some fluff, romance but he's a bit weird about it pls let him cook he's awkward okay, Violence, crime and.. bad stuff.

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A/N: oh look another werewolf fic oops. BTW if you do not like any of the tags or the trailer doesnt vibe with you, don't read the story. I literally have tons of other content for you instead. Thanks.

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“Do you think that people can change?”

No. Jungkook does not believe that people have the ability to shed their dark desires once they've shown their ugly faces to the world. Once someone has lost control over themselves and their inner demons even just once, it’s over. A wolf's inner beast set free won’t be tamed again, by anyone. There is no coming back from that- and a crime committed has to be punished, especially when there’s not even any effort put into areas trying to redeem one’s self. second chances should always be valued highly if given-

Because everyone has to face judgement for their actions, and if those second chances are wasted, he is the man who will execute the fitting punishment.

Jungkook doesn't believe in second chances.

A man who’s laid his hand on his wife will never truly change his mind and put the shackles onto himself after the line has been crossed. A cheating spouse will not suddenly become loyal as a dog again just because they realize the hurt they’ve caused. A murderer can’t give back the life they’ve taken even if they desperately want to. A young wolf lost to a frenzy can’t gain back their sanity with the snap of a finger.

He is part of the new world’s law.

Violence is the punishment put on people who can’t seem to keep themselves in check even after second chances. Violence is the final answer to the worst of the worst, the people who will never change.

Violence is the thing that changes people- from being alive to no longer being a threat to anyone ever again.

To Jungkook, these people are like maggots, infesting the cities and homes of families who just want to exist and live. Jungkook is the pest control, he removes those insects, cleans out the infestations.

Saves potential victims.

“I didn’t do anything!” the man slurs a little, alcohol in his veins causing him to visibly struggle with his bodily functions, even if he wants to desperately be sober in this moment. You’re sitting in the corner still, watching, well aware not to interfere with a man sent by the people in charge of the wolf’s law to carry out the final judgement.

“Evasion. Armed robbery, twice. Domestic abuse, twice. Attempted kidnap of a child while intoxicated.” Jungkook lists, having memorized what this person is being accused of- or rather yet, has already been judged for in the past. “You’ve shown that you do not aim to change.” He says, not even looking at you once. Instead, he just walks closer, like a predator, staring down his prey. “And now, keeping an omega hostage? Not exactly the actions of a man innocent.”

“I-“ the man tries, but he doesn’t get far with his words. “-There’s- nothing happened- Tell him! Nothing happened, right-?” He asks you, who’s staring him down.

Jungkook looks at you as well now, awaiting your answer.

You’ve got a life in your hands.

Your lips part, but you can’t speak- when suddenly, the man moves again, lifts his hand as he steps towards you, ready to intimidate you into answering if needed- but Jungkook is faster, having seen enough. Even if nothing happened- yet- surely if he was to leave, you’d be another body found. “Where- where are you taking me?” the man begs to know, unable to really go against the hand that holds the back of his head by the hair, fingers tightly dug into the locks to have a secure hold on him as he drags him into a corner or the small, run down house.

In this moment, Jungkook looks like a different person to you. There’s no trace of the man who just wants to help others. The hands that force this stranger to his knees aren’t the same that helped you stand earlier that day, hold gentle and without any intention to hurt. Those eyes are dark as coal, like two black voids swallowing any reflection whole.

“I'll take you straight to hell, where you belong.” Jungkook simply answers the man, before he lets go-

And takes out his gun, to fire the first shot of many.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jeon jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader

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trashcanplant · 4 months

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The Harvest

Mob Au to @//clownsuu

Penny to @cherrythepuppet

Vince to @cloudy-dreams

TW: Spooky scary scarecrows send shivers down your spine! Rotting meat.

Grover sat at the bar, keeling over a hearty glass of rye whiskey like there was no tomorrow. He felt miserable, grabbing at his chest and struggling to breathe. His mind spaced out, and when he came back to reality, Penny was sitting beside him.

“Ugh… what do you want.” He groaned, slamming back another cup. Grover let Howdy finish pouring him a new one before he turned back to Penny.

With the changing of the seasons in full swing and clumps of leaves layering the ground, she had now taken a poofy feather boa oon her bare shoulders. The little lady raised her eyebrows at him as a snarky grin graced her lips.

“Hi.” She said quickly, turning to Howdy and raising her finger. He nodded silently and started to prepare a Shirley Temple.

“Doesn’t answer my question.” Grover grumbled worthlessly, sinking into the bar stool like his roots were planting into the ground.

“Well, Scarycrow—“ Penny began before a cough from Grover interrupted her.

“Not my name.” He growled. Penny rolled her eye.

“Yeah, anyway, Boss told me to tell you ‘Feed him’ So. Feed him. Whatever that means. Has he started talking in third person?” She questioned, looking down at the pear bracelets over her opera gloves. Grover perked up. He looked out the window, downed his drink, and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Penny asked, reaching for her drink that Howdy had just finished shaking and topping with whipped cream and cherries. Her eye followed Grover as he grabbed a coat.

“Out.” He said. This piqued Penny’s curiosity. She’d heard from Antoni that Grover wasn’t allowed ‘out’ without permission. She hopped from her barstool, chasing Grover into the night.

“You’re not allowed out! Boss said-“

“Boss told me that I need to go when he gives the word. Where the fuck are those birds..” He growls, eyes on the skies as he listens for a distant cawing. His eye spots two birds, barely visible behind the night sky as they cry from their branch. Grover huffs, turning to Penny.

“You’re helping me make a delivery.” He said sharply, practically dragging her by the arm to one of the cars.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” She shouts, struggling against his grasp.

“Help me make the delivery and I get you whatever treat you want.” Grover replies, getting her in the car. It’s not the usual continental that he’d drive. It’s a pickup truck, back covered with a tarp. Penny sits in the passenger seat, holding her arm nervously.

“Fine.”

And they drive off into the night. Penny watched as the lights from the city began to dim. The truck passed by the warehouse that marked the edge of town and drove farther than that and parked at the tree line. Grover got out of the truck and took the cover off the truck bed.

It was a cacophony of flies, buzzing over the top half of a deer. It had been ripped in half, and smelled like it had been a long time since it had died. Its guts had stained the bed red and maggots had begun to creep through the deers skin and pelt. Grover looked down on it, grabbing it and easing it out of the truck. It hit the ground with a somehow wet squelch. Something leaked from the deer.

“Help me.” Grover said, and when Penny got around the truck she screamed. It alerted the crows which dotted the trees, and Grover slapped a still wet glove against her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up. Vince don’t like noise.” He commanded. Penny stared at him with a wide eye, shivering in her unfit-for-weather dress.

“Grab the back.” Grover said, looking over his shoulder into the tree line. Penny squirmed, reaching down to try and carry her half of the weight. It was unfair, Grover had to lean all the way down and walk backwards into the trees with Penny trying to direct him in the dim light. He was pricked by several brambles and stabbed with sticks.

When the pair passed the tree line and entered the clearing, it was like walking into the world’s most terrifying sculpture park. The figures were all in the midst of fleeing. To the untrained eye it would look like wood carvings, but the way that the flies landed on them and how new branches grew from they eye sockets and mouths of these people made it obvious that it wasn’t just sculpture.

Grover and Penny carried the deer, sticks crunching under their shoes. The two approached the center of the field and Grover dropped the deer. He looked around at the stillness, searching for something in the trees. Penny felt uncomfortable, her head on a swivel as she looked through the field. She could have sworn she saw one of the bodies still breathing.

Grover whistled, taking a step away from the dearly departed deer.

“Watch em feast.” He said with a little grin on his face. The crows flooded from tree line, swooping at the carcass. Grover laughed, and Penny turned over her shoulder to see a hunched over figure with dark eyes and an elongated mouth. She screamed, grabbing onto Grover who looked down at her.

When his eyes landed on Vince in the darkness, reaching out to grab Penny, Grover swatted his hand away.

“No, Vince. I get’cher real hungry to have someone new join ya but not her. She’s family.” Grover said, staring at Vince as the cut noose swayed around his neck. They held eye contact. Vince opened his mouth and murmured something in a low, unfamiliar tone that sent chill down Penny’s spine.

“Look, how bout next time I bring one here fer ya I’ll letcha do yer tree thing an’ all that. I like them screams too, gotta admit..” Grover said with a low chuckle. Vince had a raspy laugh, not saying a word but staring at Penny. Grover looked down at her again.

“Her names Penny. I needed an extra set a hands pullin’ the deer. I know ya like a bit of a scaredy-cat, but I got reprimanded by Wally when I had brought Poppy out here. You ‘member her, Vince? Real tall bird broad?” Grover said. Penny had a look of horror plastered on her face as she kept a grip on Grover’s pants. Vince did not respond, reaching out a finger to graze against Penny’s skin. The taller of the scarecrows grabbed at the other, holding his gloved hand tightly.

“I’ll see what I can fix up fer ya. But not her. Not her.” Grover said protectively. The crows behind him cawed as they finished their feast and flew back into the trees. The plot was silent again, save for Vince’s ragged breathing. Penny stared up at Grover, then at Vince.

“D’ya need help spreading the bones across the field?” Grover asked. He gave Penny a little pat, a nonverbal way of telling her to head back to the truck. As she began to walk away, Vince turned his head with an audible creak. Grover kept his attention, talking to him calmly.

It took over an hour for Grover to return to the pickup truck. Penny was asleep, her head against the window. Grover glanced out the driver side window at Vince who stood just beyond the tree line. He waved goodbye, then turned around on the road to drive home.

From just under Penny’s opera glove, a small leaf began to sprout.

#welcome home oc #grover haymaker #penny peaches #vince vineyard #mob au #welcome home au #welcome home mob au #mob grover haymaker #mob penny peaches #mob Vince vineyard #planty stories

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thegnomelord · 6 months

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omg yes for the Ghost fic request you can do prompt 3 instead that would be great, thank you. some angst with a happy ending please

Sure thing dude, sorry this took so long, but a happy xmas to you lol My hyperfixation hyperfixated on this so it's a bit long and expositiony but I'm actually really happy with how this turned out :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "Tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me.”

CW: NSFW, subbot Ghost, domtop Mreader, angst, misunderstandings, gentle sex, making up kinda, confessions, fwb turned lovers, idiots in love,

Simon's apartment is a picture of painful domesticity; your muddy boots sit neatly next to his by the door, two mugs set next to the coffee maker, two toothbrushes left on the sink only a foot away from different shower products that have long since mixed together into one giant pile, and a dozen more little things that tell anyone with a cursory glance — 'yeah, two people live here'.

When people wonder why you practically live together when you're just casual, you both just say it's convenient (and ignore how fake your answers sound).

After all; Why leave after he's ridden you to both of your completions when you can just settle on the couch and share a drink over a movie? Why should you waste money on a cab to get back to your own flat when you two can just tumble into bed? Why should Simon wake up to an empty and cold flat when he can do so in your arms, your steady heartbeat remind him you're both alive? Why leave in the morning and miss one of the few times Simon's fully relaxed when you can have a lazy morning, laying in bed and enjoying each other's company until the sun's high in the sky?

Why leave at all?

. . . Simon treasures every moment with you as much as he hates it, every second in your presence like a pretty hummingbird singing sweetly in his ear while it drills holes into his skull. Absolute Hell. Utter bliss.

He knows he doesn't deserve you. Knows you don't deserve to have a living corpse crawl back into your arms every night, nothing but a stranger with Simon's face. But you two have known each other so long it's impossible to let you go.

