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leonfucker3000 · 19 days

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Gotcha

Bounty Hunter/Cowboy!Leon S. Kennedy x outlaw!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, feelings (of regret) (and slight yearning), oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, fucking against metal bars. 16+ because I was you once just don’t be weird

Ummm I wrote this last year in, like, March? I posted and finished it December, though (yikes) with that being said I’m sorry if the writing is…I suppose questionable? Yeah, sure, questionable. On ao3 here if you prefer that site. Not proofread btw.

oh, right, reader’s outlaw name is ‘ranger’ but it’s mentioned once. I was inspired by Leon’s Arthur Morgan mod but you can imagine him in any outfit, all that’s mentioned is that he wears a leather hat (I think). cowboy Leon is the reason I keep on going, thanks.

tumblr is a scary, new place for me. Please be kind😱

The sound of the horse's feet running in the desert sand fills the hollow night. Gunshots and gunpowder making Leon’s nostrils flare, the metallic smoke filling up his lungs uncomfortably.

Close. He’s so fucking close.

You stop your horse and bolt for the abandoned bank you robbed just a month prior and wait . It’s hot and cold, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin as you try to keep your breathing still. The weight of your revolver is the only thing that feels remotely natural, the only thing that reminds you that you have at least some control.

His horse blows and grunts as it comes to a halt, a cloud of sand threatening his vision until he bats it away. The swinging door of the bank creaks along with the wooden floorboards of each step he takes.

You can hear him grow closer, the spurs on his boots jingling—a warning, a taunt. He’s got you, and had it not been from how fucking tired you were, you would’ve kept going.

“There’s not much use in hidin’ anymore,” Leon’s gruff voice breaks the low whistling wind, “Think we both know the only way you’re getting outta here is in cuffs or in a rug dragged across the sand.”

You hold in a scoff, the bandana muffling your steadying breath. Hiding behind the wall, you hear his steps come and go, small curses falling from under his breath and muttering you can’t put together.

After a moment of silence, you muster up the courage to peek around the corner. A mistake.

“Gotcha.” His cowboy hat casts a dark shadow across his face, the dim moonlight barely making the whites of his eyes visible. His own revolver is pointed to your head, the reflecting metal almost blinding — another taunt to your capture.

“Kennedy.” You speak through gritted teeth, sour and bitter as you say his name.

“Ranger.” A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, “Not one day goes by that I don’t get sick of hearin’ that name. Can’t even get a beer without a sad sap waiting to tell their story about encountering you.”

“Good to know I’m on your mind at least. Hadn’t seen you in sometime, thought you died.” You watch as his hand tightens around the grip of his gun, his index finger sliding towards the trigger.

“I’m not gonna die before I catch you, or kill you. One or the other.” He rolls his eyes as he watches you point the gun to his leg, “Put that down before I blow your brains out. The sheriff’ll get mad at me for the mess.”

“I think he’d be happier if you killed me, really.”

“Maybe, but I think they’d rather kill you themselves, and slower.” A sigh leaves you as you drop your revolver to the floor, not bothering to put your hands up because, well, there’s no use for it. “Back up. Don’t need you gettin’ any ideas. Get in the vault.”

The vault? He doesn’t give you time to protest, taking a step forward so his gun grazes your forehead, “Fuck, alright, I get it .”

You back into the vault, the metal bars making it your makeshift jail. He closes the door shut, watching you through the spaces between the bars and giving you an annoying smug smirk, “Look at that . Behind bars is a natural look on you. Can’t believe it’s taken this long.”

Leon takes a walk around, finding the key and locking the ‘jail’. Convenient. “Y’wanna start by telling me why you’ve been doing this? They’re gonna get it outta you anyway, best to let it out now. A pretty face ain’t gonna getcha freedom.”

“Pretty?” You muse.

“Shut up.” He scoffs.

“I don’t think my reason would really make a difference.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Maybe not, but every outlaw has some kind of story to tell.”

You slump against the back wall of the vault, letting out a small groan as your hand runs your face. If you’re going to get locked up and eventually hung, you guess it wouldn’t hurt for at least one person to know the truth. He’s not…the best person but out of everyone else, maybe he is. “My family. Dead broke. Needed the money.”

He stares at you for a moment before laughing, gripping one of the metal bars as he snickers, “you really expect me to believe that? If I wouldn’t let a bastard cheat me in poker, I’m not gonna have you cheat me now.”

“‘M not cheating you for anything, I gotta family at home. Mouths to feed, debts to pay, shit to do.”

“That’s a real shitty thing, lying about your family like that.” He grumbles, looking at you like ‘lying’ was worse than all the money you’ve stolen. The lives you threatened.

This man’s priorities seriously needed to be straightened out. You pull down your bandana and toss it to the side as you get comfortable on the floor, the bank door’s small creaks making the night all the more eerie.

When you look up, he’s still staring at you. His lips are curled into a slight snarl and, had it not been for the bars, he might’ve lunged at you.

Leon’s wondering what your game is, he knows what you do when you lie—how you look away from him and take a step back and your lip always twitches without fail—you’re not doing any of that. “Even if you did do it to keep your family afloat, what about the rest of the people you wronged?”

“What, the rich? They don’t give a damn about us, why should I give a damn about them?”

“I’m talkin’ about the public robberies. Like the train robbery down in Georgetown, or the bank in Laredo, those were all big jobs, you tellin’ me those were victimless crimes? Bullshit. There’s oughta be a casualty.”

“If there was a casualty, it wasn’t from me. I’ve never fired a gun at an innocent.”

He scorns, “but you’ll fire a gun at the people tryna protect the innocents.”

“None of them are dead, are they? They’re at home with their families not needing to worry about eatin’.”

He feels conflicted, because fuck if you’re telling the truth then he feels like an asshole all those times he’s almost killed you. A family. You have children, a husband, maybe, unless he’s dead—is that why you’re doing this?—And he’s fought with you more than he can remember. He sniffles, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb and shaking his head, “how old are your kids?”

It was your turn to chuckle, “i don’t have kids. Well, sort of, if you include takin’ care of my siblings.”

Guess he got it wrong. He doesn’t know if he feels better or worse, his stomach churns at the thought of your younger siblings waiting for you to come home just to never return. Never to know if you died or ran away. No, he’s sure they’d figure out you died, if you were doing this for them, why would you leave them? God he needs a drink. “You don’t gotta momma or daddy or what?”

“My momma’s sick. Daddy’s gone.” You shrug as if it’s nothing, maybe it is nothing to you but it’s everything to him. He hates that he’s so easily swayed. You being fine with this should tell him this is a lie but—

But what? He doesn’t know. You’re a criminal that has added unnecessary stress to the public, even have other outlaws mad at you for taking their money. It’s simple as to what he needs to do.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m sure after your first three robberies you woulda had enough money to feed a church for the next 5 years. Didn’t need all of that, that’s just fucking greed.”

“I don’t keep all of it. I give it to people like me. Too many families have lost their kids just because they couldn’t feed ‘em for a week. Bet they don’t tell you that, though, do they?”

He knows better. He knows that he knows better. This is a lie, he’s the law, he needs to uphold the law, no exceptions. No hesitation. “So, what? You’re a modern day Robin Hood?”

“If I say yes will you shut the fuck up?”

“If you tell me the truth I will.”

“Mother fucker— I am. You have a gun, have me in a fucking vault, I’m unarmed say for my knife, but I’ll give it to you if it’ll shut you up. what do I have to gain from this shit? You’ve caught up people for way less, I don’t have shit up my sleeve to leave.”

A moment passes, and suddenly? He hates himself.

“God damnit.” He curses under his breath, turning his body away as he groans. He can still hear the horses outside, can hear the wind chiming, playing a small song. You keep quiet, watching him pace back and forth once before pinching the bridge of his nose. “‘M gonna fuckin’ regret this.” He mumbled to himself, putting in the key and swinging the metal door open.

He shifts to the side, motioning with his head, “Go. Get. Leave.”

“What’re you doing, Kennedy?”

His lips press into a fine line as he exhales through his nose, “What kinda man would I be if I took you away from them when I had the chance to save you?” He sighs, “They need you. God knows no one else will give a damn.”

You hesitate, you don’t know why—you should’ve ran as soon as the key went in the damn hole. You grab your bandana you threw off earlier, wrapping it around your neck with a curt nod. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t meet your gaze, a small frown on his face before he speaks, “yeah, yeah, just turn your ass around before I find a reason to lock you up again.”

You tip your hat to him, walking out of the vault. Your spurs are the one to jingle this time.

“ ‘sides, I always did like the back of you.”

You planned to keep going. You really fucking did.

When you turned around, your bodies were only two feet away. You swore you walked further from him but honestly, you couldn’t tell anymore. “Those are dangerous words you’re playing with.”

His back straightens and he peers down at you, “Are they?”

“You’re a confusing man, Kennedy.”

“I don’t remember telling you I was simple.”

You tut, “Haven’t you made enough mistakes already?”

He has, he knows it. The first damn mistake he’s made was making it a point to try and capture you. A year and 4 months he’s spent on this–on you. But, really, what bad would one last mistake do? He’s already made so many, it’ll just be another bullet to his chamber. He takes a step closer, chests nearly touching as his hands twitch to grab you, feel you without the mission of needing to hurt you and take you in. “I’d say not enough.”

All those times during his chase he could’ve gotten close, on top of you, felt your breath against his as you cornered one another. He hasn't, and he’s tired of letting it sit at bay. Learning a new side of you made him crazy. Crazier.

God is he an idiot.

Your breaths fill the tense atmosphere as he takes another small step closer, was it always so hot in here?

“We shouldn’t.”

“Who says?”

“ Everyone .” You stay like this for what seems like an eternity until Leon pulls you in by the back of your neck, his free hand moving to your waist as his lips crush against yours in a hasty kiss. He groans against your mouth and your fist coils the fabric of his shirt. Your hats tipped one another’s off and fell to the floor.

After a few seconds, he is the one to pull away from you. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him in confusion, he looks at you like it was the answer. He clears his throat and takes a step back, wiping away your kiss and he looks away, trying to deny himself of what he wants.

Who he wants so, so badly.

He struggles to speak, to move, to think. He watches you and you watch him, both of your breaths at a skewed pace.

“Make a mistake with me.” He whispers, he looks different. You can finally see his face, moonlight highlighting his sharp features. Never noticed how handsomely-pretty he was before.

God, fuck it.

You step forward this time, pulling him in by the collar of his button up and pressing your lips against his. He licks the seam of your lips and you part them, teeth clacking and tongues entwining as he grabs the wide of your hips and pushes you against the metal bars. Ouch.

He pulls away from you with a sigh, looking offended at the fact that he even had to leave the plush of your lips. His hand leaves you to unbuckle your belt with fervor and slip his hand inside your pants and panties.

His fingers slip between your wet folds and he dips his head down to kiss your neck. Small moans escape you as he slowly rubs your clit, feeling your wet slick coat his fingers. “All those pretty sounds for me? I think I’m flattered.”

You groan, “of course you’re a bitch even when doing this.”

“I take my words back, then.” He rolls his eyes and opts to bite down on your shoulder, your nails dig into his back through the fabric of his shirt and he shudders when you bite him back. “fuck, ‘s not enough. Gotta taste you.”

He drops to his knees and fumbles with your belt until it’s off and shoves your pants down, his breath stuttering when he sees the soaked fabric. He drags them off you and pulls one of your legs over his shoulder. You hold onto the bars for balance, “Jesus Christ, wait . Almost made me fucking fall—“

You’re cut off when he spreads your lips and licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moan, fingers grabbing a fistful of his hair and his eyes fluttered shut. He sighs at the taste of you, “fuckin’ delicious, can’t believe I didn’t do this shit sooner.” His voice, almost a groan, wavered before pushing his face back between your legs.

His tongue lapped at your entrance and his nose bumped up against your swollen clit. His fingers dimple the fat of your thigh and his cock twitches the louder your sounds get. He curled his tongue and pressed it deeper, despite the proximity, he needed to get closer somehow.

Trying to close your legs doesn’t work, smushing your thighs against his face only adds fuel to the fire.

You nearly sob when he pushed a finger inside your cunt, thrusting against your g-spot with a quick, steady rhythm. “ Leon , shit, shit , don’t you fucking stop. “ He slips in another finger, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes and a shit eating grin.

First time you’ve said his name, not kennedy or bastard or asshole – his name . And fuck, does it sound pretty coming out of you like that, how that alone makes his cock strain against his zipper.

Filthy squelches and moans flood the empty bank while Leon eats your pussy like a starved man. His own moans escaping as you buck your hips against his face. You pull on his hair roughly and you swear you hear him whine

“Gotta get you nice ‘n wet f’me,” He muttered against your pussy and his eyes fluttered as he tried to keep open to watch you. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard — a cry of his name and you’re so fucking close to coming on his face, panting and feeling uncomfortably hot.

“Too much—“ you gasp, “Oh shit, fuck, it’s too much.” You choke, uneven moans escaping you as you finally come. You expect him to pull away but he doesn’t falter. “Mnh, wait, fuck, get off, get off . ” You beg breathlessly.

Leon groaned again and pressed closer, “need it, give it to me, honey. Gonna make you feel good, just don’t make me fucking stop.” He pleaded, feeling dizzy as he got high off your taste. You attempt to push his head and mouth away but your attempts are in vain.

You let out yet another choked sob when he forces another orgasm out of you, reluctantly, he pulled away, licking his lips clean and wiping the rest with the back of his hand. His free hand rubbed your thigh to try and soothe you, asshole turned caring in a matter of seconds. “Sorry.” He murmurs, “couldn’t help myself.”

Your breaths are uneven pants as you look down at him on his knees still. “ Fuck me , Kennedy apologizing? I’m speechless.”

“Oh, we’re back to Kennedy?”

He gets off his knees while yours quiver, “It was a mistake. A fluke.”

A smirk plays on his lips, “yeah, sure. We’ll see.” He turns you around and wraps his arm around your hips and pulls them against his own, pushing you forward slightly so you’re bent over, “grab the bars.” And you do.

You can feel the outline of his cock press against you, “so fucking ready, didn’t waste a goddamn second—y’sure that was a fluke? Getting my pants all dirty, honey.” You feel embarrassed, but not for long when you hear his belt buckle clink and the sound of fabric rustling – heart racing and pussy throbbing as to what’s happening. You turn your head and see him spit and runs his hand over his cock to get it wet. He smirks when he catches you, you shake your head and look forward again. “Gotta be sweet to me or I’ll make you work for it.”

“God, kennedy–” You gasp when he slides the head between your folds and nudges it at your entrance.

“Leon.” he corrects, pushing the tip inside you, “C’mon baby, I know you can say it.” he grabs your hips to keep you from pushing back onto him. Fucker .

“ Leon.”

“Atta girl.”