You met as toddlers when you'd nicked his toy, refusing to give it back until he agreed to play with you, and you've been stuck at the hip since. You two were each other's first kiss, fumbling behind the school bleachers, eager and sloppy like inexperienced lads are. First set of blooming hickeys along his collarbones, Simon's ma giving him a knowing look when she'd noticed it amongst the other bruises her no good husband had left on him. First fuck, quick and rough in a dark janitor closet during basic training, burning with need and heat. First—

. . . Simon doesn't know when the word 'Love' first registered in his brain. Maybe when you tore up heaven and hell looking for him. Maybe when you stuck by him when he did his best to scare you off, all rough words and teeth, unable to form one nice word when violence and revenge was all that was left in his head.

He doesn't know when he registered the word. Only that he looks at you whenever you do something mundane and thinks 'yeah. Love. That fits.'

But love has no place in. . . whatever this is. Hell, he's the one who'd set the ground rule when you two were young and dumb, reaffirming it after he'd come back as Ghost. And you'd never fought against it, agreeing to just be fucking casual, there's no way you want anything more than this. He doesn't want to cock it up, doesn't want to take more from you than he's already done, so he swallows all he feels and ignores how it burns his throat, going day by day like nothing's changed.

He wakes in your arms, deeply ingrained training waking him before dawn but the heat of your body keeps him rooted in place. Distantly he can still feel the cold tight confines of that coffin, of maggots wriggling on his skin, but memories of that nightmare float away before his traitorous mind can latch on to them. He lays in bed, head firmly on your chest so he can hear you, see you breathe. Morning comes too soon and you rouse awake, laying a sweet kiss on his forehead before getting out of bed to set the kettle on.

It's domestic.

It's painful.

. . .

You love how Simon looks. You especially love how he looks in his civies, freed of his armor and no longer needing to be guarded at all times, shoulders relaxed and mindlessly looking around as you talk while you browse the store. He's still gruff, and sarcastic, but you love that about him. You loved him long before he said not to tangle emotions in your meaningless bliss and long after he'd come back as Ghost, each unknown scar on his body taking a chip out of your heart.

And you respect his choice. You'll take what you can get and won't give it up even after your corpse has grown cold, hoping that will be enough to drown out the neediness of your heart. You lost him once and it had nearly killed you, you can't lose him again. . .

God, you're pathetic for him.

You meet miss Betty on your way back from the shop. She's your neighbor a few doors down, a sweet old lady who waters your plants when you and Simon are called back into action. You see her struggling with her bags so you hand your own to Simon so you can help her, "Hold this, please?"

"Only because you asked nicely." Simon huffs, but takes the bag without further complaint, walking behind you as you help miss Betty with her shopping, content to listen to you two talk about who knows what. It still amazes him how you've managed to charm all the neighbors Simon rarely spoke to.

"Oh, thank you deary." Miss Betty says as you put her shopping next to her door, holding onto your arm for support. "It's so nice to have a helpful person around here."

"It's not a problem ma'am." You say with a small smile, and fuck if Simon's heart doesn't beat a bit faster at the sight.

"You know," Miss Betty begins. "My grandson's been eyeing you up. And I can see why, you're such a strapping young man."

You feel Simon's gaze fall on you like a dagger, cold, hard, expectant. You try to think of what to say but your words fail you, because while you and Simon aren't in a relationship you can't picture yourself be with anyone else. "I-"

"Oh don't worry deary, I told him he was barking up the wrong tree." Miss Betty cuts you off by giggling like a school girl, "I wouldn't want to separate you two love birds."

The words burning on your tongue escape you before you can filter them. "Yeah, I doubt I could love anyone other than Simon." You clear your throat after, feeling his eyes on you.

Miss Betty just coos. "Oh, to be young and in love." Then she turns, waving her walking stick at Simon like he's an annoying pigeon that flew into her house. "You better treat him properly you big oaf, he's good for you."

Oh, Simon knows. Knows you're too good for him. But all he lets out is a small grunt, and you can't help the surprised laugh that escapes you.

You don't think of what you say next, so far away from a warzone your defenses are lowered. "No need to worry ma'am, he's the love of my life and I can assure you he treats me very well."

There's that word again, and the way it leaves your lips has Simon's heart skipping a beat. Fuck, Simon wants to hear you say it until he's deaf. Wants to hold your jaw closed so you don't speak again and stop making him feel this. Wants to pull you close and throw you out of the window at the same time. Wants— . . . he doesn't know what he wants.

"Oh, well I won't hold you up any more dears." Miss Betty says, patting you on the arm before shuffling back to her apartment with her shopping.

There's an uncomfortable silence between you two while you get back to Simon's flat, neither one of you sure what to say about the damn elephant in the room. You take the bags you'd given him, your back to him as you put them on the counter.

Acting like nothing's wrong. Nothing's changed.

But it has.

"An' you say my heart's rotten." Simon grunts, gruff and harsh, too many thoughts brewing in his head to properly say what he's thinking.

You turn to him, surprise obvious on your face. "What?"

"Lyin' to old ladies." His jaw is tense behind his face mask, which you note he hadn't taken off when the front door had closed, back to being guarded around you, something between Simon and Ghost. "Granted, it was convincing. What, did you take some creative writing lessons from Laswell?"

You stare at him for a few seconds, then you feel your jaw tense as well. "Christ, Simon, what are you on about?" You growl, stomping over to him.

His shoulders tense as you approach, but the scent of your cologne calms his body without his mind's input. "Can't love anyone but me?" He asks, something cold and slimy settling in your stomach when you realize he's repeating your words. "Love of your life am I?" Simon scoffs, the skin around his eyes moving in a sardonic smirk. "You're full of shite."

He doesn't know who he's trying to convince here.

You know you should brush it off, go along and say it was just a joke. Say anything that won't clue him in to your real feelings. Hell, not even saying a thing would be good.

But you just have to open your mouth.

"I wasn't lying about that Simon." You say suddenly, open, honest, your eyes meeting his.

Silence stretches long enough to have your nerves crackle with static, your body needing something instead of the nothing he gives you. Then Simon lets out a short, dry laugh, like your words are just a joke.

"Quit it." He huffs, doesn't meet your eyes because looking at you and entertaining the idea that he could have something more with you fucking hurts. "'m not up for your focking jokes." He grows, turning to leave,

Something inside you makes you move before your mind can comprehend it, grabbing his hand to stop him, "Simon I love you damn it!"

Your words are like a slap to the face for him. Simon freezes like a cornered deer, thousands of thoughts darkening his eyes, brows furrowed like he doesn't know whether to be angry or not. "But we—'

"—we agreed, I know. I fucking know." You hiss and damn it you can feel tears prickle your eyes like needles, "But I fucking love you, been in love with you for years and I know we agreed not to but—" You're babbling now, each word leaving your chest feeling raw like an open wound, the weight on your shoulders lessening but it only draws the noose tighter. "—just tell me how I'm supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me."

Silence greets you as you stare into his eyes, that same static gnawing on your nerves the longer he just looks at you without a word, searching for something in your eyes he expects not to find.

But he does.

He spares you, pulls you by the clothes so his lips can crash onto yours, holding you close like you'll disappear. The kiss is sloppy and desperate just as it had been when you'd been hiding behind the school bleachers, all teeth and tongue and care.

Eventually the need for air breaks you two apart, but Simon refuses to let you go far. His rough hands hug you close as he rests his forehead against yours, pupils blown wide. ". . .love me, huh?" He says under his breath, as if he can't believe it.

"Yeah." You breathe out and wrap your own arms around him till there's not an inch of space between your chests, hearts beating fast like war drums but in such a rhythm you'd be fooled to think you share one. "Do you?"

Simon swallows, his throat dry, but the words slide smoothly off his tongue. "Yeah." He says, letting you pull him back into a kiss. It's sweeter this time, calmer, no longer rushing to feel the other. He melts against you, a low sound building in his throat as the sensations of you wrap his mind in silk, the taste, the feel, the scent, all of it making his mind fuzzy. All his now.

You lose track of time, stealing gulps of air between kisses as your minds drown in the other, your bodies moving on their own. You don't know how you end up in the bed but you do, your skin prickling with goosebumps as Simon's body presses against your own.

You part to catch your breath, Simon's head falling back on the pillow with your name leaving his lips like a prayer. He's underneath you, eyes hooded and short hair ruffled, and while usually he'd push you back and wrestle for control, this time he just melts into the sheets, lets you do as you want.

"Fuck-" Simon growls as you kiss down his neck, his blunt nails scratching your scalp as reward for the little hickeys you leave on his throat. Your hands roam across his body, leaving lingering trails of burning heat. "Love, please hurry up." He breathes out, cock already rock hard from just a few kisses and heavy touches.

"Right," You say, because that's all your brain can conjure up at the moment. Blindly reaching for the lube you trail kisses down his front, your lips tracing every scar along the way, his legs easily parting so you can settle between them. You can't help but look him over again, all relaxed and eager for you, chest rising and falling like he's a racehorse. "God you're fucking pretty."

A deep flush spreads from Simon's ears down to his hickey marked shoulders, a little smile tugging on the corner of his lip. "Just pretty?"

"Beautiful." You breathe out against his abdomen, rubbing your fingers together to warm the lube. "So handsome." You don't miss how his cock twitches, your lips following his happy trail. "Charming." You hum against the tip of his cock, tongue lolling out to lick at his slit. "Bloody bewitching." His hips buck into your mouth as your fingers slowly circle his puckered rim, putting just a bit of pressure at first. "Irresistible." His body yields, the tense muscles of his rim going lax and letting you slide a finger in.

A low and long groan escapes his chest, eyes fluttering shut as he savors the stretch, tight walls clenching in the rhythm of his breaths. "Read a dictionary, did you?" Simon smirks, heart warm and floaty at the way you wait for him to relax after the intrusion before you move, at the way you look at him when your exploring finger brushes his prostate and makes him moan. "Such a focking charmer."

"Just for you." You chuckle, lightly sucking on his cockhead to make him forget about the lingering pain, your ears pricked to hear every little groan and unabashed moan leaving his lips. "Can you handle two?" You ask, your second finger resting against his rim without trying to push in.

He growls like an animal and pushes his hips down on your hand, "You're sleeping on the couch if you don't hurry up." He warns at your question, his harsh glare softened by the heavy flush across his face and his hooded eyes.

"Not the dog house." You say in mock fear, swallowing his leaking cock a third of the way down in one go as you push your second finger in, your thumb rubbing the space between his balls and ass so his prostate is trapped on both ends.

"Shite-" Simon's hips twitch up, beads of precum painting your tongue as his legs spread open more. "-you wanker." His insult is light, head rolling back as he grounds his hips down in an attempt to chase after that spine numbing pleasure your fingers bring.

Pulling back enough to murmur "Love you too." against his tip you take him into your mouth again. You can't measure how good it feels to say those words honestly instead of sarcastically, your own arousal forgotten as you work him open on your fingers, the constant pressure on his prostate making a small stream of precum bead down your throat.

Simon floats in heaven for, he doesn't know how long, the pleasure making his brain melt through his dick, unable to stop the soft sounds escaping his throat. He cracks an eye open when the tightness in his stomach becomes apparent, barely able to stave off his orgasm when he sees his cock throbbing between your lips.

Your name comes out slurred as he tugs on your hair, "Need you. Now." A little bit of his usual demanding nature comes out, but even then it's born out of desperation to feel you rather than the need to be in control.

You let him pull you off his cock, placing gentle kisses on his thick thighs as you pull your fingers out of his stretched hole. "You have me."

You go to grab a condom but he stops you, too aroused to be embarrassed by his eagerness. "You don't- my physical, I'm clean. If you want, I mean-"

You furrow your brows, your chest tight with how big your heart feels. You could never hide how sick you'd feel at the thought of Simon being intimate with someone else, even when you'd never agreed to be exclusive. "We did physicals nearly three months ago, you haven't. . .?"

He shakes his head, "No," Suddenly he tenses up, his jaw tight like he's expecting bad news. "Have you?" His tone isn't judgmental, but you can hear the edge of hurt.