He snaps his hips into you, body shuddering and your mouth opens with a sharp gasp and choked back moan. His grip on your hips tighten when he pulls out and pushes back inside to the hilt. His breathing is nothing but grunts, groans, and pants, you’re not much different – if anything else, you’re worse. “Can’t– fuck –handle it? Can rob every fucking bank but you can’t take some dick.”The way he fucks you is merciless, he wants you to feel good but also wants to punish you for everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve done to him.

He dips his hand lower to smack your ass, “Answer me. Had a lot to say just minutes ago.”

“Sh-shit, I can take it,” you shudder, “I can take it–” Your skin is wet with sweat and it gets harder to hold onto the bars, each thrust making you lose a bit more of yourself. Fuck him and fuck this but holy shit do you suddenly not regret everything you’ve ever done.

You’re mewling beneath him, happily and prettily so. “Pussy’s so tight, just needed a good dicking down.” he moans, “That all it took to get you to – fuck that’s good – listen?” he moves one of his hands from your hip to your clit, stimulating it as he fucks you a little harder, “Say my name, God, I need it.” he groans.

“Leon, Leon, Leon– ” You moan loudly, you don’t know when the sheriff is coming, but if he’s close you’re sure he can hear you easily. Your vision blurs when he touches you and your legs tremble with each spot his cock hits.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha, not lettin’ you go.” Leon’s an idiot, but if his mistakes will make him feel this good again, he’ll keep making them. His composure starts to dwindle when sweat beads his forehead and you start squeezing him like a vice. Made for him, he thinks. “ Take it , fuck yourself onto me honey, atta girl.” his breath stutters.

Who are you to deny him – you do as you’re told and he moans. His hand goes up to your neck and pulls your back against his chest. Within seconds, you come around him with his name on your tongue and a scream. He bites down on your shoulder with a desperate groan before he pulls out and streams of hot come hit your ass.

He holds onto you like you’re his life line, like he’ll fall if he lets you go (he will). You two stay like that for a good 20 seconds before he lets go of you and takes a couple of steps back. He turns away from you and you can hear him zip up his pants and belt clunk when he fixes himself. You do the same, a little slower, both out of lack of energy and embarrassment.

Leon also feels embarrassed. This is the part where he’d usually get whoever he was sleeping with a glass of water, a quick bath, and ask if they’d rather go home tonight or he takes them home tomorrow. He can’t do either of that, and he’s supposed to hate you and definitely not fuck you or let you go.

He swallows, “You need to get going. He’ll be here soon and he won’t hesitate to shoot if he sees you run.”

“Right.” you whisper, taking a deep breath to steady yourself as you bend down to pick up your hat. You’re both in a daze, he looks at you, all guilty and nervous. His hair is wet with sweat and his cheeks are flushed, had it been anyone else you would’ve pushed his hair back to get a better look at him. But he’s not anyone else, and this was all a mistake . “Gonna stop coming after me now?”

A weak smile tugs his lips, “In both ways, no. Can’t promise anything.”

You fight back a laugh but return his smile, turning away so he can’t see it. He picks up his hat next and watches as you walk away from him to the front of the bank. Like a lost puppy, he follows. “Need help getting up?” he motions to your horse.

“I’ll be fine, Kennedy. You need to worry about yourself rather than me.”

“Like I said, can’t promise anything.”

You hop on your horse, ready to put all that you did with him in a box and stuffed away.

“Stay safe. Be seeing you.” he whispers.

You don’t trust yourself to speak so you nod, not looking back as your horse takes you away.

You’re a good mile out when Leon hears a horse’s footsteps behind him, then heavy human ones. “Where is she?”

“I told you to follow me quick, Chris. She’s gone. Just thought I’d give you the message personally so you didn’t have to wait here alone.”

Chris sighs and looks at Leon with nothing but hate. Ironic. “It’s not hard to do your damn job.”

“Can say the same about you – so, drinks? Need one after today.”

Chris looks Leon up and down, eyebrows furrowed when he does so. “When did you change your hat?”

He blinks, suddenly realizing his is a little tighter.

Miles out, you realize yours is a little looser.

You suppose you two will be seeing another again after all. When you do, you'll finally be ready.

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x you #cowboy!leon #leonfucker3000

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charliemwrites · 7 months

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Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.

#11 "You tricked me."

I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)

Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap

Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.

The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.

Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.

The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!

There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.

Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.

“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”

He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.

Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.

That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.

You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.

He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.

It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.

Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.

“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”

You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.

Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.

He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.

You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.

When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.

For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”

You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.

Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.

Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.

A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.

“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.

“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.

“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.

“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”

“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.

You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.

You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.

You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?

“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.

You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.

How?

When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.

“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.

You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.

The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.

But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.

“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s too quiet.”

To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”

“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”

“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”

There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.

“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”

You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.

“Almost there,” you report.

Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.

---

It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.

You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.

Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.

The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.

Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”

That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.

“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”

Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.

Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.

Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.

Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.

You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.

That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.

You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.

But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.

Given the choice, you would want him here.

You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.

Anything?

It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.

“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”

“You called?”

You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?

“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”

“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.

“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”

You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”

His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”

You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression.

“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”

“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”

Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.

His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.

He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.

He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”

The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.

Johnny is…

“You tricked me,” you sob.

He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”

His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.

“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.

“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”

“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”

You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.

“Yes to what?” you ask.

“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”

You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.

There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.

“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”

“Eternally.”

Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.

“Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.”

#my writing #fanfiction #john soap mactavish #reader fic #cod #writing prompts #demon!soap #soap x reader

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divinehedons · 8 months

Text

godless promethean, elektran rage.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: pirate!joel miller x siren!reader

word count: ~8.4k words (I KNOW I'M SO SORRY)

summary: when the wrath of poseidon brings in something not quite human, a hardened pirate with the harshness of a soldier at war faces a bright-eyed siren with the delusion of a dreamer.

warnings: this is a DARK, EXPLICIT fic. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT or i will BLOCK you. so much plot, pirate!au, siren!au, joel is a violent motherfucker, reader is a metamorphic creature that turns human-like when not submerged in water, graphic depiction of violence and injury, mentions of abduction and implications of abuse, explicit p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), squirting, creampie, soooo much murder. it's like a greek tragedy without the incest.

note: THANK YOU FOR 600 FOLLOWERS!!! much of this work was inspired by me rereading the odyssey by homer, but the trope of joel x siren!reader is not of my own making! thank you so much for reading, and as always, comments and reblogs are much apprciated!

Be strong, saith my heart. A wave crests over the hull of the ship. Then another. And another. I have seen worse things than this. Synchronized hands haul the rope for the sails, a last attempt to regain control of their vessel. The Balkan sea stretches before weary sailors, endless and unforgiving, with one foot in their watery grave and the other clawing to live.

In the midst of this carnage is The Flounder, harbinger of chaos, populated by a crew of men who pillage, murder, and destroy anything that gets in their way. Joel once thought of him and his men as indestructible. The Wrath of Poseidon makes him reconsider otherwise.

“Goddamnit, Bonnie, we’re never gettin’ out of this mess!” Joel yells over the deluge of rain, tightening his grip and growling as the rope digs in to the skin of his palms. He sees another wave crest over them, sturdy as a wall, coming down upon their shivering backs, leaving them spluttering out seawater. He coughs momentarily, heaving in air as he digs his feet into the deck.

When he regains his breath, he hears his name being called. He looks, their Captain bellowing from where he steered. His new orders came through in the middle of the crack of thunder and the whistle of an unending storm. Check beneath the deck for damages. Fix anything that could sink them. He calls for someone to replace his hold and he runs for it.

In his head, he had begun to pen a letter back to his waiting daughter under the care of his brother. Dear Sarah, he thinks, climbing down the ladder and finding himself in knee-deep, ice-cold water. I promised you that this will be my last expedition. That after this, we shall live out however you want us to. I only hope that I can live up to that promise. He cusses under his breath when he finds a growing leak in the hull, crossing himself as he immediately went about to fix it temporarily with what materials he could find. You’re safer with your uncle Tommy than here in this misery. And should anything happen to me, know that I love you and I trust you to be good to him, too. He crosses the threshold to see if there was anything else, moving across floating bottles, bobbing up and down with remnants of booze. With a sigh, isolated from the chaos above deck, he leans against a column, grabbing a drifting bottle and swallowing down the booze to settle his nerves.

I grow old, I grow old. He mouths the words under his breath. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

The muffled sounds of the world melts away as he tries to catch his breath, gritting his teeth from the ache in his hips. Getting too old for this. He tries to think of a way that rest can be comfortable in this mess. Sleep, he thinks, delicious and profound. The very counterfeit of death. It is only when his nerves settle that he hears it.

A splash in the common room. Too loud to be some drifting object. Something that continues to move against the motion of the ship between the waves. He stills himself, the empty bottle slipping between his fingers. Slowly, he moves closer to the source of the sound, like a predator stalking his prey in the darkness. He retrieves a drifting harpoon, peeking through the threshold of the room to inspect. In the semi-darkness, interrupted by the flickering of lanterns and dying candelight, he catches the shimmer of something alive. He raises his weapon, looks through his good eye, his brows crinkling at the effort to focus.

Too old and too goddamn blind for this shit.

He blinks a few times more before he finally sees. And what he sees is you.

Your lithe arms reaching against the walls of the ship, trying to find a weak link that could let you escape. Were you brought in by the waves? Were you the very thing responsible for the leak he just had to fix? Initially, Joel made the movement to speak, to ask how you had ended up here—the sea is no place for a maiden like you. But his breath hitches when he looks closer to see… well, you. The incandescent flickering of a scaled tail, blending with inhuman yet somewhat human skin around your hips, and your upper body, glorious, unmarked, and completely fucking naked.

Perhaps it was the months at sea, conversing with no one but the same crew of men who, despite their intelligentsia and capabilities, do not exactly have the looks capable of producing in him the flustering exhilaration of some teenager. But he, of all people, know of the stories, too. The whispers shared in the saloons in the darkness. The shared thrill and excitement of such beauty and danger lurking beneath the temptresses’ skins. He has heard of claws coming for his companions’ throats, have heard of the trickery they can cause with the power of the ocean entirely at their disposal. He thinks of Odysseus again— tethered to the mast of his ship, The only one of his men to hear the voice of the sirens and have survived. Odysseus, who would have laid his life down just to come close to the very presence of something so divine.

Another thing he knows is that the price of one siren is half the bounty they had planned for. Months of work cut out for himself. Months closer to seeing his daughter again. It’s enough to give him the taste of freedom. His own little piece of heaven that, ironically, is someone else’s hell. The funny thing was, he does not feel guilt about it.

Perhaps he was not Odysseus. He was not as noble. Nor did he ever want to be. A noble character would never provide a good life for his Sarah, waiting for him oceans away.

That was the decision that sealed the creature’s fate before him. Without a second thought, he fires his harpoon, the sharp head piercing through the creature’s shoulder as an angelic wail emanates from her precious throat. With her pinned down, he had begun yelling, calling for the presence of men to see what they’ve caught in their vessel. Their ticket to riches. The honeypot herself.

The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.

He swallows down the guilt as the thunder of heavy steps descend upon their victim, her screams only growing louder and louder amidst the exhilarated, disbelieving laughter of his companions. He does not dare to look. Does not dare to see those doe eyes of yours begging for respite, pulling him into your charms.

An eye of an eye. A good life for Sarah in exchange for hers.

Fair enough.

—-

When The Flounder has escaped the barrages of the storm, the sea is quiet. Some would even say peaceful. Joel wouldn't exactly use that word. Not when he hears your wails breaking the silence. That first night, no one understood what needed to be done. No one even bothered to try and treat your wound. The very wound he had caused. Everyone had something more important to do. Clear the seawater beneath the hull, secure the sails, have a quick meal, get a few winks of sleep. Naturally, the mythical being, as all other inconsequential things, were tucked away, you dealt with the usual brusque nature of men.

So when he had been called to watch you before dawn broke, that's what he set his mind to. Stepping down beneath the deck, with spare scraps of cloth and booze in hand. They've cleared out the flooding. But the wood hadn't dried completely. Mick, who he had passed beforehand, gave him a questioning look. "Aren't ya scared she'd rip your throat out?"

He scoffs, tilting his head to the side as he speaks. "I'm more scared of the stench she'll make if she starts dyin' on us, Micky."

What he did not expect when he opens the closet you've been locked in is the metamorphic cross between a tail and legs you kick out at him. What he hears next is the snarl, your body knocking him over, small, webbed hands slipping around his throat. “You asshole!” That same heavenly voice, filled with so much malice that does not fit with the angelic features towering over him. You speak in a language he does not understand, a torrent of words driven by so much emotion that he sees a glance of what Homer was so distasteful about. You could kill him, devour him bones and all and you wouldn’t even flinch.

However, he sees how your rage blinds you, too. Blinds you to his precise movements, making you think you’ve subdued him, only to suddenly flip your positions, pinning you down by your wrists, trying to look into your eyes.

What you see, staring up at him as your last yells escape you, is the strands of silver in his hair. What follows next is his tired eyes. A sea of stories that you feel as if you can almost hear them if the world is quiet enough. However, you cannot deny the warmth to them. The fire that you failed to see in the other men that shoved you in the closet you have been suffocating in. It’s what makes you stop in your struggle as you finally hear his voice.

“Damnit, let me help you, honey, c’mon…”

It’s then that Joel finally comprehends what he sees. You, a mythical being that shifts from merfolk in one instance, to a walking goddess in the next. Perhaps it was what helped your kind survive; camouflaging yourself and disappearing amidst throes of people. “You turn when ya… when…?”

You swallow, breathless and trembling as you grit your teeth. He sees the panic in your eyes, the idea that he can just betray you if he wanted to. If it would benefit him.

“Let me help you, darlin’.”

“W-when I’m…” You breathe in sharply. “When I’m not in water.”

He nods, slowly, watching the lithe legs and your bare body, spotless and perfect in every way. “I see.” He removes himself from you, moving away from your periphery. You gather your breath, turning over to see him, kneeling over an upturned washtub, somewhat filled with some form of water or another. “Those men up there? They can’t see you like this, otherwise…” he trails off, preferring not to picture what they’d do. What they’ve all once done before at sea. “Ya hear me?” He looks back at you, watching the way your hands gripped your bleeding shoulder wound, evidence of what he had already done to you. “You don’t know what else they can do to a pretty girl like ya.”

So, gently, he kneels beside you with a pained groan from the ache in his knees. You flinch under his touch and he gives you a stern look. “Why did you do this?”

He shakes his head, opening the bottle he brought down with him to pour it over the gaping flesh. Your soft fingers grip on to his arm, the softest whine escaping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not the only one fightin’ to survive in this world, honey.” He shushes you gently, moving to wrap what pieces of cloth he could find, using them to bandage your wound as you finally soften in his hold. He helps you into the tub, and he tries not to look into your eyes again.