"No. No. No!" Quick to dispel his thoughts you lean over to kiss him like he's a bout of fresh air and you've been drowning for years. It's not too far from the truth. "You're the only one I've ever. . .done that with." You murmur against his lips, earning yourself another kiss as he pulls down by a hand on the back of your neck.

"Good." Simon tuts, proud, hiking one leg around your waist to pull you closer, your cocks rubbing together. "Fuck me already." He grumbles, his strong arms wrapped around your neck.

"Right, yeah." Despite how many times you've done this suddenly you feel like a fucking virgin, your hands trembling slightly as you lube up your cock. You press the tip against his slick hole, forcing you to bite your lip as you start to push your hips. "Just relax, yeah?"

"Yeah." Simon breathes out, feeling pressure of your cockhead against his hole. You both groan when your cockhead pops inside him, your lips on his making him forget about the lingering sting. "Shite, so good for me." Simon hums, looking at you with hooded eyes. Usually he relishes the sting and burn sex with you brings, but he's so loose and lubed the pain is barely a prickle at the back of his skull and he finds himself getting addicted to the unfiltered pressure and weight of your cock inside him.

"Simon," You say, clenching your teeth as you try to keep still so he can get used to you, holding his hips for dear life. "Can I- please I need."

"Focking move it," He nods his head, his head rolling back from the sensation of you moving inside him, your cock brushing against his walls as you push inside him inch by inch until you're fully inside him.

Your nerves a live wire from how tight and hot his hole is, forcing you to rest your head on the pillow next to his as you try to gather your self-control; you'll be damned if you cum before him.

"I'm good." Simon tugs on your scalp, your lips meeting in a lopsided kiss. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, his eyes blown wide and hooded, something about this position so intimate it melts your heart. "Hurry up, 'm not going to last long." He confesses, his walls clenching down on your length.

Words escape you so you just nod your head, slowly pulling your hips back before pushing back in, Simon meeting you half way so your cock can lay consistent pressure on his prostate. You two move like one, your senses full of sex and heat, your ears ringing with Simon's low moans and groans. Moving your hand down you stroke him in time with your thrusts, earning yourself even more moans. Usually Simon's so quiet in bed, but now he lets it all out so freely, low growls and huffs and small 'ah, ah, ah's breathed into your ear with every small movement of your hips.

Your pace picks up as your orgasm approaches, your cock bashing against his prostate with all the subtlety of a tank. "Shite-" Simon throws his head back to moan, leaving his throat open for your teeth to lay even more hickeys. "-I, fuck, yeah, that's the spot- just- I need-" His voice turns higher pitched and needy, his body moving with the force of your thrusts, powerful arms pulling you even closer so his teeth can clamp down on your shoulder.

Simon cums with a shout that's muffled into the meat of your shoulder, whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind as he paints both of your stomach's white with his cum, his hole clenching down and pulling you along with him. You cum inside him and moan, collapsing on top of him, completely exhausted.

The silence of the bedroom is broken up by your haggard breathing, both of your bodies sweaty and hot. You tilt your head just enough to catch the way Simon looks at you, like a content cat that knows he's safe, and shit if that doesn't melt your heart, nothing will.

"God, that was something else." You say to break the silence, trying to pull out when you feel yourself soften but your attempts are stopped quickly, Simon grumbling something under his breath as he hugs you closer. "What?" You ask.

He throws a light glare your way, but his eyelids droop with exhaustion. "Don't." He says, relaxing when you stop what you're doing. "Want to feel you." He says; it's the most intelligent thing his mind can conjure up right now.

A gentle smile tugs on your lips. "Right." You lean down to share another kiss with him, this one sweet and slow, his tongue gently liking your lips as a way to ask for entrance— why rush when you've got all the time in the world?

The exhaustion weighing on your bones and Simon saccharine kisses lull you to sleep soon enough, your body like a weighted blanket on top of him. "Love you," You mumble just before your eyes close.

Simon fights against his own fatigue for a few more minutes, relishing the feeling of being connected in such a primal way, with you in him and around him. He takes in your sleeping face with blurry eyes.

Yeah. Love. That fits.

#Gnome's Prompt Game #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #dom male reader #ghost x reader #cod modern warfare #cod x male reader #cod smut

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leighsartworks216 · 8 months

Text

I Want Nothing More

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Y'all that leg drives me nuts. Got stuck for at least five minutes just watching gifs of it. Here, go just as insane as me

This fic isn't explicit but there is mature content so have fun

Warnings: making out, grinding, swearing, references to voyeurism

Word Count: 682

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion pushes you to lay back in the dirt. Just beneath the surface lay old bones and hungry maggots, and an empty coffin. The thrill of leaving his old self behind, down there, while the new man he became thrived above, free. Free to live unshackled. Free to find peace with himself. Free to love, for once in his gods-forsaken life.

He smiled down at you, a lightness in his chest he hasn't felt in much too long. He crawls over you, eyes never straying from yours. And you so easily accept him, wrapping an arm around him and tangling your fingers in his hair. It's addicting. His eyes fall shut as he finally meets your lips.

It's a kiss unlike any other you've shared before. It was not practiced. It was not hot and heavy. It was soft, almost reverent. He sighed quietly into it, taking his time experiencing you. How you followed the pace he set. How you didn't tug him closer without him leaning in first. You tasted like the best wine humanity could ever - and would ever - create.

He positioned himself fully above you, laying you completely back against the ground. He pressed his knee forward, hooking your leg over his hip. You sighed so sweetly when he did, tugging lightly at his hair as he pressed his pelvis to yours. There were far too many clothes between you, but he was lost in everything else. Sex could wait a moment longer - he just wanted this.

His tongue glided along your lip, asking for more. And you gave it to him in a heartbeat. You always did that; always gave so much of yourself to others, even when you owed them nothing. When he first met you, it was perfect, because it meant manipulating you would be even easier. But then, he worried. He couldn't tell, then, where or when the worry arose - it just did. He'd feared you'd be taken advantage of by every miscreant with a vaguely tragic backstory - ironic, considering his intentions at the time. And now, even after everything, you still gave up your everything. For him.

You slid your hand to his lower back, right near his hip. A quiet sign to show you wanted this for as long as he did. His wordless worship was over. He wanted this. He wanted to at least try, if nothing else. A life anew, where he no longer seduced people to the terrible fate Cazador planned for them. A life anew where Cazador could no longer harm him ever again.

He pressed further into you until you were groaning. Your leg over his wrapped around his hip, and you pressed the heel of your foot against his ass, trying to draw him even closer. He obliged as best he could by arching his body against yours. Chest to chest. Feeling you along his entire body was wonderful in a way he couldn't pin down. He pulled away from your mouth to trail kisses languidly along your jaw, behind your ear, down your neck - anywhere he could reach.

"What if we get caught?" you whisper, but you show no signs of discomfort at the thought. He could feel your heart racing. How scandalous of you.

He chuckled against your skin. "I almost wouldn't mind that," he admitted with a smirk. "Letting them watch as I fuck you on my grave."

A low sound, only audible to his sensitive ears and proximity to your chest, told him just how much you loved the idea as well. Seeing him so happy and excited to be "reborn" turned you on. He deserved this joy.

You tug at his hair again, pulling him away from your neck so you can cup his cheek and look him in the eye. Your pupils are already blown with lust, and he's certain his are, too. "Are you sure you want this?"

He smiles. He leans down to press a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. Your eyes don't leave him as he does, studying him. "My love," he breathes, "I want nothing more."

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #spicy content

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idyllcy · 9 months

Note

Jason todd x reader where he protects her from something? It's kinda vague but I like protective jason :3 thank you for considering

head - jason todd x reader

"Yeah, and I was just telling him about how—"

"Hey, sweetcheeks." A guy leans over at your table as you blink at him.

"Do we know you?" You raise a brow, distaste visible on your face.

"You will soon." He smiles. "How's a date sound?"

"Sounds like shit." You grumble. "So he told me that he'd get me the guy's head as our anniversary gift, lol."

"Come on, doll. Surely—"

"No means no," Jason grips the man's shoulder harshly, a warning smile on his face. "She means it."

"Jason, babe, can I get his head for your next gift?" You smile happily.

"I can give it to you right now if he's stupid enough." Jason raises a brow. "Leave."

The man scrambles to get away as Cass smiles in amusement.

"Quite bold of him."

"Stupid, too." Jason grumbles. "I leave her alone for a little, and the maggots start crawling all over her."

"It's fine." You scoot over for Jason, thanking him as he hands you your drink.

"Still want his head?"

"I'd really rather not." You grimace.

"Always on the table."

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #☾.blurbs

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jaqofalltrades · 1 month

Text

Barracks Bunny

COLLAB WITH @ace-of-spadez GO FOLLOW!!!

POV: You're a barracks bunny and didn't think the Colonel knew.

König x bb!reader

CW: (Part 1) Age difference (König early 40's, reader mid 20's), sparring ig. (Part 2) Size difference, size kink, authority kink, breath play, overstimulation, choking, over-the-desk, public but also not public, multiple rounds, hair pulling, fingering, cunnilingus, headboard banging, creampie, biting, marking, etc.

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You were going on the third week in your new base. Kortac. It was mid afternoon and you were making your rounds. Your evenly paced steps created tiny clicks on the hard floor, ringing out in the relative silence. A shout could be heard every once in a while from every other training room, usually someone being berated and called a maggot. This place was no boot camp, but they strictly kept up with training to whip everyone into shape. You yourself could’ve used the extra cardio, but instead you’re on your way to put bullets in walls.

You turned a sharp corner and took only a few steps, your eyes rested on the shadow of a lonely recruit sitting solemnly by himself, with only the open broom closet across the hall to illuminate his face.. You made an abrupt stop and tilted your head slightly. Your voice cut sharply into the stale air, “Soldier, is there a reason you aren't at your station right now?”

The man’s head abruptly shoots up in your direction, eyeing you incredulously as he rises to his feet quickly straightening his posture. “What’s it to ya?” The corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. The soldier takes a few steps closer coming into the light of the main room, showing a rather rugged man but also well-kept.

“Sarg was taking roll and sent me to seek out the stragglers.” You gave him a knowing look, already aware of the soldiers that were missing in training. You stood up straight and took a step back as the lone soldier finally entered the hall and stood over you with a strange glint in his eyes. You knew that look all too well, he wanted something. Although that ‘something’ was not clear, you had an inkling of what it was. As soon as that feeling appeared, it disappeared just as quick.

“How can you be certain that my name is on that list? I could outrank you for all your knowledge.” He grinned slyly as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Your name soldier.” You stood your ground as you looked at him, unmoving. As your conversation goes on, you’re both unaware of the new looming presence a few feet down the hall behind a cracked door.

He gave you a quick glance up and down, already aware of your position as a barracks bunny. One of his fellow companions had leaked that little detail the other night at meal time. “The name’s Marshall Matthers. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His voiced dripped sensually. “Although I may know you more than you think.” Matthers unfolded his gear clad arms and shrugged with a smile.

You shifted your weight onto one foot and crossed your arms, lifting a brow in question. You should be telling him to get back to training, as informed to do. “And what, Private Matthers, do you mean by that?” Taking a firm step forwards looking at him quizzically. A small squeak of a door could be heard by someone that was paying attention.

“It could mean whatever you want honey.” Matthers responded. You could tell what he was hinting at, his tone being more obvious than storm clouds in the sky.

A hint of a smirk crossed your lips as he spoke. You cocked an eyebrow up at him and you gathered your composure to stop yourself from telling him off. You go to speak when you notice the man’s face in front of you drain of any and all color. His eyes go wide and he immediately looks back to you, apologizes and practically sprints down the hall to his designated training room, suddenly more interested in being berated than teasing you more. Your brows furl in confusion, mouth frozen in position as the words died on your tongue.