You spoke again when he turned away, giving you the privacy he assumed you needed. “Just because you need to survive doesn’t mean I need it any less.” He stops in his tracks, looking down for a moment before clearing his throat. “Are men always this wretched? That one must tear down the innocent to survive?” He moves to answer, turning back momentarily, before sighing, turning back to continue cleaning up the mess. “Thank you, though. For… this.”

You know exactly how to describe it. You just don’t want him to hear it. The gentleness that comes, not in the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

Joel hears the noise in his head, clouding his thoughts and drowning them out as he moves from one place to another.as he tries not to think about you, quiet in a tub of water, pretending to ignore him. Men are so quick to blame the gods…

He hands you a plate of scraps. The trimmings from a loaf of bread. A slice of some meat, and the last pieces of cheese he could find. “Eat,” he orders gruffly, moving to sit by the side of your tub, while he seats himself with a slice of bread. “Can’t have ya dyin’ of starvation either.”

You obey, weakened by the struggles of the evening, disheartened by your imprisonment, so close to freedom and at the same time so far away from it. You eat slowly, as if considering each little fragment you were handed, as if the world is unfamiliar in the presence of someone else.

Joel couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was your charm. Whatever it was, he started to tell you things.

He tells you of his life, so far away from the ocean, landlocked. He tells you how they make a living with animals. But he also tells you about Sarah. Sarah who dreamt of the world. Sarah who he was doing all this for. Sarah who asked him as a child to read to her every night. Sarah who was growing more and more with each passing day, the gap between the two of them becoming wider than he could ever comprehend.

“My survival may not mean much,” he says, “but hers is the most vital thing in my life, doll.”

He feels your gaze on him, becoming easier and easier to see as the sun slowly grows higher in the sky. In thirty minutes, his watch will end, and you do not know how the next man will treat you next. Will he be kind? Will he have Joel’s eyes?

He turns to leave, taking the plates with him as he stands up with a pained groan. “Don’t cause too much trouble, girl.” He only stops when you say his name, his gaze catching the blurry image of you, your tail sinking beneath you in the tub. “Yeah?”

“Will you read to me when you return?” you whispered, afraid to show fragility in your own internment.

He nods after a moment of thought, clambering up on deck to report back to the Captain.

Men are so quick to blame the gods.

—

For a while, a week or so, you believed things could be nice with Joel somewhat in your corner. Everyone else seemed to care less or cower in fear of you. Maybe because you do try to scare them away. At least, if you were going to be betrayed, it was Joel doing the betraying.

He returned at the same time just as he did the night before. And slowly, a routine emerges. He cleans your wounds, he feeds you whatever he finds. Then he reads to you. His eyes are too weak to read without you holding the lantern. So you learned that second night to emerge from your tub and to hold the lantern for him. He reads to you with the skilled words of a bard. He reads to you as if he’d read this tale before. Perhaps to Sarah? Perhaps to someone else?

You feel your stomach curdle at the thought of there being someone else in his life. You swallow down the bile and listen more closely.

When he leaves at dawn, you lie in the tub, dreaming of the words he had read to you, turning your back to the man that comes next. They do not bother you. You do not bother them. You become a ghost until he brings you to life.

Sing to me, Muse, of the Man of many wiles.

By the third night, he brings with him a blanket for you to wrap yourself in as you sit closer beside him, trying to follow the words he read, only to surrender because the letters are too rigid, too unnatural. You began shutting your eyes as he reads to you, learning of Odysseus, a once too familiar name you have heard in others of your kind before…

Sing to me, Muse, of these matters. Daughter of Zeus,My starting point is any point you choose.

You begin to talk to him too by the fourth night, observing your transformed toes as he hammered little areas he figured needed repairs. You tell him of the world beneath the waves, the languid distances you’ve traveled, never truly feeling as if you have found a home. You tell him, too, of wonders big and small.

You spoke of all these things, pretending to be unaware of the way he listens with such interest. It’s like you wanted him to be interested. How could you not, when night by night his eyes become warmer and warmer whenever they fell upon you? How could you not when he’s the only one that cared?

You try to read his thoughts, sometimes, when it’s quiet and he prefers to sit by himself, finding a few winks of sleep while you ate your food. He’s rather good at hiding them. You wonder if it makes his life easier. You wonder if any of it is easy for him.

Then he asks you something on his fifth watch.

“Is the whole singin’ thing somethin’ you actually do?”

You turn your head over your shoulder, setting down the snowglobe you’ve taken an interest in the last couple of hours. You saw it on a shelf this afternoon. And you had been impatient for Joel to arrive ever since. You consider the question, Then you smile and nod meekly.

“Do…” you pause, moving to face him instead. “Do you want to hear?”

He smirks, moving the chair closer to your seated frame, seating with the backing pressed to his front, legs straddling the seat, arms atop, covering that sliver of chest you had been sneaking glances from all evening. He had that thin linen shirt on again— the one that swoops down his chest. The one you see in your dreams.

“Only if it won’t kill me, sweet cheeks.”

You like that. Sweet cheeks. You barely understand what it means. You nod slowly, moving to lay on your back as you stare at the ceiling, monotonous and unchanged since you last looked. As you sing, you try not to look him in the eye. As if you cannot bear the sight of him seeing your capabilities and forever changing his perception of you. The hymn is warm, almost homely. A relentless Odyssey that means to take you home. A song that’s said to bring forth memories of home. You know Joel does not understand the language. Nor do you want him to. You won’t admit it, but you’re still terrified of what he could do if you remind him of how much he misses his home.

But what is even more surprising is this: instead of reminiscing about the tropics from which you have loved so deeply, all you can think about is him. All you can picture is his face. All you can see is possibilities of how he’s looking at you now.

When you finish, dawn is already breaking over the horizon. He has to go.

Quietly, you rose and slowly return to the tub with your snowglobe, watching as your body metamorphosizes— your last line of defense for survival. The shine of your scales so familiar, but never this clear under the water. The light is always so diffused— as distant as a foreign planet. Joel, on the other hand, stays there for a few minutes more, looking at the spot where you just were—at the plank of wood bearing the wet shape of your body. You started to think maybe he won’t leave when he swallows, rising from where he sat, and approaching you to hand the cheese he couldn’t eat from his portion of the meal.

“I quite enjoyed that,” he confesses, tucking the food into your palm. Just then, he encloses your hand in both of his, taking a moment to savor the feeling of your cool, changed skin against his. He wonders momentarily if you’ll feel different without your tail. “Thank you.”

He leans down, bringing your hand up to his waiting mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. A shiver runs down your spine as you comprehend the sensation. His lips. How warm he is… the scruff of his beard against smooth skin. You feel him smirk against your hand, pulling away as he makes his way above deck.

And on your hand is the reddened skin that evidenced the smidgen of affection you were giving. And for now, it’s enough.

You turn your back to the world once more and into your own dream world, staring at your hand as you dream of Joel all morning long.

—

You suppose everything that goes around does eventually come around. You wonder why you're so optimistic. But, you supposed, just as things were getting better, the fates had other plans in store for you.

The call came just as you were coming of the stupor of sleep. From what you can tell, it was barely midday, and someone was yelling above where you resided. All hands on deck.

The thunderous noise of heavy feet trundle above head. The man watching you grumbled, muttering something along the lines of, "don't you dare think about running, li'l bitch."

You watch him slam the door, and curiosity gets the better of you. You rise slowly from the tub, slinking along the floor, struggling to lift yourself enough to peer out from one of the windows. But when you do, you've come to realize the gravest sin of your naivety.

There is a ship to be plundered. Slowly, the masks worn by the men where you are melt away. You see familiar men with their swords drawn, laughing maniacally, screaming and terrifying the ship they've found to appease their hunger.

You feel your body changing, and you begin to turn away from the window when you catch sight of silver hair and scruff. A visage that you finally see in broad daylight.

Joel is one of the men who almost seem to dance to the song of violence. Perhaps the stories were true. Perhaps the secrets of the shadows are laid bare in the light. Even Joel's secrets cannot escape the midday sun. When you see him, he is in battle with some toughened fisherman, their duel witnessed by cowering passengers and well-dressed women. For a moment, you think Joel will come to his senses, see how senseless all this violence is.

But then he takes the man by his hair, holding his head and facing him to the sun. His sword arches across the expanse of his victim's neck, rivulets of blood bursting forth in gush, an unstoppable stream. A squeal escapes you, the violent image burnt into the recesses of your brain, forcing you away from the window.

You run on shaky legs, screaming and yelling, reaching the doorway and attempting to push the door open, only to find resistance. Your fists pound the hard wood, your body pushing and shoving, unable to accept the fact that you can't call to him— show him that you saw and you demand an answer why.

For the first time, ever since Joel shot you with a harpoon, you truly understood something you tried so hard to ignore.

You sleep under the shelter of murderers. You think you felt affection from the hands of a man who just as easily took someone's life away. You are only loved because you're something else. Something not human.

You are only loved because you'll ensure their survival.

—

The blade itself incites the deeds of violence.

When the carnage ended, Joel raised his head to see the sky beginning to paint itself in bolder strokes of colors. He stretches his arms, only to feel the sticky plasma of drying blood sticking to his arms, his torso, spotting the expanse of his face. He is the last to leave their conquered ship, and he takes his time. He walks along the scattered piles of bodies, putting whoever hasn't perished out of their misery with the very same blade he wielded in battle. He's alive. He can go home. He watches the revelry on their vessel: men roasting the spoils from the kitchen, barrels upon barrels of ale and mead slowly being chewed through.

The stage is set. All they need is a little shock of entertainment.

But what he worries about is you. You who probably cowered from fear at the sudden influx of noise. You who definitely saw the things they are capable of doing. You with the wound on your shoulder, healing at a snail's pace with your imprisonment. So, he takes the time to find supplies to help you. He finds antiseptic. He finds needle and thread. It will have to do.

When he returns to his ship, He has spread oil across the deck where the bodies lay. With one bloody hand, he strikes a match to burn away the evidence of their carnage. The burning ship drifts further and further into the horizon, drowned out by the sounds of cheering. Joel is handed a mug of better than average mead.

As he watches the lights flicker and consume the rest of the ship, one question remains at the forefront of his thoughts, echoed and repeated by every voice in his head.

Do I dare?

Clarity comes when he's two mugs in, everyone else fucking off to see how much treasure piled up. He looks at the door that leads directly where you are and the question becomes clearer. It is in the iambic beat of his heart. I am, I am, I am.

It's in the excitement at the thought of seeing you tonight and having a good meal to offer. He begins to smirk, taking two plates and finding food he thinks you'll like.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

—

You do not look at him when he enters. You cannot, knowing the things you’ve seen today. Especially when you hear he’s happy, humming as he sinks down the stairs from the deck. The jump on his step was not there before. And instead of finding that itching curiosity to see if he was smiling or if you were responsible for this joy, you feel your stomach sour at one thought.

Perhaps the slaughtering of others brought glee to his bones.

“You must be hungry,” he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You feel a strange stickiness to his touch. So strange that you finally look, only to be horrified by the sight of his bloodsoaked hand. You yelp helplessly, shrinking away from his touch. You shed tears, luminescent in the semi-darkness, as precious as pearls that only he can see. “Darlin’...” His hand comes to cup your face gently, trying to make you look him in the eye. In this form, your skin is cold, the warmth of his hands turning your skin red.

“Y-you killed them,” you finally manage, the iron smell filling your senses. Seeing you panicked, Joel reaches down into the tub to slowly bring you out of your tub and into his willing arms, slow shushes escaping him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

So that was what you were so scared of.

You bury your face into his chest, his shirt smelling of him— of sandalwood and musk, tobacco smoke, and underneath it all, a few specks of blood. Meanwhile, he lets you, cradling you in his arms as you continue to shed your tears. He lets you, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him with so much emotion in that pretty little head of yours.

But when you do eventually calm down, he doesn’t miss a moment. He couldn’t.

“I can never harm you, honey.” He breathes in through his nose, finally close enough to smell you. The sea air in your hair, sunshine and honeysuckles from lands he can only dream of. “I can’t even if I tried.”

Slowly, he lays you down where he had dropped his sheet—the sheet you’ve been wrapping yourself around. The sheet that smells like the both of you; that way he could imagine waking up to you the past few times he had gotten sleep. Slowly, he straddles your changed form, naked and so fucking divine it has his head spinning. “Can I take care of ya, darlin’?” He waits for you. Even when everything is pushing him to kiss you— he has to know you want this.

He has to know you’re not miserable.

Seeing this, you take a deep breath. You hold his face. Your skin, smooth and not exactly human, bright against his, earth-marred, bloody, and burnt from days in the sun. And yet, you do not see those flaws. All you see are his warm eyes, so desperate to tell you he wants you, and yet so willing to walk away if you asked. So you grip him by his shirt, pulling him against you in a wanton, desperate kiss.

It is the first kiss you share. The first of the hundreds you’ll share that night. But you will always remember that first.

Because it’s burning against your cool skin. Because the scratch of his scruff is a sensation you have not felt in the long life you have lived. He holds your face, bringing your head closer to him, pressing against the front of his skull, making you whine from want as he deepens the kiss. You’ll always remember it because you know this kiss.

You can already see the ending before the two of you ever began.

His hand slips into your hair, his mouth pulling away from yours, only to drift down your cheek, your jaw… He chuckles against your skin when you gasp so meekly, melting like butter in his arms.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispers, marking the crook of your neck with his mouth. “Let me show you how ya have me wrapped around your pretty li’l finger.”

Already, you can see him in your memories, tangled up in him. His kisses on your neck, his spit drying against your skin. His fingers reaching and tearing you apart. In the eternity you’ll be facing alone… he’s there. Just there, a willing invitation to a dream.

He’s pushing your legs up, now fully transformed, and he comprehends everything. Without words, it seems, things simply come naturally to him. He cups your cheek with one hand, folding your body in half as your legs drape over his broad shoulders. His thumb brushes your lips, and you part them for him. You let him fuck his thumb into your wet mouth, groaning at the way you suck on him. “Good girl…”

Just then, his other hand reaches down, a warm sensation cupping your cunt as you whine softly against him, looking him in the eye. “Good God, are you always this soakin’?”

You slowly pull back, shivering softly from the sensation of him parting your folds. Only you, Joel. No one else can do this to me. He comprehends, and he groans again, leaning down to kiss you. His cock aches in the confines of his pants. Just like that, everything dulls out and he can only comprehend this: to have you. You, you, and just you.

“Guess I have some makin’ up to do to ya, huh?”

Just then, his head disappears between the valley of your breasts, marking a trail of blood-red hickeys down to your stomach, one hand pinching a nipple harshly enough to make you squeal, to which he shushes you again. Gonna get us caught, doll. He continues his way, finally finding your sweet cunt. He shifts his hands so he can slowly part your folds. He kisses the inside of your thighs just as you clamp one hand over your whining mouth. And, with nothing left to do, he takes a deep breath, looking at your face as he sinks his tongue down between your folds, tasting you with a longing groan of delight.