A looming presence behind you sends chills up your spine and anxiety coursing through your veins. You take a step forward and slowly turn around, seeing a building of a man staring you down. Is this the nearly seven foot giant that has been whispered about around the base? Theres a lump in your throat as you try to swallow, mouth unbearably dry. You straighten your posture to the best of your abilities, putting a stern look on your face attempting to hide your uncertainty and uneven breath.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you, unsure of what to say. You notice the man looking you up and down, almost sizing you up rather than checking you out. Clearing your throat with a quick, “ahem,” the mountains eyes snap to your face. “And your name soldier?” You try to hide the small waver in your voice, if it had been anyone else you’d think it would go unnoticed, but the man noticed immediately. His eyes crinkle lightly, as if he were smirking under the veil of a t-shirt with two eye holes cut into it.

“Colonel König, ma’am. And you?” he spoke lowly, thick austrian accent catching you off guard. His voice was smooth, slightly higher pitched than what you’d expect from a man of his build. Large broad shoulders, tall and wide stance, muscular arms crossed against his chest, clad in a bulletproof vest and enough gear to fill a tank. You found yourself spaced out, realizing you must have just been staring at him for a good five seconds before being quick to respond.

“My apologies Colonel, I was not made aware of who you are.” Standing about four feet apart, you and König stood, you clearly trying to remain professional while practically shrinking into yourself and him clearly enjoying having so much of an effect on you. “I was simply sent to collect any missing men for training. And now that I have, I will be on my way.” You nod and start to walk away when you hear him call from behind you.

“You don’t happen to be headed to training room C-16, do you?” The question stopped you in your tracks, how could he have known? I mean yes, he is the Colonel and should be aware of all the soldiers ranks and schedules. But the question remained, why would he be asking if he knew?

“That is correct Colonel. Is something the matter?” you ask over your soldier, hoping to avoid the uproar of anxiety you get from making eye contact with him.

“Oh not at all, I am to be assisting with training in your group today. Shall we walk there together?” He took two long strides towards you, bumping his elbow into your shoulder as he passed. Clearly not a request, but a statement. You attempt to keep up with his fast pace, walking in silence with the tower of a man next to you.

As the both of you neared the open training door, you slowed your pace slightly, as to enter behind him. His head peers back over his shoulder for a second before looking straight on. As you step into the full room, everyone's eyes seem to immediately land on the Colonel and then you, trailing in behind him. A few smirks and chuckles could be seen all around. You knew what they were thinking, seeing as your track record is quite widely known amongst the other men.

You walked to the side of the training room, feeling a few eyes still watching intently. König seemed to have realized the thoughts of the soldiers. He stopped in the center of the room, folding his hands behind his back, observing everyone. He knew of your midnight adventures, hearing about it from other soldiers personal conversations that he eavesdropped on. He decided to shut any ideas down before they could fully formulate. “Alright soldiers! Settle down and pay attention. No need to act like a bunch of idioten the moment one of your female comrades enters the room.”

All of their eyes snapped up and their postures straightened, everyone immediately resuming their work. You however were left standing in thought. Why would he feel the need to stand up for you like that? You two knew next to nothing about the other, much less have enough of a relationship to defend you like he just did. Was it purely just out of respect? Or did he have a underlying reason behind it, a different intent maybe? You’re snapped out of overthinking by a large hand waving in front of your face.

“Welcome back to reality soldier, afraid we lost you for a second there. Everything alright?” König asked calmly. You didn’t know how to respond so you simply just nodded and walked over to a bench to place your stuff down. Although you weren’t yet aware of who your training buddy would be quite yet, you still sat down and quietly began preparing yourself for sparring. Just as you were about get up to ask who you would be partnering with, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Looks as if you’ll be working with me today. I was told you are to work on sparring with enemies much larger than you in preparation for an upcoming mission.” Your heart jumps to your throat as you hear König continue. “I will be teaching you some strategies along with what not to do when up against an enemy twice the size of you, if the opportunity were to ever arise.” Frozen in place you begin to panic, how in the hell are you supposed to take down a man like him? He could easily snap you in half in seconds. You could already tell that today was going to be rough.

There was no doubt in your mind that your were strong, hell you would even be proud to announce that you were stronger and more agile than most of the men in the room currently. But König? That was where your confidence slightly faltered. Putting aside your worry, you confidently strided over to the mat, getting into sparring position with a determined look on your face. Across you stood the giant, now barren of his gear and equipment, t-shirt no longer over his face, instead wearing his baklava which he only wore during sparring.

He’s stood straight, hands clasped in front of him and facing the group of fellow soldiers. “May I have everyone’s attention!” He spoke up, instantaneously getting the eyes of all in the room in which he continued. “I will be providing a scenario in which it may be difficult to fight back, I will be showing different moves and maneuvers that you may need to use to your advantage.” All eyes were on you and König, your breathing uneven. Looking back to your sparring partner, you see him getting into position. Before you even have time to react, he has gotten beside you, splaying his arm across the entirety of your chest holding onto your opposite shoulder pushing back; sweeping his foot into the backs of your knees, you fold immediately.

You try to recover quickly, rolling over onto your stomach, attempting to push yourself up off the ground when he places his foot in the center of your back holding you down. He lectures the others on what you could have done in order to avoid this but it all goes in one ear and out the other as the air gets pushed out of your lungs. Finally, you get let back up as you gasp for oxygen, swiftly darting behind König to jump onto his back, locking your legs around his waist and putting him in a chokehold. Everyone looks shocked for an entirety of 2 seconds before you get flung over his shoulder, your back aching as you smash into the ground.

Your eyes opened as you groaned. The sight you are met with is the Colonel’s body looming over yours, looking down, his eyes looked like they were holding a satisfied grin behind them. He reaches his arm out, and you grip onto it, being yanked up quickly onto your feet with your head spinning slightly.

König faced the crowd of soldiers again, his voice cutting into them, “Okay. Now you have seen what not to do when facing a larger opponent. I’ll demonstrate again, but this time I will show what to do, ja?” His eyes looked around, seeing nodding heads as confirmation they were listening. He turned to you, holding his hands up, “Be in a standard defensive position, hands up, covering your stomach and head. The weakest spots.” He started to circle around you, so you moved opposite of him. He was speaking directly to you now, “Use your size to your advantage. You are smaller, so you can move quicker, and be harder to grab. Stay low to the ground, try to throw your opponent off balance.. Think on your feet. And never, ever second guess yourself.”

The second he completed his speech he darted towards you, and you drop like a bag of rocks in order to trip him. He stumbles but stays standing by which you grab his wrist and pull him over you, using the momentum of his rocking. He braces himself and somersaults forward to try and recover but as he goes to sit up, you lock onto him from behind. Your legs around his hips with your ankles crossed, locking his legs together as you wrap your arm around his neck and fall back. König tries to reach back and unlock the chokehold you have him in, when he realizes he can’t he starts to get even more harsh. Thrashing and attempting to retrieve airflow that he doesn’t think to pull your ankles apart, and finally he taps.

You release your hold on him with a triumphant smirk, hearing him gasp for air inflating your confidence ten-fold. Obviously you offered him a hand and asked if he was okay, that’s more important than beating the nearly seven foot giant, that not a single person would ever think to go into a one on one combat with willingly.

He stood with a lighthearted chuckle. He looked down and nodded his head in approval while replying, “Yes, I’m fine. That was good Corporal (L/n), I am more than mildly impressed with your efforts. And thank you for helping with my demonstration.” You stand straight with your head held high, eyes scanning the room, seeing the faces of the soldiers filled with a mix of nervous confusion and impressed anger. To think the only person to have the balls to attempt to take down the brick wall of an intimidating giant would be the one and only 5’6, 140 lb woman in the entire group.

“Alright soldiers, back to work. I want to see each and every one of you working hard. You have 2 hours.” König stated to everyone as he turns to refocus his attention on you. “Corporal (L/n), if you would please come with me, I would like to discuss the mission plans with you in my office.” You felt confused as to why he was asking about this when the mission isn’t for another couple months. However, swallowing down the confusion and putting on a blank face, you give him a curt nod and follow him out of the training room.

“I don’t mean to doubt your knowledge, Colonel, but if I’m not mistaken the mission isn’t until 4 months from now. How is it possible to have all of the information and suspects needed to start formulating plans on something we aren’t certain the future of?” The rhythmic pace of footsteps echoing in the empty barracks hallway. You and König walk side by side and the slow rising and falling of his chest helps to soothe the tension in the air.

To be continued...

I'm not totally sure when the second part will be out but take this for now...

#konig cod #konig x reader #konig smut #konig call of duty #call of duty #smut #cod smut

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prettyboypistol · 1 month

Text

TF2 Mercs on Your Birthday! TF2 x M!Reader (platonic or romantic)

Scout

Super excited when you tell him your birthday and throws a big(for Scout, anyway.) party with streamers, haphazardly iced cupcakes, and a small little boombox with a mixtape for you!

Tried to make you a cake but fucked up a little bit, so he turned the non burnt parts into cupcakes.

He really does mean well- really! He was so excited to hear about your birthday since you two are kind of close in age! What? You're older than him by a decade! Doesn't matter to him!

Soldier

PICKS YOU UP AND PARADES YOU AROUND LIKE THE BIRTHDAY BOY YOU ARE STAND UP MAGGOTS AND SALUTE THE BIRTHDAY BOY!!!!

Since you and him get on like a house on fire, he gets you a cake and formally celebrates your birthday

As soon as you two start drinking he starts sobbing about how he's known you and doesn't let go of you

Pyro

This video fr

this motherfucker is so fuckin EXCITED for you. They're majorly bouncy and gifting you the best drawings/plushies

Tries his best to stay lucid the entire day. but the stress of trying to make sure your birthday is amazing

Heavy

Doesn't do much for your birthday, but does little things for you throughout the day like sharing with you, joking with you, etc.

He'll tell you happy birthday and buy you a beer at the end of the night as a gift.

Maybe a little handknit scarf or something.

Demoman

HAAAAAPPY BIIIIRTHDAY TOOOO YOUUUUUUUUU

I hope you like bingedrinking and movie watching because he got the day off for both of you and none of those hours are going to be spent sober.

Goes on a rant about how much he loves you and cares deeply about you at like, 5 PM. then falls asleep on your shoulder.

Engineer

Treats your birthday like every other day- after all, he doesn't know how you feel about your birthday.

If you ask for something nice or drop hints that it is your birthday, he'll cook you a nice dinner and make you a little doohickey.

Asks to spend the evening with you just sitting and shooting the shit with you.

Sniper

A lot like Engineer, doesn't bring it up unless you do. He doesn't know if your birthday is a rough day for you so he's not going to ask unless you say something first.

If you're privvy to something though, he'll run into the gas station and get you your favorite candy as a little gift.

Offers to go hunting with you to "Get'cha away from the loud crowd for a bit."

Spy

If he likes you, there will be a bottle of fancy wine at your room's door with a birthday note attached, but he won't mention that it's him(but he will comment about how that bottle must have cost a fortune)

He's the more strong silent type, but if people keep bothering you about things then he'll be your dashing rogue and sweep you away to his smoking room where he'll offer you a marijuana cigarette and some whiskey.

"Why? It's your birthday, after all. Those buffoons give me a headache."

Medic

Probably forgets your birthday, and at your next doctor's appointment when he goes over your file, you correct him and say how old you are, he goes "Oh! Happy birthday!" and continues on.

Secretly he's sad that he missed your birthday and gets you a cupcake or something sweet as a late birthday gift.

hums "happy birthday to you" while operating on you for about a few days.

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lunatic-pudge · 1 month

Text

Mercs Being Jealous

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(Requested by menenthusiast900069)

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Aight, so let's make a quick list of most to least jealous, just so you get an idea of my very bias beliefs, I am semi willing to debate this.