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.

All you can feel is the flurry of rhythm Joel sets. His trembling jaw, as if whispering prayers to whatever powers may be. His tongue splitting you open and fucking you raw in a way so obscene, you think it’s unbecoming. Perhaps it is. Perhaps by letting him have you this way, you have turned your back on your world. But he fucks one finger into your surprisingly warm cunt and everything else fades away into the silence.

“Fuck, baby…” It’s so easy, you whining urging him on, calling for him and begging to just keep going, dear God. One finger becomes two, then three. Then he raises himself so he can see your face better. So he can see the way your features contort into a heavenly amalgamation of beauty and pleasure and wonder in one full spectrum. But there is nothing more beautiful when his fingers brush against something that made you keen closer to his touch, eyes wide open with your mouth trembling.

“That’s it, isn’t it, darlin’? It is, huh?” He chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating from his chest, echoing to the backs of your thighs, and finally, straight to your wanting cunt. He smirks, his upper body shifting so his arm was much more free— just so he can keep aiming for that one spot that made you keen so beautiful he gets a glance of your otherworldly beauty.

A long forgotten poem comes up from the back of his head, just as he was pulling your orgasm from your willing frame, his other hand covering your mouth before you get too loud just so you wouldn’t be interrupted, caught, and possibly separated.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. “Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good girl, honey…” I did not think they’ll sing for me.

You shut your eyes, grinding your hips into his touch, chasing a sensation you can’t even dare put into words. You whine into the palm of his hand, feeling as if your skin, normally so cool, set on fire with the desire you have for Joel. You peer through your damp lashes, making out the silhouette of his smirk, his warm eyes somewhat swelling with pride.

“Joel… there’s… there–” you barely get the words out when you feel it. Your vision going white, the electricity flowing through your body, and coming out of you in warm bursts.

Heaven, you think, from how Joel so lovingly described it.

When you come to, he’s pulling his fingers away, and a spurt of fluids follow in the wake of his absence. He chuckles, the sound of it emanating the very depths of your consciousness. “Didn’t know ya could do that, pretty girl.”

It leaves you warm, slightly sleepy. Slightly drifting in and out—the way the ocean climbs and recedes from the shore.

You don’t notice the way Joel watches you. The way blood smeared your perfect face. You do not notice his hand tracing down your torso, coloring it a faded, rusty red. Marked by him, and for him.

And yet if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so will I endure. For already have I suffered so much, and much have I toiled in perils of waves and wars. Let she be added to the tales of those.

“Please eat,” he finally says as he kisses your forehead. “I saved a plate for you.”

So you do. You sit up, trembling, the cool porcelain pressed against your thigh as you feasted. Grapes, expensive nuts, and meats you could only dream of. You try not to think of the price he paid to lavish you with such an offering. Because now, instead of the guilt, you feel the rumblings of power in your veins. You have become his very god, the one he’d slay men for. The very god to which he offers a plate paid for by carnage. And if you’ve become god, what can you offer him?

Heaven was not fit to house a creature such as I.

—-

He makes love to you after dinner. Slow, careful. He doesn’t want to terrify you. He doesn’t want to get caught, either. He has you on his lap, your cool hands cupping his heated face, spineless from pleasure as he fucks up into you, giving you a moment to accommodate him and get used to the feeling of his cock stretching you wide open. Every vein, his very length, arching and filling you up in the best way there is to be filled.

“Tell me you want this,” he asks, and you oblige him. You whine for him, calling, biting your lip and throwing your head back. You lead his hand to your chest, heaving with slow, shaky breaths. He knows what you want without ever asking it of you. And that is why he squeezes the curve of your breast, sitting up to press his mouth to your collarbone. The kisses set your skin aflame, his fingers pinching and pulling the pleasure from your willing body.

So he gives you everything. You cum once again with you on top of him. You cum again after he bends you over the nearest table with his rough fingers rubbing circles on your needy clit. And on the third time, somewhere when it’s quiet, you both lie on the blanket, your back to his chest, his cock unmoving inside of you.

It’s a moment of respite. A lull. A moment to catch breaths.

“How much did you see earlier?”

His arm is around your waist, his mustache brushing against the back of your ear. It’s nice. It’s almost domestic, a word so foreign to you. Perhaps domesticity is something innately human. But he makes you have a taste of it. And it tastes so sweet. You hum softly, tilting your head so he can kiss more of your neck.

“I saw the first man you killed,” you tell him, to which he groans, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t watch any more after that. It was… too much.” You feel his teeth brushing against the curve of your ear. Then he bites gently just to hear you squirm.

“I don’t want you lookin’ anymore, sweetheart,” he whispers, “not if it’s going to upset you this much.” He leans up, peering over your peaceful face, with your eyes shut and your body languid. “But… I suppose I’ll try.” You open one eye, peering up at him. “Less murders, my queen, yes ma’am.”

You giggle, pressing your palm to his mouth as he continues to tease you with such pet names. He speaks behind your palm. Angel baby, cutie pie… Other pet names you don’t comprehend because the sounds disappear into your cool skin.

And then he’s fucking you again, with you on your side and him above you, caging you in his arms. You catch your lip between your teeth, gritting out half-choked moans. Already, the pleasure has begun to border the line between pleasure and pain. Already, you feel your legs quaking, but you feel the tremble in his spine as well.

He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

That’s when you notice how sporadic his bursts of movement are becoming. Fewer and shorter in between. So, you begin to give back, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying on top of him once more, digging your blunt nails down against his biceps. You feel his hands on your waist. Bloody hands that have taken an infinite number of lives before you. Bloody hands that will take who knows how many lives after. Bloody hands, that, despite their track record, hold you as if you are so fragile in his grasp.

Gentleness incomprehensible. The best of the world in the palms of his hands.

The both of you, flying into deep, empty space. Alone with Joel in the aether.

Watching his orgasm wash over him just as yours does for the fourth and last time. He pulls you into his chest, letting you moan into his chest. The only thing that betrays his release is the stuttered breaths, the shaky fingers. That is all. And then you feel the warmth of his seed, buried deep within you, treasured and tucked away. It’s so much, you feel it reach places you didn’t expect it to be.

Even when he’s ending things, he’s giving you everything he’s got.

In the afterglow, he takes care of you. Already, the sun is rising Once again, you won’t see him until it’s dark again. You’ll be turning away from the world and dreaming of those eyes and his smile. But for now, he wipes you clean, kissing your forehead as he brings you back to your tub. For now, you hold his hand for another minute.

“Y’know… Sarah loved playing siren as a fuckin’ kid,” he finally says, cleaning up the plates in silence. “She loves the sea.”

You peer over the lip of the tub, smiling up at him dreamily. “She must be so beautiful. With your smile?” You sigh, leaning back as you look up at the ceiling. “You must miss her much.”

He brushes your cheek with a sigh, shrugging. “Every fuckin’ day, baby.”

He walks away from you, and you wait for him to look back. He does, with a shit-eating smirk at your dazed eyes, neck marked up by his own doing. “Don’t kill anybody today, Joel.”

He nods slowly. “Get some sleep, squirt.” As you turn away, the smile drops. He cannot show that vulnerability out there, amongst the men he’s shared blood, sweat, and tears with. Men he killed from and men he killed with. Men who’d want to tear you apart and swallow you whole. Men who’d kill him if they knew what the two of you did all night.

Then how should I begin to spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways? How should I presume?

He doesn’t have to presume for long. Not when he emerges on deck and he sees the dark shadow of land specking the endless sea of blue he had grown accustomed to. There stands the rise and fall of a mountain, a jagged line breaking the skyline.

The Captain speaks, and the shock burns through him so rapidly that he tries to hide it by leaning against the starboard side.

We hit land midday tomorrow. Our li’l baggage ‘bout to finally bring in some fuckin’ money.

The clock is ticking, what else can he do? Go, go, go.

—

When Joel returns, he’s waking you from a long, languid sleep. You turn to smile at him, but there’s a different look in his eyes. An urgency, a finger pressed to your lips to ensure silence. He carries you from the water and you’re brought up close to see the crease on his forehead. When he wraps you in the sheet, that’s when he speaks.

“Need t’get ya out of here, baby.”

The great escape. The prison break.

Now you feel the tension.

He waits for you to turn, to become inconspicuous. Meanwhile, he’s hot on his heels. He’s gripping a rucksack in his hands, heavy with some inconceivable baggage, muttering to himself. You start to understand the madness. You start to wonder if there’s two versions of Joel waiting behind every door. One of them is the lover— the man who’d kiss you as he introduces you to a world of pleasure. Then there was the monster— the man who sliced open the throat of the person he was robbing blind, the man who fired the harpoon that caused your imprisonment.

“So the monster has come to set me free of my bonds.”

You rise, shaky on your legs and clothed in that sheet that kept you modest. It’s when he stops in his tracks, looking you in the eye before sighing, tearing the cloth away from you to introduce a linen shirt of his. It smells of him; perhaps it even reeks of him.

“They’re going to butcher you if I don’t try, sweetheart.”

You do what you promised to yourself you’ll do when he asks you something. You put your blind faith into his hands and take a leap.

He leads you through a maze of rooms you cannot comprehend. You stop at the crosshairs. You duck under tables when he asks you to. And you know why. Because the men who thirst for your blood can be found on every corner. Because you’re running out of time. Because he’d rather lose you to the waves than those who shed blood like he does.

In a matter of minutes, you find yourselves in the cool evening air. It’s a blind spot, and it’s far enough that he helps you to the raft while it’s almost silent. The sounds of men beginning to have dinner so distant and far away, it’s like an entirely different world. Skillfully, Joel lowers you both into the ocean, the distant beating of the waves masking the sound of him cutting the rope that tethered you to the ship.

He keeps one hand on the behemoth you’ve escaped, and he audibly counts. Quiet enough for you to hear. Tens. Hundreds. Then, a thousand seconds passes.

He pauses, straining to hear. In the flickering light of the lanterns, you see the silver in his hair and his beard. You wonder, momentarily, if it’s the last you’ll see of him. That’s when you hear it.

Yells. But not of alarm. Not of you, their treasured prisoner, missing from her cage. It’s the yells of panic. Of suffering. Of pain.

Upon seeing your features, Joel finally reveals the hidden card up his sleeve.

“I poisoned them. I poisoned them and robbed them blind so they’ll never come after you.”

You look to him, waiting for another shoe to drop. But there is none. This is who he is, laid bare for you to see. Your devotee, giving you the ultimate sacrifice. This is not the monster nor the lover. This is Joel. All masks have fallen to their knees and prostrated themselves before you. Every post abandoned and conquered, only for you.

“Go.”

You blink, and his trembling fingers hold your cheeks, his shaky lips kissing the crown of our head.

“No one’s coming for you as long as I’m there to stop them.”

When you don’t move, he grits his teeth, as if caught between a rock and a hard place. A second passes, then his arms take you, throwing you overboard and into the familiar depths of an ocean below.

The waves welcome you with a surge of power, relentless and enduring. More immortal than you. More divine than you can ever hope to be. The moment you are released from Joel’s hold, the saltwater licks clean the wound on your shoulder. It washes away the scent of Joel’s shirt.

He’s already being erased from you.

From beneath the depths, everything comes back to you. The kiss on your hand, the scraps of food. His sticky, bloodmarked fingers marking you. All of it, slipping through your fingers like sand. In the cool darkness of the open sea, all you can see is a flame starting from the base where you last saw Joel. A fire spreading amongst the ship which you once hailed your prison.

You can see Joel’s boat, smaller in comparison, already racing away towards the shore.

All you can do now, with the power of Poseidon surging and bubbling beneath your veins, is to sing. To sing a hymn that begs before the very gods themselves. But it’s a song that begs Joel, too. Begs him to remember you.

Don’t forget me. You do not know if he hears you. Don’t forget me.

You attempt to follow him beneath the waves.

Don’t forget me.

—-

Against all odds, Joel Miller disembarks from the train to find himself in a farmland so familiar to him. Against all odds, it is three weeks later, and he’s followed all the roads and finds himself home.

He breathes in the smell of wheat under the scorching summer heat. He embraces it. He puts one foot ahead of the other, sea legs no longer present. The ground is too still that it still sometimes unnerves him.

A few meters away, he catches sight of the house. The windows wide open, the breeze making the curtains dance within. And on his porch is a familiar figure that had lowered her book and peered in his direction. He sees her face, and relief encompasses his bones. Sarah.

She’s running to him, yelling, loud and youthful and her face is like the sun. He feels himself smiling, too. The first time in weeks. Miles of walking and sleepless nights fade away with each step you take closer together. Then she’s running to his arms squealing as he embraces her.

Tell me. Is this really then Ithaca?

Finally, the years that separate the little family are slowly bridged. He rebuilds. He tells her stories. He tells her about you. When the sun sets, he tucks Sarah in and kisses her forehead.

Now, here he is. A couple of months that feels like decades have passed him by. He dreamt of you every night for the past three weeks. He sits in his bath, wondering if this was ever how you felt in those long, terrifying days. Did you feel peace, too?

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.

His eyes fall shut. His breath slows.

A moment of peace as he sees your face, smiling at him, languid hands reaching and asking him to follow you.

He hears your voice, singing into his ear as he chuckles.

Until human voices wake us, and we drown.

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @boofy1998 @persephone-girl @lunxramour @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pirate!joel miller x siren!reader #pirate!joel miller #pirate!au #siren!au #mermaid!au

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fredwkong · 10 months

Text

Himbo Maker: Jean

Jean was deep into muscle. Ever since he’d been the smallest kid in his class every year in school, he’d felt an intense need to someday become the kind of guy who could really dominate a room with his body.

However, even as an adult, he was still a little guy. He’d tried for years, but no matter what, his dark-skinned body stayed slender. So instead, he spent all his free time on forums dedicated to muscle growth, living vicariously through the experiences of others as they gained muscle and posted pictures.

One day he received an unusual message request from another guy on the forum. He’d never seen him in the threads before, but his username was Himbo_mkr so Jean assumed he was probably here for roleplay.

Techie_jean: Hey man. What’s up?

Himbo_mkr: Not much bro. Just been chilling and looking at pix of muscley dudes. I noticed you don’t make many posts. You good?

Techie_jean: Guess I’ve just never done the smart thing and gotten myself a plan.

Himbo_mkr: Brah, you don’t need a plan! I can help you get big in just a few minutes! Wanna give it a shot?

Jean chuckled. Yep, this guy was looking for some roleplay. He looked around his room. Well, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do this afternoon but play video games and build some Gundam. He may as well have some fun with this guy first.

Techie_jean: Sure! What do I have to do first?

Himbo_mkr: The first thing you gotta do is get dumb, bro! Muscles aren’t made with smarts, you need to have nothing in your brain but flexing, eating, and fucking to really build hot muscle.