1.) Sniper

2.) Demo

3.) Scout

4.) Medic

5.) Pyro

6.) Soldier

7.) Engie

8.) Spy

9.) Heavy

Now, onto the headcanons!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scout:

-Such a jealous baby, he can't help it

-A lot of it comes from his insecurities and also being the youngest of eight. He's used to being "the runt" of the group, even with the mercs. So he feels like he has to compete with them for your affection, even if you two are dating

-Like, someone could stand just a little too close to you and he's already starting the side eyes

-Scout, chill, for real for real

-He will attach himself to you once the jealousy kicks in. Arms wrapped around you, nuzzling up against you, it's that inner dog in him

-He will get mouthy with whoever is causing the jealousy. Talks a lot of smack for someone who is built like a damn twig. So it goes from him loving on you, to you having to prevent a fight from happening. Yes, depending on who it is, he can win the fight, he's a mercenary afterall. But when it comes to guys who have a big build like Heavy, then you'll really need to stop him

Soldier:

-Isn't really the jealous type, surprisingly. I think it comes from an oblivious stand point. Like, you need to point it out that someone's flirting with you for him to get even an increment of jealousy

-He really feels like he has nothing to worry about (which he's right). He's more than confident that you're loyal to him cause he is with you

-I feel like when you do say someone is flirting with you, he isn't gonna be violent, moreso he will make a big name and shame thing out of it (he basically did that to Miss Pauling in the comics)

-Like, "Who do you think you are flirting with MY GIRL, maggot! You are a disgrace to this country! Now drop and give me 100!"

-But that don't mean he isn't ready to throw hands. Cause he will. Homie's down to break a few necks. But if you don't want him doing that then you're gonna have to remove him from the situation

Pyro:

-I feel like they're kinda like Solider is the more oblivious aspect, but not as much. Like, they can tell when someone's flirting with you, but whether they truly care or not is up for debate

-I don't really see Pyro as a violent type when jealous. Why waste their energy on someone so insignificant to them?

-If anything, Pyro will just resort to loving all over you, more than usual. All the while giving the offending person a death stare

-It's a very effective form of intimidation

-Cause think about it, are you gonna want to fight a person wearing a flame proof suit, that isn't speaking, and is just giving you the thousand yard stare? No, you wouldn't

Demoman:

-Poor baby can be quite insecure. I feel so bad for him

-Constantly worries about not being good enough. He's so used to being beat down by the people around him that he doesn't have good self-esteem

-He will stand nearby you, waiting for you to notice him, looking like a sad and lost puppy

-Once you finally notice him, you'll have to pry him open to find out what's wrong. He doesn't like burdening you with his problems so he tends to sit and stew about everything til he bursts

-He will need to to reassure him that you aren't going anywhere and that you love him. He needs a lot of verbal reassuring cause he's a worrying lad

Heavy:

-Heavy? Jealous? Where?

-While Scout, Demo, and Sniper might be the top three most jealous, Heavy, Engie, and Spy are the least jealous

-Heavy is this big, strong bear, why would you ever wanna settle for less? Like, frfr, you'd have to have an IQ less than an orange to stoop to such lengths

-But let's play along and say that he did get jealous. One of those very rare times it happens. He knows he doesn't have to do much to make the offender leave, all he has to do is stand there

-And stare.

-And stare..

-And stare...

-He's got that resting angry face so he just has to stand behind you and exist to make people leave you alone. It's kinda funny to think about it. He'll gently take your hand and leave after that

-Why be around people when you two can be locked away in a quite room with a good book?

Engineer:

-Again, not a jealous person. But he does have his moments sometimes

-He's a confident boy and knows you wouldn't do anything. Plus have you seen him? He's an intelligent man, got such a nice voice and accent, and can build a machine to keep you safe

-When he jealous, he's passive aggressive. He doesn't like to be hostile, especially so up front, so he'll do little things to help get his point across

(Would give examples but I'm not passive agressive, I'm just aggressive, oops)

-He'd come up to you, slide an arm around you, give you a kiss on the cheek, and say how he was looking for ya while side eyeing the offender

-THAT MAN COULD USE HIS VOICE TO SEDUCE YOU ALL OVER AGAIN, FIGHT ME

-Weirdly enough, I can see him as someone who will look into the offender, find all the person's info and hand it over to Medic, basically saying "Here's someone you can harvest organs from. Have fun, Pookie."

-Then Medic and Engie proceed to make out and get married. The end

Medic:

-Medic's an interesting fellow. I feel like he's like Pyro where it all depends on his mood. Somdays, he doesn't give a shit, and other days, HE'S FUMING

-He will NOT tolerate the disrespect >:(

-Cue sassy Medic. This man will verbally murder a bitch and I'm here for it

-Will get "handsy" with you (he'll just throw himself on top of you, maybe even make you hold him bridal style if you're strong enough)

-Will be loving all over you while verbally berating the offender. Everything is getting called out. EVERYTHING. He wants to ensure his point is made

-Buuuut, this can also be a chance to score some fresh, new organs. He's always in the market for that stuff so he can easily kidnap the offender and harvest the goods. And no, you can't talk him out of it. Once his mind is made up, nothing can stop him

Sniper:

-Oh my poor baby boy. Where do I even begin with you?

-Sniper can't help but get so jealous so easily. He's never been one to have relationships with people so when he is in one, he gets so insecure at times

-Worries he's not good enough at times. He know he's a "quirky" individual, so he worries you'll want to be with someone who's more "normal"

-Will stand nearby, giving the offender dirty looks. They can feel the daggers that Sniper is giving them, it's enough to make them leave

-Afterwards, he'll pull you away from everyone and be all over you

-While Demo needs verbal reassurance, Sniper needs physical reassurance. So please love on him and tell him it's gonna be okay and that you love him and only him

-But I can also see him needing to prove that he's better than any guy through "fun" means (Medic would too but I forgot to add it. They both horny jealous people)

Spy:

-Again, not a jealous person, and rightfully so

-We all know how suave this man is. He can pull anyone and everyone without even trying

-But I'm sure even Spy has his own moments when he feels a slight bit of jealousy

- He'd be so pissy with the offender. Like, fuck you, pal. That's MY partner

-Welp, time to go over there and seduce you all over again, which isn't hard for him to do. He's got that magic in him, ya know? He;s a man who knows what words to say and what moves to make. He'd make the offender jealous that they couldn't be with Spy

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sylveon-and-velveon · 4 months

Text

Playing "4 Big Guys" around the slashers

Shitpost idea has been made, so here XD

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD

Given the music is VERY adult related, this is 18+ ONLY

OG Michael Myers

Ain't gonna lie, the second you play that song he's probably staring at you instantly. Anger? Disappointment? Cursing your entire family and possible future children? Who knows! It's Michael-Fucking-Myers baby!!!

He's not used to anything sexual overall so hearing a song openly sing about gay sex, and in such a detailed way, would worry him. Not for the singer, no- more on your taste in music.

And don't even get me started on when he hears about shit being involved. The second he hears that being mentioned he's turning off the music entirely, patting your head, and dragging you away so you'll listen to something he likes instead to cleanse that weird mind of yours. Like... Kate Bush or something.

He'd like Kate Bush right? He looks like a Kate Bush enjoyer.

RZ Michael Myers

Judging you, hard. Though he ain't saying it. His aura is practically smellable he's judging you so hard.

Does he like it? No. It's loud, obnoxious, and profound filled. Ignoring the obvious "gay sex and other weirdness" part, the volume of the music reminds him of his childhood.

He's smashing the device the music is coming from. He doesn't care if it's your MP3 all the way to a damn TV or Alexa, he's smashing that shit to pieces if it means he doesn't need to hear it anymore.

What would he put on instead? Calming ambient noises that play for hours on end on YouTube. It's the exact opposite of whatever hellscape you just played. It's better.

Brahms Heelshire

Well first of all it ain't classical, so that's a point on the "I Hate This" list.

Second it's not a piano.

Third it's literally "4 Big Guys"-

Not only is this poor man confused about everything the singer is saying, I highly doubt his parents explained LGBTQ+ to him, he's also hating how loud it is.

"Who puts things up their ass?" - Brahms Heelshire 2024

You turn off the music yourself when he practically begs you to.

You're probably tryna hold in your laughter while he's sitting on the floor trying to figure out what the fuck he just heard.

Jason Voorhees

Is there a bigger word for "traumatized"? Because that man earns it.

You're lucky af, if his mom was live she'd hit you with a crowbar so fast- Not kill you tho, she wouldn't dare hurt her boy.

But yeah, he's not saying anything, nor moving. Bro's too traumatized. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE-

You better give him his teddy he fucking deserves it TmT

Laughing his ass off until the shit is mentioned, even this horny gremlin has his limits.

Can you tell I hate shit kinks? XD

He'd want an apology for you blasting that song so far to that section. But no music! He hates Christmas songs, they're so repetitive and they all sound the same anyway.

Bake him a cake, the more unique the better. His favourite so far is red velvet with cream cheese frosting!

Then when he's finished eating you're getting railed by him not longer after, man's not changed. Not now, not ever.

Freddy Krueger

You can play this entire song with this man on REPEAT and he'd be fine with it.

I'd be surprised if he didn't given his track record and.... slicing open his skin to reveal green "blood" and maggots crawling out.

Would he laugh the first time? ABSOLUTELY!

Would he jokingly sing along, probably.

But he would TOTALLY play this song when going after his victims sometimes. Imagine dying and the last thing you hear is:

"4 BIG GUYS AND THEY GRAB ON MY THIGHS-"

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis

Billy is concerned for your wellbeing. Especially when you start singing it at full force with Stu joining in not long after.

Yeah Stu is enjoying this to the max!

Finds it hilarious, who the fuck wouldn't when you've got humour more broken than Brahms' doll-

But seeing you enjoying yourself to this.... absurdity, at least makes Billy calm down from worry. Now he's just concerned your taste in music may infiltrate your taste in movies.

I doubt the man's used to hearing music.... imagine this being his first time hearing it-

OMG he'd probably think this is normal for music.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? XD

If it's not his first time hearing music though? No concern, laughter, nothing. He's neutral, given that this is something that makes you a little chaotic gremlin.

He's happy seeing you comfortable enough around to be a "gremlin" as you call it.

Bubba Sawyer

Don't traumatize him more than he's been already!!

Sure he doesn't realise it, or the fact he's used to it, but the poor guy's already traumatized-

Though he's probably more confused in the whole scheme of things. I mean, he knows what sex is. But just the surface of it.

So he's probably just learnt way too much in such a short period of time.

Oh lord what have you done-

Harry Warden

Okay first of all, why is there no GIF of this man? WTF????

Second; man's from the mines, man's old fashioned, you've probably just thrown way too much modern shit in his face way too quickly that he's just staring at you, the music video, and then the floor.

Poor miner is so confused, especially when the "cum starts spraying".

Oh god he'll probably think it's like dust from the mines spraying everywhere.

Fucking hell that's a vision-

Tiffany Valentine

Finds it amusing? Yes.

Judging? Not as much as you'd expect.

Girl's been through a wild ride, hearing you blast out "4 Big Guys" from your phone wouldn't be the most shocking thing in the world.

Hell. she'd probably encourage you to start singing along to it XD

Oh she's gonna use that song to torture someone with it. She doesn't know how yet, but she's got the idea in her head now

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elliewill · 1 year

Text

A FOOL'S GAME

summary - an angsty drabble of fem reader leaving an emotionally troubled ellie warnings - angsty arguing, strong language, mentions of infidelity, sad feelings word count - 1.4k credits: divider credit, gif credit a/n: written with "a pearl" by mitski in mind. def listen on replay while reading!

"If you told me that this would be the way we'd end up..." you started. But your breath caught itself on the painful lump in your throat. You began to laugh in disbelief, mostly to shake off the urge to cry. "I would have never believed you."