Straight to the point, huh! Jean was about to type a message in character as a dummy when he felt a tingling in his head. His brain suddenly felt like it was full of cotton, he was having trouble putting thoughts together. Slowly, he made his fingers move. He had to really focus to string the words together.

Techie_jean: Bro… What’s happenin to me?

Himbo_mkr: You’re getting dumb, bro! When a guy gets really serious about getting big muscles, the power to do it comes from all of his useless brains! The smarter he was at the start, the bigger and dumber he ends up.

Jean… supposed that made sense? He couldn’t figure out how this guy could be wrong. He wasn’t really the smartest guy, after all. He scratched his head and looked around his room. It was like it was changing before his eyes, but that couldn’t be right either. No more video games, just a pile of gay muscle pornos. His gundam and other dolls replaced with sex toys and gear that he used to show off his skinny little body. Jean was definitely not smart by any means.

Dummy_jean: Yeah bro, I’m pretty stupid. What were we talkin about?

Himbo_mkr: Getting you swole, huhuhu! Now that you’ve drained your useless brain, your muscles are gonna get huge, bro! You’re a big thick muscle bro!

Jean gasped as an indescribable warm sensation overtook his whole body. With a crack, his back, arms, and legs extended, making him a towering beanpole of a man. His muscles started to vibrate, and then expand. His legs jerked as his quads and then his hamstrings inflated, and were quickly balanced by a thick, jiggly muscle ass. His pecs burst forth from his chest to form a sturdy shelf, and then his back thickened along with his lats, belly, and growing arms.

Looking around, Jean took in the changing space. There was a new dent in his dirty mattress from his huge body, and a weight bench and rack in the corner. Of course, he had to lift all day every day to keep up his bulk. The walls and ceiling were covered in pictures of all Jean’s favourite bodybuilders, his inspiration and his jerk material.

Dumbro_jean: Whoa, bruh, my muscles are gettin huge!

Himbo_mkr: That’s not all, bro! That thick Quebecois cock of yours is keeping up too!

Quebecois? Jean was a bit dumb, sure, but he was pretty sure he’d grown up in Atlanta… Quebec City, right. His dick lengthened and lightened at the same time, and the pale skin tone rushed over his still-growing body. A healthy layer of fat followed, leaving him looking absolutely enormous. Above the blond behemoth’s bed, a Quebec flag unfurled on the wall, showing his national pride.

Jean could barely remember who he’d been before. He knew he’d been smaller… smarter? He’d been American. The idea that he’d so quickly become this huge pale Quebecois stud had him grunting and palming his dick. Soon he was close, cursing quietly in his deep new Quebecois accent.

QC_jean: Calisse, bro, gonna cum!

Himbo_mkr: Yeah brah! Shoot that musky hockey bro load.

Hell yeah! Jean grabbed a used athletic jock that had just appeared next to him. He remembered: he’d worn it for practice this morning, and it was still warm and wet with his sweat. He loved being on the ice, and being around a whole team of big, dumb, sweaty Quebecois hockey players meant he was always leaking in his jock. He held the pouch up to his nose to inhale the musk of his sweat and precum permeating the jock.

His whole room was ripe with used hockey bro gear. Jean hated cleaning any of his equipment while he was on a points streak, and it’d been a few weeks since he’d failed to score in a game. The hockey stuff scattered on the floor was ripe with stale sweat. Being a hockey bro was so fucking hot.

Jean’s thick cock unleashed a torrent of cum as he continued to curse in Quebecois. When he came down, he gave himself a sniff and looked back at his battered old laptop. It was only good for porn and surfing forums, but a bro like him didn’t need it for anything else.

Right now, the browser was open to one of his favourite sports jock forums. He had a post all ready to go, a pic of him after the last game, half undressed in his sweaty gear with his hair stuck to his face, looking like a perfect dumb hockey bro. Quickly, Jean also snapped a picture of his spent dick and sent it to his friend.

Hockey_jean: Include this too?

Himbo_mkr: Definitely, bro! You love showing off your hockey himbo body.

Yeah, this guy was right about everything. No one loved to show off that he was a hot hockey bro for the bros more than Jean.

Inspired by a chat with a bot of my own creation. Format inspired by Codename: Bear_mkr by @biggerchanger

#himbo maker #himbofication #dumber tf #hockey player tf #musk tf #race change #quebecois tf #male transformation #reality change #chat tf #male tf #all fwkong #sports tf

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bluemoonwolf17 · 6 months

Text

Lucifer damn! I have gone down a rabbit hole of DP x DC Au's, and no. I'm not mad about this! (OK, that's a tiny lie. I have three docs of TFP fandom that I need to finish) But anyway, I've had this idea, and yes, imma type it out since I have nothin' better to do anyway.

Also, this was loosely inspired by this amazin' writer Space-Dreams-World

And this is the thin' that inspired my dumbass to write Here!

Oh, and before I forget, I don't precisely remember how the comics go, so I'll probably just pull stuff outta my ass and call it a day (But hey, that's what Au's are for), but if it bothers you sorry, there's waaaay too much Batman lore and don't get me started on the Re-boots!

(I hope I didn't butcher your original idea too much, but I did say your writings loosely inspired this!)

___________

Danny, after comin' out to his parents that he's Phantom, didn't go too hot, but hey! he has multiple plans! He just didn't want to use this one...After all, who wants to live in a new dimension? He's also glad that he waited until he turned twenty-one so that he could actually leave.

Thanks to Sam siphonin' money outta her parent's money for him for years and Tucker makin' a new identity for him, a bonus is that if he went to a different dimension, it still worked!

In the end, it's better than bein' on a table in the GIW labs after his Mom turned him to said government, But it's actually not that bad. He met a cool guy named Thomas Wayne, who is really chill (Also not bad-lookin). He's been In this world for probably three years now.

He met Thomas a couple of months after he dropped into this world and set up his new name, Daniel (Danny) Nightingale. He even met his wife, Martha Wayne, And he moved into their place two years ago after he had a break-in. And it's been goin' great at this point. He's probably bein' healed hostage by both Waynes and Alfred. He's cool with it, tho!

They were even cool with him bein' a half-ghost and the King of the infinite realms, and why they found out? It was Skulker's fault. I mean, come on, who comes in at dinner and claims that he wants your pelt on his wall...Oh, wait! Skullker did. Yeah, it wasn't fun explainin' that it's just how he greets Danny after all these years and that he just wanted to have a friendly spar.

Then, one day, the Waynes learned somethin' that broke Danny's heart. Martha and Thomas were havin' a hard time gettin' pregnant they later learned that it was because Thomas was infertile.

One day, Both Martha and Thomas asked him a favor. They asked if he would be okay with helpin' them get pregnant. He's not gonna lie. It was a shocker, but he understands that he does look like Thomas a bit, and people have even called them brothers.

It also helped him out when he told them that he didn't mind helpin' them out, and since they were on the topic, he said to them that he had a little crush on both of them. They both blushed red as a tomato and told him they felt the same. They didn't really understand how it worked.

Yes, he did explain that more than one person could be in a relationship that it was called Polyamory and that he has experience with it. He dated a girl and a guy simultaneously before leaving his universe, and it worked out in the end. He started to date both of the Waynes, and Martha got pregnant with a baby boy!

All three of them were over the moon with that news, and after baby Bruce was born, both Thomas and Martha decided that he was a Wayne now, so officially, he's now Danny Nightingale-Wayne, but to outsiders, he's still just Nightingale.

Even then, the only person who knows is Alfred. When Bruce was learnin' to talk and ended up callin' him Da, he told them he was fine just bein' Bruce's Godfather or uncle. That didn't go well, so Danny is Pa, and Thomas is Dad.

Bruce didn't understand why he couldn't call Danny Pa out in public or around friends until Danny sat him down and explained that it was a secret that he was his Pa and to the world, he was just his Godfather and if anyone knew that he's was his Pa it could be bad for the family.

After the talk, Danny somewhat made a game out of it that Bruce was a super secret spy and that it was his job to protect the family (I haven't really thought of this, but I thought it would be cute) And Bruce did keep it a secret until his Mom and Dad where killed.

Danny was supposed to go with them to the movies until the Observants demanded that he return to the infinite realms for a council meetin'. While Danny was tryin' not to freeze every observant in the room for bein' straight up annoyin', he heard Bruce scream for his Mom and Dad. He then listened to his pained hiccups for his Pa to come and help them.

Danny froze. The room he was in got much colder as his core demanded him to protect his son, and he was also cryin' for his lover's death. Ice shards spread out in the room, makin' the occupants yell out in shock at what their King had done. Danny then stood up, and with a protective/pained growl, he tore open a portal and went to his son, leavin' the room in chaos.

He couldn't stop the pained whimpers from his mouth when he got there. His son, his little Galaxy, was cryin' over his parent's bodies. Danny's brightest Nebulas, his lifeline after he left his old home, was dead. Without a second thought, Danny de-transformed and quickly grabbed Bruce and held him close.

Bruce quickly grabbed onto his Pa and bawled his eyes out, sayin' how he was sorry that he couldn't save them, how he tried to protect them, how his shield failed, and that he couldn't heal them as Danny taught him.

(I think Bruce, while not bein' as ghostly as Danny, still could do more than the average liminal could. He would have a small ghost core. So he could technically make shields, and I like to think that Danny learned how to push his rapid healin' onto others and started to teach Bruce when he started to show signs of bein' a bit ghostly)

Danny shushed him and told him that he tried his best and that was all that mattered while havin' tears drip down his face. That was how the police found the two Danny sittin' on his knees while huggin' the cryin' Bruce into his chest, tryin' to hide the poor boy from the world.

Most people did accuse Danny of killin' the two until Bruce screamed at them, sayin' that his Godfather loved his parents and that he would rather hurt himself than harm his parents. Alfred also spoke up, sayin' that Danny has never tried to harm the Waynes and even pushed them out of the way if anythin' harmful ever came close to the family.

They dropped the accusation a week later after the police did indeed find out that Danny was nowhere near the scene of the crime, that he was at the airport gettin' back from somewhere, and that the only reason why Danny found them was because Thomas sent him an SOS and their location. (He's grateful that Tucker taught him how to hack)

After everythin' calmed down and Danny had full custody of Bruce, he spent most of his time in the manor with Bruce and Alfred, only goin' to the realms if he absolutely had to, and he started to teach Bruce more about his ghostly side per Bruce's request.

Bruce took more to the sneaky part of the ghost side. Danny also suspected that Bruce might have a shadow core or somethin' related to darkness. Bruce did have fun. He Bruce would try and sneak up on his Pa and Alfred. Danny suspected Alfred knew when Bruce was around and tryin' to get a drop on him. It wouldn't surprise Danny if it were true.

Everythin' was as normal as could be...Until Bruce went missin', Danny almost destroyed the manor with ice. Alfred did manage to calm him down after a while. Danny was heartbroken that he couldn't find anythin' for him or Alfred, but he could tell that Bruce was fine.

About a week after Bruce disappeared, he had no choice but to go back to the infinite realms for short to long periods of time as the Obervents demanded since his son disappeared and since Danny knew that he was safe somewhere in the dimension.

Yeah, he wasn't really pleased with that demand, but then again, messin' with those floatin' eyeballs bastards is good, but messin' with them durin' a meetin'? Even better, and hey, at least he got his frustration out.

At this point, it was probably a good couple of years since Bruce disappeared, and he did have a lot of fun pissin' off the Observents durin' one of the Obervent's "informative" meetings when he felt a pull on his core. Oh? A summon? It's been ages since the last.

When he let himself get pulled toward his "summoner" (and probably pissin' off the eyeball bastards even more), he found himself in a room with a summonin' circle under him, one that he noted didn't bind him just summoned him. He looked around the room and noticed that it had windows that showed space.

Before he would let himself delve into one of his obsessions, he looked down and almost groaned out when he saw a blond man with a trench coat. Great...John Constantine, the man who sold his soul to every damn thin' in the infinite realms, has summoned him? Mann, he already has 75% of his soul.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to say somethin' whitty towards the man, he felt somethin'. He felt his core try and pull him towards somethin'. Danny moved his eyes from the blondie and saw somethin' black move more into the shadows.

Danny narrowed his eyes. That action was so familiar to Danny. He then raised his hand and snapped his finger, lightin' up the room he was in with green flames. He heard some alarmed shouts and a curse from the blondie, but he paid no attention to them. His eyes were on the man in the black cowl.

The man noticeably stiffened, and a sheepish smile spread on his face. What? It couldn't be. Danny floated down to the ground and walked over to the man. He could tell that the man was fidgetin' more the closer he got to him until Danny stood before him. The man was a bit shorter than him, but then again, he was 8 feet tall in this form and 7 feet in his human one.

He could feel the emotions comin' off of him: anxiety, family, and happiness. Danny felt his eyes whidden and a lump in his throat form it was! He felt water buildin' up in the corners of his eyes. He then spoke out two words he thought he might never hear again.

"Little Galaxy?" he crocked out. The man stiffened for a second, then relaxed. "Yeah, it's me, Pa," Bruse said with a smile, his voice crackin' a little. Oh, ancients! His son! he found his son, his little Galaxy.

Danny fell to his knees, grabbed Bruce, and hugged him just like he would when Bruce was younger. Bruce quickly wrapped his arms around Danny and curled into his chest.

"Oh, my little Galaxy! Where have you been!? And why in the realms would you just disappear like that! You gave me and Mister A a heart attack!" Danny scolded.

He could feel the guilt off of Bruce in waves. "I'm sorry, Pa, I just-" Danny sighed when Bruce couldn't finish his sentence. Danny understood he wanted to get revenge for his Mom and Dad. He truly understood. After all, he tried to find the person but never could finish findin' them before the council called on him.

Danny was about to speak before a throat clearin' got his attention. He looked over to the sound and saw a woman. By the looks of it, she was an Amazonian, and right next to her was a man with an S on his chest, a Kryptonian? They looked calm, but he could see the subtle way they held themselves. They were goin' to attack if they saw him as a threat.

Danny smiled. It seemed that Bruce got himself some good friends...? that's not the correct term, so he looked a bit closer at the two. He then promptly lost his shit. His laugh startled everyone. When he finally calmed down, he turned to his son, wiggled his eyebrows, and tilted his head towards the two somewhat behind him.

Bruce coughed into his fist, and Danny would bet that he was blushing from the tip of his ears down to his neck. Subtley nodded his head. Danny snorted, then stood up and brought Bruce to his side. Yeah, he's not lettin' his son go any time soon, thank you very much! "Ahem, please forgive my rudeness." Danny tilted his head down a bit towards the two.

Blondie decided to speak up. "What in the blood hell?" Danny snorted at the man. "Ah, again, forgive. I haven't seen this kid in a while," he said to the room.

Bruce coughed into his hand. Everyone turned their heads towards him, "Justice League, If I may, this is Phantom or, as I like to call him, Pa." Danny tried not to laugh. Bruce seemed a little troublemaker even though he was all grown up.

Everyone in the room froze until the Kryptonian spoke up. "Batman, what the hell? I thought that...." he questioned, then trailed off at the end. Danny snorted Batman? Oh, he's totally bringin' that up soon, but first...

Danny put a hand to his core and fanned hurt. "Oh, the pain! My son never told his friends about me? I'm betrayed!" he floated onto his back, playin' hurt.

The woman snorted into her hand, and Bruce groaned quietly. "Oh, this makes so much sense now," Constantine muttered. While still on his back, Danny raised an eyebrow and then looked toward Bruce. The Man subtly tilted his head to show that he also had no clue what the man in the trench coat meant.

"What is the supposed to mean, Constantine?" the Amazonian woman spoke to the man.

Blondie just sighed and took a flask out of his pocket and took a large gulp, then spoke, "I thought that you could tell Bats has more... Supernatural tendencies, so it makes sense if Bats grew up around the King of ghosts." he told the League "I'm just more curious how he met him" Constantine sighed.

"How he/I met him/me? We met when I/he was born!" Danny and Bruse spoke at once.

Constantine spat his drink out. "Wait, what!?... Y'know what, never mind, So KIng Phantom knew Bat's parents then when he was born became a liminal, " Constantine muttered. Danny then righted himself and wrapped his arm around Bruce once more.

"Actually, you're wrong, Galxay here is part ghost!" Danny informed the League with a Smile, Showin' too much inhuman teeth. After some silence, the woman spoke up. "If I may, what does that mean, your Highness?" she spoke calmly.

"Ah, please just call me Phantom! It also means that Galaxy is 3/4 Part ghost? Maybe a bit more? He does feel a bit different than the last time I saw him, but then again, his core was still growin'," he said, trailin’ off at the end.

Constantine threw his hands up in the air and then froze. He slowly looked at the two. "Wait...Bats, does that mean that Phantom is your Birth father?" Constantine asked with his hands twitchin' like they wanted to grab somethin'.

Every head turned towards Batman and Danny, and the two looked at each other and then at the Leauge, "Yes," they spoke as one. "HOW!?" most of the League shouted. Danny shrugged. "Eh, this was before I dated' both his parents. We learned his other Dad was infertile, and that was sort of the openin' that we needed to explain that we three liked each other. Ultimately, it worked out fine, so a win is a win!".

The League turned their heads to Batman and said the man nodded yes, that what came out of the ghost King's mouth was true.

That day, the Justice League was out of order and needed a proper reboot, and yes, Danny did indeed have the time of his un-dead life. Afterward, he even got to meet his son's lovers.

While the four were together, Danny brought up that poly and vigilantism must run in the family or somethin' so off-handedly that it had Clark and Diana laughin'. Bruce just grumbled at his Pa.

After that shit show of a reunion, Bruce took Danny back to the manor. He caught up with Alfred, and they made a plan that would remind Bruce that if he ever disappeared again and scared the shit out of them again, he was goin' to regret it. Bruce havin' no clue as to what they were talkin' about and frankly didn't want to know promised himself never to piss off his two parents again.

(Bruce still sees Alfred as a father figure. Danny did an excellent job bein' home every day, but sometimes the Observents won in their crusade.

They demanded that Danny be present in their meetings at least once a week, and of course, they could and would go on for days about their topic, even if it was a stupid one, just to keep him there.

And if some of them got put on ice just by suggestin' that he left his son to the mortals to be raised, it was no one's business but Danny's.)

__________

Okay, so this was supposed to be a bit longer, and it would have Danny meetin' Dick and then later Jason, but I decided to split it in half-ish, and if the people want to see the rest of my crappy writin', then I might share it.

I also mainly wanted to get this out and see how it went cause I am very happy with how most of this turned out. I am also runnin' out of motivation so~ but hey, I hoped you liked it!

Part 2 to this shit show!

#danny phantom #batman #bruce wayne #the justice league #ghost king danny #Danny is Bruce's Dad #I Have No Idea What I'm Doing #dpxdc #dc x dp #crossover #Haha I'm tired :)#I have Another Half-ish Of This

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millerscoffee · 9 months

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the soft animal of your body

812 drabble | joel miller x reader

rating: G

warnings: fluff!, established relationship. no use of y/n.

summary: you were working on a hobby, but got distracted by joel's cheeks.

A/N: inspired by this post he truly is pookie. look at those cheeks! inspired by "wild geese" by mary oliver, too. joely baby let the soft animal of ur body love what it loves, luv x. i vaguely proofread this, soz.

"You're lookin' at me," Joel's eyes were closed on when he laid down on the couch to 'rest his eyes' while you sat on the floor beside him. You were supposed to be working on a new hobby, cross stitching. However, you ended up gazing up at your partner more than anything else.

"I can't help it," a grin in your voice, you sat up on your knees to lean over and press your lips to the soft rebound of his cheeks. "You just keepin' these all to yourself, I want to bite them."

You made Joel laugh. A sound that felt like air-bound gold every time it happened, and it was a catalyst that made his eyes open to search for your own. "I'm just keepin' these to myself?" He asked as if he didn't hear you correctly, but you knew he did. He always repeated things back to you when it was something he found sweet or silly, or innately you. His fingers fan through your hair before thumbing over your chin. "Alright, go on then."

It took a long time, a lot of therapy, for him to open up to you like this. To be allow himself to be mushy, and furthermore allow himself to experience love. Your love. You had so much to give to him.

And you didn't waste a moment when he gave you the green light. Your arms crossed over one of his shoulders, using it to lean on as you brushed and pecked the suppleness of his skin. The stubble that adorned his cheeks down to the grey at his jaw. Peppered kisses on the skin around the wrinkle of his eye.

"You havin' fun?" Joel asked playfully, the eye that was being kissed shutting.

"I am, actually. I could make a living doing this."

"Kinda do. I just agreed on my cheeks, said nothin' bout my eyes."

"Too bad," you giggled, nose tipping against his temple, the scent of his shampoo relaxed your shoulders. And it seemed to do the same to him, relaxed even more into the couch when he nestled his head into the armrest.

"Baby, just c'mere." He beckoned you, opening his arm out for you to take it. You used it then, climbing on top of Joel to stretch out on top of him. You felt so loved, special that you got to witness his softness. His fingers found the hem of your shirt and swirled light patterns from the guitar-induced calloused tips. It tickled, but you weren't willing to stop him. You needed to feel him as much as he needed to feel you. Two tactile individuals at the end of the day.

So you laid on top of him, the softness of your lips skimmed against the taut skin of his neck. The freckles that resided there. There were countless days and nights you spent pressing your lips to those spots. To count them mentally.

"You keep kissin' everywhere but my cheeks, darlin'."

"Maybe if you were less kissable I wouldn't have this problem. You see my dilemma."

That earned an exhale through his nose, filtered through his moustache. "Yeah, I reckon," honey drawled through the syllables, "I guess I should consider myself lucky. Got so much restraint."

"Now you're gettin' it," you hummed, teeth nipping at the base of his earlobe.

"Easy."

"Or what?" Your threat was quickly replaced with sweet kisses to his cheek again. Not really ready to break up the tenderness of the moment. "Nice cheeks," you replaced your words with praises before he could get to you.

"Grew 'em myself." His arms wrapped around your waist to hold you in place, to keep you close. To give every indication that he wanted this too, in the ways he knew how.

"You want anything?" Joel asked, pulling away to get a good look at you with his eyes that had vision all too blurry to be this close to you. Part of you wondered if it was because he didn't know what to do next. Never one with words, quality time had the tendency to make him anxious. Like he had all this nervous energy that disallowed himself to just be. To just exist in the present moment on the couch with a sewing tomato abandoned on the floor.

You would always come back to him no matter what you were doing.

You sat up just enough on your forearms to push his hair back as if to say, you're doing so good. As if to shout, you are letting the softness of your body do what it wants and I'm so proud of you. As if to cry, you do not need to do or be anything for me to love you. You are enough as is. And nothing, absolutely nothing could ever be better than this.

"Just this, Joel. Just you."

taglist: @cool-iguana

#joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f! reader #joel miller x m!reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x amab!reader #tlou fic #tlou fluff #joel miller x gn reader

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mangoguy · 3 months

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Displacement (1/2)

John "Soap" McTavish(2009) x Reader x John "Soap" McTavish(2022)

Warnings: Mention of Modern Warfare 3 (2011), Some fluff, they/them used once other than that no pronouns are used.

You recall your relationship with your John while in the hospital.

Another entry For @glitterypirateduck Soap It Up challenge!

This was heavily inspired by the Multiverse AU by shotmrmiller. It's been on my mind for a while lol

"Right, what the hell kind of name is 'Soap', eh? How'd a muppet like you pass selection?"

You heard Price state, looking up from cleaning your gun you saw the new guy who was set to join. Fresh faced and ready for battle, you wondered how long that would last. You watched as he passed the C.Q.B with a pretty average time, but he passed nonetheless. After that Price quickly briefed the team on the mission, infiltrating and assaulting a cargo ship in the Bering Strait. He dismissed us to get ready, deciding you wanted to try and get to know the new guy. You walked over to him and fell into step with him.

You remember it wasn’t hard to get him to open up, which was surprising, most of the guys here were not up for much conversion. After a while, you decided to ask the biggest question on your mind, you asked him about his hair.

“Why did you decide on a mohawk?” You heard him huff.

“Because it was cool…” He mumbled.

"I love ye, y'know that right?"

You could faintly hear Captain McTavish mumble those words under his breath but the sound of the helicopter made you wonder if you heard it at all. What affirmed that it was indeed said out loud was when he took his hand in yours, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand in a soothing gesture. Who he was comforting, you weren't sure, but you had an inkling it was to ground himself.

You recall It was his first mission as captain and if he was nervous he sure as hell didn’t show it. But you knew him, he often sought some small physical contact as comfort when he was nervous.

It's funny how you remember these things.

You also remember his first mission as captain went off without a hitch, of course, there were hiccups but like he promised nothing happened to you. It was oddly sweet in its own way, he knew you could take care of yourself but he often fretted sometimes (even if he didn't entirely show it).

Another moment you recall with John McTavish was when you two were outside. He was smoking and you were just keeping him company. It was a nice evening, a bit cold but nothing you couldn't handle. You two were talking about anything and everything as you two normally do. Then the topic of living together came up.

"Y'know... I've been thinking after all this is over we need to... do couples things" he chuckled.

"Oh yeah? Like what? I thought fighting in battlefields was good date material," you joked.

"Ah, that's gettin' old... we could get our own place," he suggested.

"Get our own place? What are you suggesting?" You turned to look at him, he was already looking at you with a grin.

"Aye, I'm sayin' we should live together once this is all over and done with, I'm thinkin' out in the fields near a small town, just the two of us," he stubbed out his smoke before leaning against you. He wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you closer.

"Hm, that sounds wonderful... We could get a cat... maybe two so the other one wouldn't be lonely," you suggested, planting a kiss on his lips as you both thought about this fantasy. You'll never forget the way his cheeks turned a bit rosy after that.

Though before house buying the one important thing on John's 'Couples things' list was getting married. Of course, you both talked extensively about it, making sure it was something you both were on the same page on. The ceremony wasn't anything special, just you, John, and a few friends and family to celebrate at John's Parents' house. It was a sweet time, filled with talking and laughing (Ghost and Roach were both raiding the snacks John's mom made).

"Look at you, my little brother gettin' married! Never thought I see the day, thought you were married to the military life for a sec," John's sister teasingly bumped his shoulder. Though she was teasing, she seemed pretty proud and happy for him.

"Aye, never thought I get so lucky, knew I wanted to marry them 6 months in but didn't want to scare them," John chuckled while wrapping an arm around your waist. You just rolled your eyes and nudged his rib, and he responded by pinching your hip before kissing your cheek.

But things didn't turn out like you both planned. Luck had to run out someday.

'I won't let anything happen to you,' rings in your head, he never failed to mention it before missions you both went on.

Is that why you were here?

You weren't sure how to explain it. One moment you were with John and Yuri, in that building, something went off and you woke up with someone looming over you.. before it all went black again.

You felt like you were in a different body, and you say that loosely since it still felt like you but a bit younger, less tense. You weakly opened your eyes, the blaring lights of the hospital flooding your vision. You groaned, wincing away for a moment before it felt safe to look again. The bed you were lying on was much softer than the ones back on base.

"Ah, you're awake," you saw a nurse to your left side checking your vitals, she gave you a reassuring smile.

"You were out for a while, almost two months! Had some bloke worried sick about you... Johnny, I think his name was," she started explaining. You never really heard people refer to John as Johnny but whatever at least you knew he was alive.

“Is he okay?” You rushed to ask.

“Yes he’s fine, was discharged a while ago, you were the one to take the most of the damage,” She paused to resume her work.

“Actually he should be coming back soon, doesn’t leave your side unless he needs the restroom, you definitely have a good one,” She chuckled.

Oh, thank god he was okay.

The nurse left you to rest after and you started mulling over what happened.

An explosion happened, you were falling alongside Yuri when it happened. But you couldn't remember much else.

You began to feel uneasy, like you lost a big part of yourself and yet you couldn't explain why. Which was weird considering the nurse just confirmed he was, in fact, relatively okay. While you were mulling it over some more you didn't hear the door opening and the sound of hurried footsteps rushing over to your bed.

"Yer awake!"

You whipped your head up to see your husband, so grateful he was okay. You were almost ready to jump on him but you froze when your eyes finally landed on him. What looked like John, though he was a mildly younger version of him. He was a bit shorter than your John as well, along with sounding vastly different.

That was definitely not your John.

He looked worried and relieved at you. Placing a hand on yours but also trying not to hover around you, you noticed a tattoo on his right arm, John didn’t have an arm tattoo. He decided to just sit down on the chair that was pushed near your hospital bed. Not knowing what to do you took your hand out of his and placed it on your stomach.

That’s when you noticed your simple wedding band was gone.

Replaced with one that had a pearl and a few diamonds.

Whose ring was this?

You were confused and dare you say scared. Scared more than you ever have been in your life and that's saying a lot considering your line of work. But where exactly were you?

"Yer looking at me like ye don't know me, Bonnie," the man broke the silence.

But you didn't know him, you assumed this was the bloke the nurse mentioned.

Johnny.

Wearing the face of your John.

Just what exactly happened?

Words: 1,347

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

#call of duty #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap mactavish #captain mactavish #soapitup #og soap #09 soap #cod x reader

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asexual-abomination · 10 months

Text

This is the first part of a rewrite of the series that brought attention to my blog in the first place! When I wrote this series originally, it was at midnight when I couldn’t sleep because I had COVID, so I always wanted to come back and rewrite it with a clearer mind.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, cause I’ve been real stressed about university, but waking up to new notes on this blog is always a highlight of my day! I have so many WIPs for hxh, Overwatch, ff7, the batfamily, and now the spider-verse movies, but I’ve been struggling to complete them to an extent that I feel is worth posting.