She couldn't help but avert her gaze. So much so, that you secretly wondered if she felt she'd turn to stone if she met your eyes. Maybe in some way, she would. She was embarrassed. Cheeks pink, ears red, jaw clenched with tension. She leaned against her desk, arms crossed, frozen almost. Eyes glued to the floor.

"And here we are. You don't want to touch me... You can't even fucking look at me."

Despite your words, Ellie remained unmoved. You began to wonder if her silence meant that she actually felt guilty, or whether it was just indignation. You knew she had a bad habit of never admitting when she was wrong.

"I never meant to hurt you," Ellie broke the silence, embarrassment in her voice, with her eyes now stuck on her busted sneakers. "I wasn't thinking and I wish I-"

"You don't get to say that," you cut her off, nearly scolding her. Her green eyes finally flew up to meet yours, and your heart sank to your stomach. "You don't get to tell me you didn't mean to hurt me and go do what you did." "They were stupid, shitty mistakes, and I know that, and I'm sorry." Ellie rambled with pleading eyes, almost scrambling to find all the right words to make this go away. She pushed herself off the desk she was leaning on and walked toward you, a gentle hand out to hold your arm. "I don't want... I can't lose you."

A wave of dread washed over you. All you've wanted is for her to love you the way you've loved her. To want you the way you've wanted her. She used to tell you how terrified she was of losing you. But with Ellie looking at you the way she was, you couldn't help but wonder if she was only saying this now just to save her ass. You reluctantly swallowed the thought and let her have her word.

"There's a lot I don't talk about anymore and I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry things have been getting worse, and it's not that I don't want you, I just..."

"And you just what?" you scoffed, belittling Ellie's explanation. The disdain in your voice made Ellie furrow her eyebrows, hurt flashing on her features for a fleeting moment. You were almost sorry for saying anything. "All those nights staying up and laughing. You were able to sleep through the night and eat a full meal again. We used to talk about everything and nothing... what the fuck happened to us?"

Silence.

Ellie looked away and out the window at the gentle flurries of snow. She sighed deeply, chewing the inside of cheek with her eyebrows furrowed. She felt it. You were getting tired of her. All the shit she's put you through, and you had finally reached your breaking point. She knew you deserved better, but Ellie was a selfish girl in love. She would never able to tell you to leave - and mean it.

"I don't even feel real anymore."

You had always been almost convinced that if you loved her enough, the pink would return to her cheeks. That maybe, the butterflies she'd feel when her name fell from your lips would quiet the maggots eating her up inside. But even in between stolen kisses and nights spent together, she’d never spare the breath to tell you about the trouble you always knew was brewing beneath the surface. She assumed if she remained in blissful ignorance of her own feelings, it would eventually go away. No tears to be had and regretted.

But she made her own mistakes anyway. You almost didn't feel bad for her anymore.

"So you go out and do this? Instead of talking to me?" you shot back, wishing her the same sadness that sat in your chest and pooled in your eyes. You moved away from the gently placed hand on your arm, spurning any of her affection toward you. "Did it feel real when you fucked her? Was it that good? Just had to keep going back for more? Maybe I'll go fuck someone else, too. How 'bout an ex to make it even?"

Seeing your eyes become glossy and talk about sleeping with an ex stirred self-disgust in Ellie's gut. She felt backed into a corner, forced to see her own reflection. God, she felt pathetic for having put you through it all. But like clockwork, the accountability only went so far before she scornfully projected. Her eyes darkened, and she took a step back to sneer at you.

"You know what? Maybe you should. Cause this shit right here?" she fired back, gesturing to the both of you. "Maybe this was the biggest mistake I've ever fucking made."

The last words that left her mouth struck you breathless. That nasty lump rising higher in your throat stoked the nausea you felt at her words. You could tell that your silence made Ellie itch. The inner corners of your eyebrows were raised and a dejected smile spread across your lips.

"THIS? This was your biggest mistake?" you laughed through your tears incredulously. "I never know what's going on in your head, El. You'd tell me you love me and you don't want to lose me. Kiss me one day and refuse to touch me the next. Find you fucking someone else, and that this hadn't been the first time...and here I am, making more fuckin' excuses for you."

"Then stop making them!" Ellie threw her hands up and then let them down, slapping her thighs in exasperation."Jesus Christ, I said I was sorry! What the fuck else do you want me to say? I fucked up, I know!"

"You don't get it," you whispered bitterly while you shook your head gently, the tears running hot across your cheeks. "I fucking loved you, Ellie. I would've done anything for you... Who was there when Tommy couldn't even bring himself to look at you? When Dina promised you'd never see JJ again? The nights you couldn't sleep, you couldn't eat?"

"I didn't need your fucking help!" Ellie raised her voice over yours, the guilt eating away at her more quickly. "I never asked you to be there, I would've always been fine on my own. I never fucking needed you."

"...Got it." You nodded sarcastically, wiping the tears from your eyes and cheeks, snatching your backpack off of Ellie's couch. "All the hurt I put myself through to make sure you were okay? I guess that's my fault, huh?"

Ellie's heart quickened watching you grab your belongings to leave. But she stood there frozen and powerless, wanting to make it better but also wanting it all to be over. How did she manage to fuck this up so badly? She knew in the next minute or so, she'd have to watch you walk out of that door and never come back.

"You're so terrified of losing me, right?" You said whilst rummaging through a pocket of your backpack and pulling out a small black journal. It was a journal she'd given you full of just little sketches and doodles - some of you, some of you both together, some of silly things.

"Y/N. Don't. Please, let me just-"

You chucked the book at Ellie, who couldn't meet your eyes again but drew closer to you in an attempt to keep you from leaving. The book struck the side of her chest but like a brick wall, she remained there, shamefully gnawing the inside of her mouth, a strand of her auburn hair falling into her face. If you had stared at her long enough, you'd notice the tears she'd been trying to blink away.

"Fuck you, Ellie. You did this shit to yourself."

Her front door slammed behind you as you stormed out and stepped off her porch. The feeling of the frozen wind stinging your cheeks and rustling your hair was almost pleasant. Well, what now?

You said what you had to say. But the pit in your stomach only grew heavier, and you felt sick. Somehow you knew.

You knew that no matter how many times you leave, how many times she hurt you, you would always love her, like a fucking fool.

Maybe it was never truly better to have loved and lost. Maybe you would've been better off if you had never loved at all.

#yall be kind now 😭#first time writing as ellie :0 #apologies in advance for all the angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #writings #ellie x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams

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merakiui · 3 months

Text

everything is going to be okay.

yandere!trey clover x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, descriptions of unsettling imagery, derealization, implied drugging, descriptions of hyperdontia, descriptions of teeth falling out, non-graphic allusions to sexual assault, emotional manipulation, gaslighting note: 01110111011011110111010101101100011001000010000001101001001000000110110001101001011001010010000001110100011011110010000001111001011011110111010100111111

i. itchiness - the worst feeling in the world is knowing something is inside of you, and there’s nothing you can do to get it out.

A white rabbit blinks up at you with its beady, red eyes. Its nose twitches. Once. Twice. Thrice. A quiet breeze slithers through the field in which you currently stand, surrounded by lush greenery and colorful wildflowers. They sprawl endlessly, clawing at the horizon beyond with botanical fingers. You watch rainbows sway, dewy petals fluttering like butterfly wings beating against a cloudless, cerulean sky.

You take one step towards the rabbit and it takes off in a sprint, bounding through knee-high grass. You stagger after it, crushing flowers underfoot. Stems snap like spines, sturdy until smashed. You hear agony whispered in the wind: How could you? How could you? How could you?

Shrugging it off, you pursue the rabbit. The grass grows with every passing minute, thickening in abundance. It’s so tall it blocks your view of the sun, eclipsing your figure like a menacing shadow. You fight through it, your gaze pinned solely on the speck of white fur. Verdant blades brush your skin, soft like silk. Itchy like hair. Itchy like maggots wriggling in marrow.

Itchy.

You struggle through the infestation until, eventually, you burst through the grass. The other side is calmer here. When you glance back at the way you came, you find a wall of grass stretching up into the above. The wildflowers are nowhere to be seen, but you can hear them when you stick your head through the grass. They’re still weeping: Why? Why? Why? It’s not fair. We were so happy. You’ve stomped us out—ruined us. We’ll never grow back the same.

“You coming?”

You whirl at the sound of a familiar voice, scanning the field in search of him. Instead, the rabbit is just a few feet away. It tilts its head at you, ears pricked. You meet its scarlet stare.

Something tells you you’re better off waiting. There’s no point in chasing, but curiosity crawls into your cranium. You hurry ahead, single steps sliding into fast, frantic footfalls. The rabbit moves quickly, its little legs thumping against the ground. You run until your every breath squeezes your heart. Until your head is dizzy. Until you’re nauseous and panting.

You run all the way to the edge of a forest, the field falling away in patches, and you reach for the trees, fingers splayed. The rabbit is within your grasp.

You step with your right leg and crush a violet butterwort.

Pain shoots through your foot in a white-hot flash. The butterwort stabs through your sole, emerging from your flesh as if it’s simply a clay pot with soil for snuggling. You yank your leg away and roots are ripped from the ground with it, attached to the flower stuck in your foot. Warm blood trickles out. Green grass is stained rusty-red. It sweeps along your calf, a physical lullaby.

Itchy.

“Fuck,” you hiss, stumbling backwards. The root goes with you, an endless strand set deep into the ground. You tug, but the flower persists. It folds itself into a bow and wraps its petals around your foot in a parasitic hug. “Let go of me.”

At the edge of the forest, the rabbit remains. Watching. Waiting. Wondering.

You flop onto your side, breathing heavy and haggard. The pain is itchy. The blood is itchy. The flower is itchy. You grab at it with shaky fingers and attempt to pry it off. Trees tower overhead, bark bending forwards to loom like leering fiends. With all of your might, you yank the butterwort out. It comes free with a sickening snap, soil-speckled roots dragging through the hole in your foot.

Itchy.

Between the breeze and your devastated whimpers, you hear it—the withered wheezing of the earth beneath your body.

Suddenly, the trees have eyes. Suddenly, everything is alive.

Desperately, you stretch your arm towards the rabbit. It blinks at you. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then it turns and disappears into the forest beyond.

You roll over on your back just as more butterworts bloom from soil moistened with your blood. A garden germinates from flesh and bone.

You shut your eyes.

Itchy.

When you open them, you see a single blade of grass backdropped by a cumulus-spotted sky. He peers down at you, glasses glinting in the sunlight, and offers his hand.

“Nice day for a nap, isn’t it?” He smiles a boyish, lopsided grin.

You stare for another quiet second before closing your hand around his. “Trey…”

Right. Your friend, Trey, who offered to stay with you in the wake of…something. Something about companionship. Something about looking out for you during difficult times. Something about something.

Was that it? What did he say again?

Words are a valuable thing for people like Trey. When strung together, they create stories and Trey is especially good at amazing others with sugared ambiguity.

You allow him to pull you up. When he moves to brush the grass clinging to your clothes, you jerk away. The two of you stare at each other for an abnormally long time.

A discordant note resounds within your head, a strangled cry from a pretty piano. The jarring crash of splintered glass. Looking at him now, in his green-and-white checkered jumper and boring, beige slacks, you feel…itchy. There’s a dull ache at the back of your throat. You think you might be coming down with a cold.

Spring is just starting to poke through the frost of winter. Even though today’s sunny and the weather is warmer than usual, there’s a frigid feeling in the air. A disconnect between seasons. That odd border between not-quite-winter and not-quite-spring.

“How long was I out for?”

Trey’s hand falls to his side. “Long enough to give the muffins time to cool.” He nods in the direction of the house, a quaint structure built at the edge of the forest. “I made your favorite.”