Please leave a comment if you want me to rewrite the rest of the series!

Platonic!Yandere!Phantom Troupe X Autistic Reader (Soulmate AU)

Content warnings: Yandere, vague mentions of violence. Read at your own discretion.

“To my dearest soulmate.-“

No, too affectionate.

“To my soulmate, I am incredibly excited to welcome you here-“

The sentence is jarring, start with an introduction.

“To my soulmate, my name is YN, and I am so excited to finally have the chance to communicate with you!”

Good enough. You were so happy to be writing a letter like this, being able to rewrite and start over as often as needed, without the pressure of saying it right in the first try.

Having finished one sentence, you sighed as you looked down at the number of things you had crossed out before it seemed right. Then, you turned to your notebook, where you had spent years collating everything you wanted to put into this letter, trying to find some inspiration for what to do next.

“I have been awaiting this day, carved into our bodies, for my entire life.”

Was that too formal? Too strong?

Ugh. This was hard.

You despised knowing nothing about your soulmate, the enigma of their identity making them feel otherworldly and strange. Without knowing even the slightest bit about who they were, you had no frame of reference for what they would consider too much or too fast, leaving you to blindly feel your way towards a half-coherent letter.

Jo was sat across from you, in their favourite shabby armchair, pretending to watch the football you had put on for background noise, and not-so-secretly keeping an eye on you. From your dejected sigh as you curled up on the sofa, your childhood friend could tell what was bothering you from a single glance.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, they’re your soulmate, they’ll love you no matter what.”

“But they shouldn’t!” You sighed, “I want to impress them, make them feel welcomed and happy!”

“And that’s what I’m gettin’ at! Their personality must be suited enough to yours that they’ll find your way of doin’ things loveable!”

You grumbled with no coherent response, looking again at your paper.

They’d find your way of doing things loveable.

You could work with that.

“I hope that I, and my friends, can make you feel happy and welcomed in my home. The time we will spend, with our bodies swapped, will be precious, and there will never be another time like it in our lives. You are precious to me.”

Your lips tugged downward in a frown at the last line, the irritating thoughts about potentially annoying your soulmate flooding you again. You had just let the pen run wild, trying to encapsulate even the smallest fraction of your feelings about the situation, which always ended up feeling like too much as your emotions overwhelmed you.

Just as you considered scrapping the whole thing and starting again from scratch, Jo caught your eye with a stern glare, as they always did when you doubted yourself.

“I have longed to know who you are for years; your mystery has entranced me. I want to see the destiny the universe has seen fit to bestow upon us both."

As you relaxed into the motions of the pen, the waterfall of words falling from your fingers, you stunned yourself with short poetic verses.

"Even though romance holds no place in what has been destined for us, I want to make you so happy that you may bear your heart to me as I may for you. Please take care of my body while you have it. I hope that one day I might trust with this on more than just blind faith.

All my love, from the bottom of my heart, your soulmate."

It felt weak. You felt weak.

Was it really right to say you loved someone you hadn't met? Even as soulmates, it felt like a betrayal.

"Hey Jo, do you mind reading through this for me? If I keep looking at it, I'll either throw it away or throw up."

"Ahh, YN, you know I'm not so good with words and that stuff, yeah? That's your job, ain't it?"

"Oh, hush, I've read your poetry, you big romantic!"

"What?"

You quickly hurried past them, dropping the drafted letter onto their lap before heading to the kitchen. Your hands were shaking; you needed to get some water before you passed out.

Your breaths were coming short as you downed a second glass of water, one arm shakily holding the lip of the sink for support as the anxiety began to weigh on your mind. You had less than a week; on this Sunday evening, you'd lie in bed and wake up in the body of your soulmate. It was Tuesday evening, the soft autumn air swirling dead leaves outside your window.

A phone began ringing in the living room, so you set down your glass on the draining board and began heading back through, only to realise the call wasn't for you when you heard Jo's voice.

"Yeah, I hear ya. No need to yell, old man... Oh, shut yer trap; you know I'm only half joking... You know I said wasn't working tonight... Yeah, yeah... You piece of shit! Fine, I'll be there, but you better be payin' me double time for this shit."

Jo rounded the corner, grumbling under their breath. They paused at your side, leaning in slightly to speak, the smell of beer on their breath and thankfully not overwhelming.

"Listen, yer letter was grand, okay? You've got a talent for these sortsa things. I've gotta head out, alright? Probably won't be back until morning. I'll bring you back something nice alright, repayment for skipping what should have been a nice night together."

"It's alright, really. Just take care of yourself, okay?" You reassured them.

They walked out into the biting chill, heading down a dark alley like it was their own front door.

--//--

Chrollo looked himself in the eyes, the cold water he splashed on his face dripping from his hair.

He had felt strange the past few days, like something was clinging to the back of his mind, tugging his attention away from his work. As if a song was stuck in his head, but he couldn't remember the melody.

The Mediterranean heat must have been getting to his head; that was the only explanation. He composed himself, wiping his brow before he went to slick his hair back, turning his focus to the heist he and the Troupe would be carrying out that Sunday.

--//--

The week had been long and stressful for everyone involved. You tried not to be too much of a perfectionist, but you wanted to make the best impression possible.

The morning of the day you would switch was upon you, and you came downstairs to find Jo asleep on your couch, as they often were. You smiled at their sleeping face, very peaceful compared to their usual furrowed brow.

Their face was made up of sharp lines, almost geometric perfection, except for the mess of freckles covering their cheeks and forehead, adding just a hint of softness.

As you prepared breakfast for the two of you, Jo woke up with a sleepy groan, trudging over to the kitchen counter.

"Today's the day, huh? The last day of me being your best friend?"

"Jo! Don't say it like that! I'll always love you, you know that!" You defended yourself.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm just joking. You deserve to be happy with your soulmate."

You frowned at that again, remembering the situation with Jo's own soulmate. You had both been so excited to look her up after the switch, only to discover that she had died in a sudden car crash within an hour.

After that, they became much more clingy with your time. When they were around, at least. They had also begun taking on many more "jobs" that took them far away.

You sympathised with their situation, but you could tell they harboured jealousy for your soulmate.

You sat down on the couch, breakfast in hand, as Jo came to sit at your side. You flicked through channels on TV, trying to alleviate the awkward tension that fell over the room.

"Listen, I'm not jealous."

"It's okay to admit it; I can understand your perspective! But you can't keep me from my soulmate!"

"No, it's not that! It's more that I'm... paranoid."

"Paranoid, about... what, exactly?"

"About your soulmate! I can't explain it, but I've got this bad feeling!"

"A bad feeling? What kind of bad feeling?"

You learned a long time ago that Jo's intuition was often correct, but were they really concerned or just trying to pull you and your soulmate apart?

"I just said, I can't explain it! I just don't want anything bad to happen to you!"

You sighed as you felt that both of you were becoming too worked up.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to accuse you. I think... we're all quite stressed right now. Let's have a proper talk when we're not all so high-strung."

"Yeah, yeah."

Today was gonna be fun.

--//--

Chrollo smiled at the carnage surrounding him, watching as his friends unleashed their power on these pathetic guards. They heard the approaching rumble of reinforcements, which, by their calculations, should contain the man they were after.

His incredible enhancer ability would be handy for Chrollo, so they had spent days sieging the fortress he defended. As Nobunaga took to whittling down the primary reinforcements, Chrollo found himself distracted once again. That strange feeling in the back of his head, the itch he couldn't scratch, saying that something was wrong.

He shook his head to free himself of these thoughts, as the intimidating man faced him, seemingly unaware of exactly who he was fighting.

--//--

Despite your small fight with Jo, the day had gone well. You had prepared several cakes, which you poured plenty of love into. You also wrote your letter into one coherent piece and placed it in an envelope, which you taped to inside of your bedroom door.

A group of your friends arrived, all bearing various snacks and drinks to add to the table. As the conversation began to flow, you anxiously reminded them of the careful limits you had gone over for what they were allowed to say to your soulmate. They all laughed and smiled, promising to go along.

Almost on autopilot, you turned to Jo for reassurance, and they were in a good enough mood to laugh softly and promise to keep the others in line.

You knew Jo wouldn't go back on their word, no matter their personal feelings about the situation.

With everything laid out enticingly on a coffee table, you retired to your bedroom for the night, your gut swirling with anxiety and excitement.

You laid back on your bed, crossing your hands across your stomach. You had until exactly 21:29 to wait for the switch.

Looking over at the clock you had bought for this express purpose, you saw 21:27.

It'll probably feel like forever, you thought, plenty of time to get comfortable.

21:28

That's fine; you took a few deep breaths, settling down into your pillows. You closed your eyes softly.

Breathing deeply. With your eyes closed.

In, and out, in, and out.

Curiosity got the better of you.

Your eyes snapped open, turning back to the clock, getting to see just the slightest glimpse of 21:29 before everything changed.

--//--

Chrollo sighed from the driver's seat, just a straight highway unfolding seemingly infinitely in front and behind him. Confident in his ability to avoid traffic by instinct, he allowed his eyes to drift to the clock on the screen, 00:28 blinking back at him.

That time bothered him.

It wasn't unusual for him to stay up past midnight, more common than not, in fact, but that itch he couldn't scratch, that sweet song that slipped his mind's grasp, was back in full force, making him grit his teeth in irritation.

He returned his eyes to the road before him, though he only caught a glimpse of the asphalt-laden horizon before everything changed.

--//--

In a moment, you felt everything shift. You could feel it down to the change in the structure of your skeleton. Every muscle was different, every sensation infinitely sharpened by the new body you inhabited.

You felt that you were sitting, not lying down. You saw that you were looking out at a road.

And then, finally, you realised you were driving the car.

It was common knowledge that the swap allowed people to speak in the native tongue of their soulmate, but you wondered if you would be the first to discover that the same thing applied to driving skills.

You focused on the road and on keeping your breathing steady, aware that a panic attack here would result in much more than a headache and a sore throat in the long run.

Once finally began to calm down, you briefly peeled your eyes off the road to look your soulmate in the eyes in the rearview mirror. His grey eyes were striking, and his raven black hair was slicked back to his head, revealing a strange tattoo in the centre of his forehead. He was quite attractive, all things considered.

You felt a brush of air across your chest and again glanced down to notice you were completely shirtless, other than a feathery collared jacket that did nothing to hide your soulmate's toned body. Definitely a bold outfit choice, but you couldn't deny that it suited him well.

After a few more moments assuring yourself of the safety of the road, you tried to look at the other passengers of the car. You had seen them when you looked at yourself in the mirror, but you couldn't bear to think about them at that moment.

In the passenger seat was a pink-haired woman, her face stoic as she stared ahead. Behind you was a grumpy-looking man with black hair leaning into the window. In the centre of the backseat was a blond man with a cute face, tapping away at a modified phone of some kind. Furthest from you, behind the passenger seat, was a gruff-looking man with slicked-back blond hair.

None of them seemed to have noticed a change in their driver's behaviour, so you had a few more moments to collect yourself before you spoke up. Although you were still grappling with the fact that your soulmate had entirely forgotten about your switch, you didn't want to waste your time.

"I don't know... quite what's happening here, but I'm this person's soulmate."

You could taste something sweet with just the slightest hint of bitterness on your own breath.

The car had been silent before you spoke, but the silence grew heavier. Now every eye was on you, and you almost wished you hadn't said anything, that you had let the switch play out in complete silence before returning to your own body.

"What?" The taller blond man finally replied.

"I'm... their soulmate? Did they not tell anyone?"

"Boss had a soulmate?" He turned to the other blond man, ignoring you completely.

"Not as far as I know!"

"Look at me."

That last bit was said by the pink-haired woman next to you. With no small amount of fear in your heart, you ripped your eyes away from the road to look her in the eyes. Her cold, calculating eyes pierced you through and through. After what felt like aeons that she spent observing you, she let out the slightest gasp.

"You're not lying."

As soon as you had the reassurance that they believed you, you looked back at the road, relieved to see no danger.

"Are you serious? Are you messing with us, boss?" The black-haired man spoke, his tone rising to aggression.

"Calm down, all of you! This is the boss's soulmate, obviously!"

"But why wouldn't he tell us at all? This is crazy!"

"I don't know! Maybe he wanted to test us?"

"Sorry to interrupt, but what's going on here?"

The pink-haired woman turned back to from where she had been scolding the other passengers, sighing before she spoke.

"Look, sorry about all this ruckus. It's just that we're pretty close to our boss, and he never even told us he had a soulmate!"

"Seriously? Weird..." You trailed off, unsure of how to fill in the dead air.

"My name's Machi; what's yours?"

"I'm YN. Who is this?" You asked, gesturing slightly at your own body.

"Oh right, our boss's name is Chrollo. In the backseat, there is Nobunaga, Shalnark, and Phinks." She pointed each one out to you.

Behind you, Shalnark and Nobunaga were whispering to each other as they looked intently at Shalnark's phone.

"And where are you from, YN?" Shalnark spoke up again, a bright smile on his face as he watched you through the rearview.

"I'm from CN; where are we right now?"

The conversation continued like that for some time, with simple back-and-forth questions. Jo had advised you not to share too much sensitive information, and you couldn't help but get the inkling of a feeling that they were right.

The way that Shalnark would ask you questions before he immediately turned back to his phone alighted some anxiety in your gut, so you tried to turn the conversation back on them.

"So, you say that my soulmate here is your boss? What do you do?"

You didn't miss the beat of silence, but you tried to give them the benefit of the doubt that they had been put on the spot.

"We're traders, mostly," Shalnark started, "We travel around, buying and selling antiques and treasures and stuff!"

"Wow, that sounds like fun!"

"It can get tiring sometimes, but it's really fulfilling!"

There was a breath of relief from the car before Nobunaga spoke up, excitedly telling you a story of a time they had visited your home country for their business. Finally, it felt as if the atmosphere was relaxing, with everyone joining in to add details to the story.

You smiled softly, relieved that you no longer felt like an insect under a magnifying glass. It was pitch-black outside the car, and there were very few other cars on the road, so you felt safe enough to relax your grip on the steering wheel just a touch as well.

As you leaned back in the driver's seat, listening to Phinks avidly tell you about the food they had enjoyed in the capital of your home country, you felt the night's excitement finally hit you.

And how unlucky that you had just relaxed when you suddenly found yourself back in your own living room.

--//--

Chrollo snapped awake in his place, feeling that he had gone from his spot sitting to lying down in the blink of an eye. Immediately, he threw himself into a standing position, assuming the car had been surprise attacked.

At the same moment, he reached for his knife while attempting to summon Bandit's Secret. His anxiety only heightened when he realised that he had neither.

Finally trying to observe the situation and pinpoint his potential attacker, he slowly began to piece together what was going on.

He was in a neat bedroom and had been lying in bed. On the bedside clock, he read 21:29 in red blinking letters.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

His soulmate.