You brighten like candles lit in a birthday cake. Twenty of them, in fact, all arranged perfectly. It will take twenty more for you to overcome the tragedy of never having the chance to partake, for every slice was dragged onto the plate and devoured with haste. And all the while the flames flickered, burning wax down to tiny stumps.

Itchy.

Blueberry muffins are placed on a circular glass plate. The accompanying dome lid sits off to the side. You take one and turn it over in your hands. How does someone determine their favorite food? And when does that food stop becoming a preference? Memories attach themselves to everything: clothing, rooms, bodies. Even food. If something unsavory happens when indulging in a favorite, the memory soaks into the batter. The next time you encounter it, even if it’s in a dream, you avoid it. Not because the food has lost its flavor, but because the memory has corrupted the comfort of the gastronomic experience.

In a distant past, you think you liked blueberry muffins. Certainly at one point, right?

Still, you bring it to your lips and bite into spongy bliss.

Blood fills your mouth.

Trey’s initial placidity morphs into something disturbed. He moves to your side, to your aid, but you shove him away. The blueberry muffin lands on the table in a spoiled heap, crumbs scattering. You spit chunks of muffin into your palms. It feels like something’s lodged in your throat. A tiny porcelain hand pinching the skin of your esophagus in an unrelenting hold. A wad of something impossible to swallow. Like words or screams.

Crimson-tinged saliva dribbles past your lips. Lying in your hands, amidst bits of chewed muffin, is a sliver of skin.

“(Name)?”

Your name sounds wrong on his tongue.

“Hey, are you okay? Let me get you some water. Wait right there.”

Wrong. It’s wrong.

You stare at the flabby piece of skin. Your skin.

Trey returns with the aforementioned water. He pulls a chair out from the table. “Sit and have a drink. Not too fast. Slowly now.”

The rest of the muffin is swept away, destined for the rubbish bin. While you watch Trey clean up your mess, you sip at lukewarm water. Your tongue squirms in your mouth, searching for the space that’s now bleeding freely. You find it, almost like one finds the space where a missing tooth ought to be, and prod at it with your tongue. It’s raw and sensitive. Stinging slightly. You wince.

“Bit my cheek,” comes your reply when Trey walks over. He wipes his hands on a towel patterned with tulips. “Hurts.”

Trey frowns. Golden hues flick from the plate of muffins to your forlorn face. He lowers to his knees, peering up at you through his glasses. “Don’t eat so fast next time, all right? You could choke.”

“Tastes funny.”

“I can’t imagine it’s very appetizing. Blood and blueberry muffins… A crazy combo, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

He chuckles. “Well.” He runs his hand through his hair. It reminds you of the grass and trees outside. Of a summer that has long since passed. “Nothing like a little scare to liven the afternoon. How’re you feeling?”

You set your half-empty glass on the table. “Better. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. You wanna try another one? I promise the next one won’t have you biting your cheek.”

“I… I think I’m good. Thank you, though.”

“As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” Trey smiles. “I’ll make something softer for dinner. Any requests for the chef?”

You think back on all of your favorites and choose something you wouldn’t mind losing. “Lentil soup.”

After tonight, you’ll never enjoy the taste of that dish again.

Maybe that’s okay. Soups are easy to eat. Easy to slip special sentiments in.

Soup is what becomes of your brain when your body is too itchy.

ii. incessant - static is buzzing in your ears. buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. fluffy like bumblebees. sharp as a sting.

The elusive rabbit is looking at you again, red eyes boring into the back of your skull. You glance over your shoulder at it. A little bow fashioned from blades of grass is fastened around its neck. It nods in a new direction, urging you to follow. For a moment, you stand there and wait. Deep down in some forgotten corner of your stomach, you know you’ll never be able to catch the rabbit.

So you fall into step as it hops off to its destination.

Hedges line the horizon, boasting roses and thorns. The rabbit leads you all the way to the entrance of the maze. A xylophone rattles. You step forward. Another hedge rises from the ground up to trap you inside. With the rabbit out of sight and no other way around, you trek onwards into the maze.

The frequency at which xylophone chimes are registered and translated in your mind are muffled. At best, they’re almost silenced. At worst, they are static—piercing and grating in your ears.

Amidst so much static, Trey’s voice has always remained at the same pitch. An immutable intonation, one that fills the clouds with buoyant assurances: Just relax. You’re all right. I’ve got you.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him shout, but that makes sense. Grass only whistles and shivers in the breeze. It never screams. It’s soft and sweet—a wondrous embrace until it begins to feel itchy with time. Like a wool sweater. Like ants crawling in lines up your arms. Like cobwebs wrapped around your wrists.

The grass in your garden sounds more like static. Incessant, ear-splitting static. In your brain, bunching up like scribbles on paper, and falling in waterfalls from his mouth whenever he speaks.

It was static you heard when the grass cradled you in wispy tendrils.

Quiet at first, as if the world had been clicked off like a bad program on television, and then the static came seeping in. Rot was encroaching, grabbing at the rabbit and gutting it before your horrified eyes.

Somewhere within the maze, a jovial, uplifting song spills from a spinet. It puts you at ease, filling your soul with serenity.

Itchy dissonance. A rabbit split open, gooey innards tumbling free. Cotton fur tarnished. Lines running red.

Dead.

The spinet swells with rhythm. You’re walking yourself into corners, traveling in circles.

Incessant melodies, ringing in your ears like cicada shrieks.

The circle winds around and around. Where are you going? Hedges on either side, white roses blooming from comforting green. The deeper you delve, the darker they bloom. Mottled, petals wilting, white closes up and shrivels away.

Blotted black with tar, trailing in thick streaks.

Your feet pound against mossy meadows. You need to find the exit. It’s here and then there and then here again. It’s everywhere and then it’s nowhere. It’s here. Here. Here. Here. Here—

Now it’s there!

Static screeches. Blood trickles from your ears.

It hurts until it doesn’t. Until the static numbs everything and all that’s left is nothing. Blank and bitter, a wonderland set on mute.

The hedges breathe alongside you. It’s incessant, unintelligible static.

Frosting melts on cake. Pastels are sticky and spoiled. Candles droop.

A xylophone played in garbled glissando.

Quiet breaths. In and out. In and out. The grass whispers to you: “Hey, it’s fine. You trust me, right?”

In and out.

Out and in.

In and out.

Out. Out. Out. Incessant itchiness. Get it out.

Glass shatters. The rabbit’s heart, still beating faintly, is slit.

That…didn’t just happen, did it?

It didn’t, right?

Grass is supposed to be soft and full of life when watered with love.

That didn’t just happen.

What happened?

The grass billows in a breeze. “You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

You’re not. You…are anything but fine.

What happened?

You run under an arch, past thinning hedges, over the threshold, and burst into the kitchen.

“Trey!”

He startles, almost dropping a bowl of cake batter. His glasses sit crooked on his face. It takes a moment for him to process your arrival. He sets the bowl on the countertop and turns fully to face you, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His concern makes your skin prickle.

Itchy.

“Everything okay?”

Incessant.

“Why…” Your fingers curl around the doorframe. You gulp down a gasp. “Why are you here again?”

He gives you a weird look. “You said you needed my help—that you were having trouble getting up in the morning. Remember? Actually… Here. How about this? Do you want me to fix you a cup of chamomile? It’ll help with anxiety and insomnia.”

Your once rapid-moving world slows to a screeching halt. You said that? When? When did you say that? When the fuck did you say that?

“I…don’t remember saying that. Ever. I don’t think I invited you here either…”

Trey shakes his head, tutting softly. “I get it. It’s rough. I know.” He folds the spatula through the batter. Calmly. “But you’re exaggerating. I’m only here to help.”

Static. Incessant, itchy static. You blink owlishly at him, straining to hear over it.

“What?”

“I came over because you asked me to, and I’m staying to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine.” You point towards the door. “I think… Trey, I think you need to leave.”

His arm, which had previously been moving in circles, falls still. He sets the bowl down again. “We’ve talked about this before, (Name).”

“I don’t remember.”

“All the more reason for me to stay, yeah?”

“No… No, that’s not—”

Trey smiles, his tone lighthearted. “Hey, relax. You’ll feel better after something sweet. It won’t take long for the cake to bake. Wait for a little longer. If you want, you can lick the spatula when I’m done—”

“I don’t want cake.”

“No? I remember you told me it was your favorite, though. Am I remembering wrong?”

Is he?

“It’s…gross.”

“Gross?” He chuckles sheepishly. “That bad, huh? Not a fan of my baking?”

You gaze past him at the batter in the bowl. Confetti cake. You look towards Trey again. “What was that?”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t hear the words.

Static.

Incessant, itchy static.

You track his lips, his eyes, his hands.

“What?”

Sound seeps in, crunchy but audible.

“…a joke,” he’s saying. “I was just joking.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Don’t worry about it. My feelings aren’t hurt. I know you enjoy my baking.”

The TV tunes into a nonexistent channel. Static buzzes on the screen.

Loud. Louder. So loud!

You can’t hear yourself think. Can’t hear your lungs wheeze. Can’t hear yourself speaking slowly as you stumble into the grass’s green embrace.

Incessant. You’ll go insane. Static. Incessant. Too much. You feel sick. Bile drags itself up your throat.

Loud. Loud. Loud. Impossibly, incessantly loud!

Your arm sweeps through the air. The bowl is flung across the room. Ceramic shatters. Batter spatters on the wall and kitchen tiles. You feel the dull ache in the aftermath. Trey’s speaking, but it’s just static. All-consuming. Buzzing like flies over birthday cake gone bad. Incessant.

And then the TV clicks off.

And then it’s quiet.

iii. insanity - over and over and over and over and over and over and over and and and and and and and andandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandand01100001011100100110010100100000011110010110111101110101001000000110111101101011011000010111100100111111

Teeth. All thirty-two of them. Porcelain teeth. All forty-two of them.

They grow under your tongue and along the roof of your mouth in clusters. Insanity. It’s doing the same thing incessantly while anticipating different results. Insanity. It’s looking at too many teeth crammed where they shouldn’t be.

Opening your mouth as wide as it can go, you peer at yourself in the mirror. Your tongue runs along them. Smooth.

Teeth. All fifty-two of them. Hellish hyperdontia.

Grass is pesky when it gets in your mouth, reaching far with green fingers.

Flossing is important. If you forget, your gums will bleed and bleed, and then your mouth will be in for a world of pain. You’re smarter than this, so you need to keep up good dental hygiene. Brush and floss as you would, but not too hard or else you’ll break.

Insanity. It’s taking advice from butterworts and rabbits—from meadows tilled and filled with sin.

Teeth. Too many. Have you been flossing properly?

And then they’re at the back of your throat, sprouting from skin like the dainty heads of a dozen Frozen Charlottes. You stick your fingers down your throat to grab at one, but you can’t get hold of it. You cough. Teeth are closing up your esophagus. You look at your mouth and see a lamprey.

Insanity. It’s full of teeth.

You gag around them, heaving mouthfuls of air that struggle to reach your lungs. You feel teeth in there, too, growing in groups like an invasive species. You brace yourself against the sink, gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles sting. Your jaw is starting to feel sore.

Terrified, you find your reflection staring back with wide eyes. And then the first tooth comes loose. It falls into the basin of the sink with a pattering clink. You inhale through your nose, and that’s as much of your shock as you can express before more teeth follow suit. They shift out of your gums, one by one, until dozens of them are spilling out in calcium rain. Bent over the sink, you spit and spit. Tears threaten to pour from your eyes.

This can’t be happening.

You try to scream, to beg for it to stop, but the teeth keep coming. For every few that fall out, twenty more grow. It’s a cycle.

Insanity.

Incessant.

Itchy.

You sob helplessly, salt mingling with saliva and teeth.

When you look back at the mirror, you see blood stringing from empty gums.

The bathroom light flickers. Dizzying darkness. An unusual heat settles under your skin.

Itchy.

Incessant.

Insanity.

The bathroom light flickers. Blinding brightness. You’re still reeling. The heat won’t go away. Your eyelids are heavy. You feel sleepy, but it’s only early evening.

“Everything okay?”

You spy Trey in the mirror. His arm is propped against the doorframe as he leans in, half of his body shrouded in the shadows from the hall.

You swallow. It goes down smoothly. The teeth have retreated.

“T-Too much chamomile,” you grind out, reaching up to touch the column of your throat.

Teeth. All thirty-two of them.

The basin is empty. No teeth.

“How about a slice of bread? You’ve gotta eat something, (Name).”

“I’m not hungry.”

Your tongue traces all thirty-two of your teeth. They’re there, rooted firmly in your gums.

Trey frowns. “At least let me heat the leftover lentil. It’s liquid. You won’t bite your cheek again.”

“I might burn my tongue.”

“If you’re worried, I could feed you instead. Airplane it and everything.”

At your bewildered stare, Trey laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Joking.”

“Are you really here to help me?”

He lowers his arms. An uncanny cold fills the bathroom.

“Nothing is going to get you.”

“What?”

“There’s nothing here, (Name). You’re safe.” Trey glances down the hall for good measure. The hair on your neck rises, alert. “It’s in your head. You’re messing with yourself, you know, getting worked up over things that aren’t really there. I promise you’re okay. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here.”

It’s not in your head. Of course not. It couldn’t be.

Right?

It’s not really in your head, is it?

You storm out of the bathroom, pushing past Trey in your impatience. He follows you soundlessly. Everything looks the same. The sofa. The wallpaper. The kitchen. The cracks and creaks. Nothing’s changed.

So is it in your head? What is it—the thing in your head? It’s itchy and incessant. It makes everyone gaze at you as if you’re insane.

If you could, you’d take a scalpel to your body and cut yourself out of your skin, put it through a long wash cycle, and hang it out to dry. Maybe then the thing would leave.

You stop at the front door, suddenly hesitant. Has it all been in your head? Are you going crazy? Is Trey right: There’s nothing here and you’re making everything up?

You wrench it open.

A black rabbit blinks up at you with its milky-white eyes. Its nose twitches. Once. Twice. Thrice. A loud gust slithers through the field in which you currently observe, surrounded by decaying greenery and wilted wildflowers. They sprawl endlessly, clawing at the horizon beyond with broken fingers. You watch monochrome tones sway, dried petals flaking off like scabs against a battered, bloodless sky.

You take one step towards the rabbit and it takes off in a sprint, bounding through—

The grass gathers you in a hug. It whispers strangely soothing static.

“Everything is going to be okay.”

iv. 01101001011101000010000001110111011000010111001100100000011000010110110001110111011000010111100101110011001000000111010001110010011001010111100100101110

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere trey clover #yandere trey clover x reader #yandere trey x reader #yandere trey

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virgincels · 4 months

Text

RIGOR MORTIS !

ft. og4 leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. las plagas!reader, he kills you, technically snuff ig but wasn’t intended oops, gore, canon-typical violence, reader is infected and out of it so she can’t really consent, dub-con, non-con, p in v, choking/asphyxiation, strangulation

note. god im plagued by writers block and it’s killing me it’s like walking on shattered glass rn. umm please ignore any mistakes, not very fond on this but haven’t posted in a bit :3 um it’s quite short. rbs are always appreciated :3 instead of asking for a part 2 please just tell me something nice.. feedback is really appreciated <3 comms are open! info in my pinned :3

Leon seeks refuge in what looks to have once been a humble abode. Now only a shack wearing a shroud of all things dead and rotten remains. Foetid water has soaked him to the bone, it seeps into the thick leather of his combat boots, leaves his socks soggy. He really hates that. Leon can handle cerebrospinal fluid leaving a sticky film on the toe of his boots, the blood caked beneath his fingernails is something he considers normal, but wet socks are a total inconvenience, it’s a shortcut to trench foot.

The hollow skulls of small critters occupy the corners, the cobwebs have cobwebs, the air is stagnant and stinking. Not of rot, but of sickness. A gaping wound crawling with infection, bacteria settling in the crevices of his mind, squirming like fat, juicy maggots—

Crack!

It’s a man, he was a man, now he’s a boneless lump of flesh, his spinal cord snapped under the weight of Leon’s boot. His yellowed teeth glisten under the golden warmth of a single lantern. Leon’s defence is choreographed at this point, a swift kick to intercept an impending strike, then his boot makes mincemeat of their brains.

When he takes a step back to review his current affair, it’s not so bad, certainly not Raccoon City. Leon would take a million murderous Spanish grandparents over a single zombie. Zombies are plain nasty, not a single limb intact, oozing pustules that peel back to reveal purpling flesh infested by larvae. They’re fuckin’ ugly. Slow and bloated and ugly. A sight no human being should see.

On the wall, there’s a shattered, grimy mirror. Leon sees the ghost of a boy staring back at him. Unwashed hair hanging limp, cheekbones carved out, his skin alabaster like the blocky lettering stitched into his uniform. R.P.D. it reads, muddied by blood and guts and chunks of vomit. All the good shit. He hasn’t grown into his body yet, the steel of his gun is cool on his temple and he’s young and these are all important things to know. In his arms is something small and lightweight, a bloodied little girl, leading him to a pyrrhic victory.

The floorboards groan under the weight of a pair of feet that don’t belong to him, the threat isn’t imminent. You don’t charge at him, no, it’s shambling he can only describe as zombie-like, dragging your bare feet like it hurts to lift them off the ground. Like you’re waterlogged and ready to pop.

You were pretty, he’s sure, a real looker. You’re pretty now, just not in your entirety. Strings of reddish muscle keep the fatty flesh of your right tit hanging on for dear life. Like an Amazonian woman. There’s no rot, no sign of decay, simply an act of self-mutilation.

Now, some might call him a pervert, but Leon’s a self-proclaimed iconoclast. And you, swaying from side to side in your torn linen nightdress, the skeletal pendant of Los Iluminados around your neck like a disfigured cross, draped in a veil of white that’s close enough to holy - it’s worth ruining. Santa Maria di Plagas or whatever.

He realises a few shattered bones have you walking funny, circles you easily and heads into the room you exited. The bed sheets are rumpled in unrest, he sits, there’s a hairline fracture between the two of you. The lantern light bares all, the white of your dress becomes gossamer-thin, he makes out your shape beneath the blood-soaked cloth that moulds to the shape of your torso, the smooth dip of your waist, a soft sinkage where the fabric clings to your belly button.

Leon has seen far worse. Can you blame a guy for getting hard at the sight of a real girl? In his line of work, he’s neck deep in pounds of flesh that spew pus and gore from each virus-clogged abscess. The layer of dirt on your skin does not deter him, that tit hanging by a tissuey thread, swinging back and forth like your necklace is child’s play to him. ‘Cause Leon’s a real man. The princely type.

(He’s anything but. One girl’s knight in shining armour is a monster under the bed for another. It’s not like you can complain, you’re quite the monster yourself.)

Hang in there Ashley. He’ll be there soon, but he’s got to do this. This is completely and utterly necessary. Hunnigan doesn’t need to know why he’ll be unreachable for a good thirty minutes or so. Less probably. ‘Cause your body is hot, clammy with fever, and that means your pussy is even hotter.

Something… Something… Plagas… Something… Lord Saddler…

Your mumbling is constant. Leon will have to do something about that. You gnash your teeth at him when you approach, held back only by the sluggishness that comes with, like, brainwashing cultish parasites.

“Sorry, sweetheart, no entiendo.” Leon loops a worn piece of rope around your neck. Ain’t that handy? Found it hung on your assumed-to-be father’s tool belt. Used for leading curly little lambs to the sacrificial altar. He strokes the underside of your chin, and you bare your teeth like a wild dog, albeit slowly. A late reaction. No fair, it’s like someone’s knocked you around already, who got here before him?

Getting his dick out at a time like this in a place like this, it’s not smart. Sneaky bugs could use his urethra as a water slide. A menacing minibeast might latch onto his balls pincher-first. However, needs are needs, and nothing gets in the way of Leon’s dick, not even a kidnapped First Daughter could stop the force of nature that is his boner.

With ease, he pushes you onto the ground. Not the bed. If you behave like an animal then he’ll have to fuck you like one. Plus, Leon’s not quite sure he trusts those sheets, at least the rusty nails on the floorboards are visible to the naked eye. Tetanus won’t be a nasty surprise, just a momentary lapse in judgement.

Your body contorts when he pulls the rope, back taking on a feline shape, spine bending inwards and your hips up. Puppetry is easier than it looks. The hem of your dress lifts to reveal your leaking chasm of a pussy. Better than nothing. Not like he’s eating it either way.

One hand on the rope, the other on his belt buckle, he lowers his jeans enough to pop his dick out. “Stay still, honey.” He instructs, but it’s like talking to a brick wall, or to a person who doesn’t understand a lick of English.

Leon chokes you with the rope. “I’ll only be a minute, sweetheart,” he coos, a tender kiss that he regrets merely seconds later placed on your shoulder.

He grips the base of his cock, the fat tip is red and leaky, precum bubbling like your foaming mouth. Leon’s too hard. His dick is totally upright, the soft curve pointing towards the ceiling, a thumb comes to press down on the tip, using it to guide himself into your pussy.

“Oh, there you go, honey, yeah, there you go.” His hold on the rope loosens, still firm enough to keep you in place, but now at least there’s oxygen flowing to your parasite-addled brain. “You feel that?”

Leon’s dick stretches you to the point of no return. He’s broken you in. Better off him than any of those grotesque old men. You’re a virgin surely, so it’s very considerate of him to fuck you before you die. No one should die a virgin, that’s cruel, it’s inhumane.

You thrash wildly, grunting each time his hips smack into the fat of your ass, he can’t tell if you’re enjoying it— You better be fuckin’ enjoying it. Know how risky this shit is? Fuck, what if you had a mutated cunt or something. Jagged teeth waiting to clamp down on a big fat dick and tear it straight off. He really needs to start thinking with his brain and not his cock. The thing just doesn’t shut up.

When he cums, the rope is tight around the column of your neck— It would be your hair, but he fears it might fall straight from your scalp in nasty, matted clamps. Your body rears like a wild Mustang, he gathers the rope and it wraps around his fingers until your back is flush to his chest and you grasp for something, anything— Eyes rolled so far back he can see the milky whites, and then he gives one last tug to make sure you’re stuck in that state. Mid-orgasm. Eyes in the back of your skull, back arched, pussy dripping with his load. Cute. He wishes rigor mortis set in right now so that you don’t fall slack into a heap of red and white when he lets go.

Leon leaves by barrelling out of a window like a true gentleman, the microscopic shards splinter your skin. He takes that pendant with him, tucks it in his back pocket, could be useful at some point in time.

It’s only when the blood in his veins runs black and viscous does Leon notice something is severely wrong. His blood flow slows to a halt, clots forming in every important artery. Mucousy black sludge leaks from his nose. An intense pain cuts through his senses with deadly precision, a surge of discomfort that has him kneeling over, hands on his knees in a clumsy attempt to steady himself.

His hands clasp around Ada’s neck— The rope. He pulls it tighter and tighter to get closer and closer. Her voice is distorted by the fog that clouds his brain, it creates a hazy barrier, mutes the world around him. A knife lodges in the meaty flesh of his thigh, he topples backwards when her knee makes contact with his groin.

“That bitch gave me crabs.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He brushes her off. “I said, uh, Lord Saddler almighty.” Leon’s heard that enough times to repeat it back to her rather fluently. Nice save.

“Right,” Ada says, unconvinced.

#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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