Ten years ago, he had made sure that his soulmate date was entirely obscured by his spider tattoo, going as far as to go to a different tattoo artist than the rest and killing them afterwards. He had to protect his soulmate, lest they be used against him. But in his attempt to defend them, he had completely forgotten to prepare anything.

Shit.

He looked around the room, trying to get his bearings now that he wasn't in danger. A mirror poised on one wall allowed him to observe his soulmate. He ran a hand over his cheek as he watched the skin move in abject fascination. All these sensations were raised in intensity; even in this body without Nen, he felt everything to a pinpoint. He suddenly became aware that he could taste a tiny bit of mint; they had even taken the time to brush their teeth to ensure his comfort.

There was an envelope taped to the inside of the door, obviously meant for him. Picking it off the door with an uncharacteristic level of gentleness, he sat back down on the bed to read.

The letter nearly sprung tears to his eye; how blessed was he to have someone so passionate! He could feel the depth of emotion poured into the letter, the way you spilt your heart out on the page.

He sat on the bed, eyes scanning over every line, reading and rereading the poetry before him.

"Do you think they're okay? I heard some movement inside, but it's been silent since. Do you think they fell and hurt their head?"

"Ugh, I'll knock and go check."

It hadn't occurred to him that there would be other people here - just another example of the care and thought you had put in.

He opened the door to a freckled face, who wore an expression of surprise as their hand was still in the air, having been about to knock. Immediately, he turned on the charm, knowing he could at least cover up for his lack of planning on this end.

"Oh, sorry about that; I didn't realise I was expected!" He added his best chuckle, followed by, "My soulmate is quite the poet; I've been entranced!"

He waved the letter to show it off before stepping past the newcomer. But he stopped briefly while he was right next to them. He could feel it.

The cold, calculating look in their eye, the robust build, the scars along their hands. They were from Meteor City.

With a polite nod, he continued into the living room, though he could feel that person's eyes on him the whole way. He was greeted with three cakes and a wide selection of snacks and drinks. He cursed that you wouldn't be getting such a cosy reception on your end.

The conversation flowed easily as soon as he introduced himself; everyone was excited to tell him things or ask him questions. He easily lied his way through questions about his profession; it was like second nature to the charismatic thief. Everyone in attendance was charmed by him except that damn person from Meteor City. Just as he began considering if he might have to kill them, they leaned forwards, interrupting another one of your friends.

"You smoke?"

Chrollo had smoked once or twice in his youth but had never had a taste for it. He shook his head no, hoping they would drop it there.

"Too bad, 'cause I do, and I want a private chat with you. Step outside."

With their authoritative voice, he knew he was not avoiding the following conversation.

The biting chill on his cheeks felt much sharper than usual, his own body having learned to withstand much harsher conditions. However, he was scarcely given a moment to enjoy the sensation before Jo interrupted.

"You're from Meteor City."

"I'm aware."

"Hmph. Are you a thief?"

"Of course, aren't you?"

"My work isn't the prettiest, but I'm not that low. I owe that to YN."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They lifted me up and out of that place of their own goodwill. When I escaped that place, we met by chance, and they offered their hand to give me a new life. They're the reason I stay on the straight and narrow. I'll do anything to protect them; you should know that."

"I will, too; surely you should know that. I'm their soulmate."

"And you're also a thief. Probably a prolific one, from how easily you lied about your career. I want to protect them for their sake; you just want to protect them for your own sake. You won't be taking them anywhere; I'll steal them away where you'll never find them again if you try."

"That's quite the threat; are you sure you can follow through?"

"I'll have to, for them."

Chrollo chuckled at this silly notion. As if they could really do anything to take his soulmate away now that he knew they were here.

He watched Jo's silhouette retreat back into the warm light of your home, a smirk spread across his face at their sheer bravery, before everything changed.

--//--

Snapping back to your own body, now standing, was jarring, to say the least. Jo looked over their shoulder at your gasp as you nearly lost your balance, rushing over to catch you before you hurt yourself.

"Oh, hey there!" You laughed, looking up at them.

"Hey." They sounded standoffish, but their smile was undeniable.

"What are we doing outside?"

"Oh, I just wanted a smoke, and he followed me to chat."

You couldn't smell any smoke in the air, and you felt like something was being hidden from you, but you were just so tired and happy to be back that you chose to push that down for now.

"I'm gonna go to bed. Can you tell the others to go home? I need to just lie down ASAP."

"You got it. I'm gonna have to head out again soon as well, so I'll see you again whenever I get back."

--//--

"So." Machi started, addressing the newly-returned Chrollo, "What was that all about?"

Everyone was hushed, awaiting the boss's answer.

"You already know that was my soulmate. I had... forgotten to tell anyone."

More silence flooded the car as the other members of the spider internally debated whether or not they wanted to risk their necks by making a joke.

"Well, you'll be glad to know we're on the right path to get to them!" Shalnark cut in with his usual cheer, hoping to distract from the current situation.

"Really?"

"It'll be a few days even if we pick up the pace, but Feitan is currently in that country and can start keeping an eye on them ASAP. I'm concerned about their safety, especially considering their medical records."

"There's no need for too much worry," Chrollo said calmly

"What do you mean?!" Nobunaga was incredulous; how could the boss take his soulmate's safety so easily?

"Someone is protecting them already, someone we'll have to take care of, but a valuable protector, for now, all the same."

--//--

Thanks for reading!

#autism #platonic yandere #hxh x reader #hxh #yandere #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo #yandere phantom troupe #platonic x reader #platonic soulmates #platonic #soulmate au #yandere soulmate #autistic reader

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normal-internet-user · 1 year

Note

💜 here, you take your time with your irl stuff BUT just know that I 100% support you doing a part two of big sis reader getting revenge for Mikey against Bradford. Take him down a peg. Maybe like— fake enrole in his class and act all stupid and inexperienced then during sparring just LAY HIM OUT in front of his class/friends?! Or something like that? I know you can do it better 💜 but take your time and deal with life, stay hydrated and well rested, I’ll be patient.

I wasn't gonna write any fic about that little thought, but you hath inspired me! Also thanks for the reminders, they are much appreaciated, highschool can be pretty ugh-

CALL ME KARMA

◇~~◇~~◇~~◇~~◇

Summary: In which reader avenges Mikey by absolutely destroying Chris Bradford in his own dojo.

Warnings: None really, just Chris gettin his ass beat. and swearing.

Requested: 💜 Anon!

Female Reader!

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

"Hey guys, I'm home... what the shell happened?"

Donnie sighed, "So, basic rundown. Mikey was manipulated by Chris Bradford into thinking they were friends, but turns out he works for the Foot."

You felt your vision go red, the familar feeling you get when someone harms your brother creeping up, "I'm sorry, what?"

Raph huffed, "Some douche bag celebrity tricked Mikey."

You hummed, setting down your bag, "You said Chris Bradford?"

"Mhm."

"Ok, I'll be back later."

"You just got back." Donnie said, shooting you a questioning look.

"Yeah, where are you going, Ane-chan?" Mikey asked.

You looked back at him with a smile as you pocketed your wallet, "To either get ice cream, or commit a felony. I'll decide on the way."

Before anyone could say anything else, you left, leaving behind some very confused brothers...

You arrived at Bradford's dojo rather quickly, and you quickly plastered on a smile of feighned innocence.

Walking in you smiled at the man in question, and he paused his current lesson to walk over to you, "Can I help you, miss..?"

Ignoring his question of your name with feighned stupidity, you looked up at him, "Oh, I sure hope so! You see I'd like to sigh up for some lessons! It's just not safe for a young gal like me to walk around New York with no way to defend myself, so I thought, 'Why not go to the one and only Chris Bradford for help!' and so here I am!" you smiled innocently.

The idiot chuckled, "Well, I'm always happy to teach the younger generation, my assistant will give you an extra robes and discuss payment, then you can join the class."

When he turned around to continue his lesson, you smirked wickedly, this poor idiot had no idea he was about to be schooled, Hamato style...

The entire lesson, you pretended to know nothing of ninjitsu, all the way up to the end where apperently it was tradition for Bradford to spar any new comer to, 'See how much they learned' aka, 'Make myself look better'.

You stood in the middle of the dojo, Bradford standing opposite to you while the staff and students stood off to the side.

"I won't be taking it easy on you." Bradford said, snarkily in your opinion.

"Oh, I sure hope so, Sensei." you said, innocent act gone and a scowl present.

Bradford noticed the change and you could tell he had grown nervous, but knew he couldn't back out without looking dumb infront of his peers and students.

His assistant shouted, "Start!" and the fight began with Bradford attempting to pull you into a chokehold.

You dodged, and just the way your father had taught you to take down anyone bigger, you used Bradfords momentum to yank him to the ground, his arm held behind him with one of your feet on the back of his neck.

He tried to stand up and push you off himself, but you pulled his arm tighter, and placed more pressure on the back of his neck.

"Uh- uhm, f-finished!" Shouted his assistant.

You let Bradford go, and backed up as you bowed at each other. When you straightened, Bradford glanced at you with malice, muttering, "Who are you?"

You smirked, "Oh, you've met my brothers. I'm Hamato (Name), but you can call me karma, bitch. That, was for Mikey."

"How dare you come here, Hamato, and embarass me in my own dojo-"

"How dare you mess with my kyoudai?" You scowled.

You moved to collect your things, walking out the door as you shouted, "Send Oroku Saki my regards dickweed!"

You began your way home, stopping by a convenience store to pick up a big gallon of napolian ice cream.

You then arrived home, the gallon of ice cream in hand, "Kyoudai! Otou-sama! I'm home!"

Mikey ran into the main room from the kitchen, "No way, GUYS ANE-CHAN BROUGHT HOME ICE CREAM!"

Donnie walked in, glancing at the bag now in Mikey's hand, then at you, "So I take it you didn't commit a felony?"

"I did both." you grinned, taking the ice cream back from your youngest brother so you could actually get everyone some.

Donnie sighed, and Leo and Raph joined you on your way to the kitchen, "What did you do?"

"I didn't pay a dojo fee."

Leo looked at you confused as he accepted the bowl of ice cream you handed him, "Dojo fee- (Name) you didn't..."

"HA!" Raph snorted, holding up his t-phone to show a gif of you slamming Bradford into the ground, "Look at what's trending all over the internet, 'Chris Bradford gets his butt beat by a female student.'"

Mikey smiled, "No way! You beat up Chris Bradford?"

You nudged Mikey's shoulder, "Sure did. The idiot didn't stand a chance."

"Wow, you're awesome, Ane-chan!"

"Anything for you, otouto."

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

Quick little translation!

Otouto: Little Brother

Otou-sama: Father

Ane-chan: Older sister/ big sister

Kyoudai: Little brothers

If any if these are wrong, let me know!

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #x reader #leonardo x reader #donnie x reader #raphael x reader #mikey x reader #platonic x reader #tmnt x reader platonic #big sister reader #Normie writes

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faecaptainofdreams · 7 months

Text

~Through the Nomad’s Eyes~

“It's not terribly often.

A few times a month, I'd say -- sometimes less.

Depends how much trouble I get in.

Day is dark with smoke, my vision is full of embers.

My eyes burn, the fires are hot.

Birds chirpin', people talkin' is replaced with screams.

Tall, proud buildings are suddenly collapsing.

I hear children cryin'...

I see dirt roads and pavement painted red.

Stalls and homes fall to stone and ash.

The smell is...indescribable.

Those screams...

It's unbelievable, what...godless sounds come out of a person, when they're bein' burned and mangled...

Or shot...

Or trampled...

Or crushed by debris...

The ground shakes, glass shatters.

It's pure chaos, but it's only a second.

Then, I blink my eyes...

And it's all over.

And my heart stops racin', and the ice in my veins melts.

'N I'm okay.

This doesn't usually happen when I'm somewhere peaceful.

Naw, it's usually when I'm gettin' myself into trouble helpin' folks.

Wherever there's a fire, when I hear screamin', when there's panic.

It affected me worse when I was younger, but I've learned how to push through it now.

It helps to remind myself that it's over, but...I know it'll always be with me.

I'll always be haunted by that day.

By the screams, and...by them gettin' quieter...

By the blood.

By the ash, the flames, the rumblin' of the earth.

By the empty vessels I climbed over -- bodies, people.

People someone loved.

Mothers.

Fathers.

Babies...

I'll always see those faces; sometimes when I close my eyes, they're lookin' back at me, hollow.

I knew some'a them...

People who took care'a me.

That day is the reason I look back, why I can't stay out'a harm's way.

Because I know what happens when hearts grow dark, what hurt and twisted people do to other people.

Maybe I can make a difference, maybe I can't, but I gotta try.

I want to prove that love, that patience and time, can change fate, can tame temper.

I know what it means to be helpless, and when I see someone else livin' that, it makes me ill.

I know that hurt people hurt people, that someone failed them, too.

When I see disaster, I gotta run to it.

I'm sorry...

But I gotta.

Because if I do nothin' even though I had the chance, then it's my fault.

It's not rational, but don't ask me to change...'cos I can't...

Don't feel sad for me, now.

In my heart, I really feel...good.

Yes, I hurt a lot, and I feel guilty.

I punish myself when I can't save somebody.

Sometimes I don't love myself like I should, I don't take care'a me.

Sometimes I think, "It shoulda been me."

Sometimes I feel...worthless...but I really know better.

If I didn't, I wouldn't feed and take care'a myself like I do, and play and have fun, right?

I like livin', I like bein' happy.

...

If I run into danger, and someone comes out alive or better off on the other end because of it, I've succeeded.

If I run into danger and all that happens is I got a whoopin', well...reckon I had it comin'.

Who am I to say what's what?

But yeah, generally, I feel good.

Minus the memories, the nightmares sometimes, I often sleep real good at night.

I can smile, and laugh play and sing and see what's beautiful in life.

This life is painful, and scary, but it's also miraculous.

We're all here on a whim; the odds of us existing are so against us, and yet here we stand.

A universe, cold and empty and quiet, full'a nothin'...

It's such a divine gift to be here, to learn and think and share life with others.

To make new life, to lay down past life, to cry and grow and nurture.

All from the same place, from dust to dust, to one day all return to that same place.

Ooh, it makes my hair stand up!

Doesn't it you?

I see fire...

I see blood...

I see death...

But when that passes, I see joy, and nature, and all of us together.

I see life blooming, new beginnin's unfolding.

I see us learning from what we live through.

The past haunts me, but I won't live in it.

I'll just look back at it -- and that's okay.

It's okay to look back.

I'll just let it inspire me.

Don't try to turn my head when ya see me lookin' over my shoulder.

It'll release me when it's done."

#wander over yonder #woy #woy fanart #ptsd #no that isnt Harvax LOL #just his species though #more to come on the species later

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hellsite-detective · 2 months

Text

Hellsite Detective in...

The Bad Banana

it was another cool day in Tumblr City. the breeze was blowin' through the streets and the rain was poundin' down hard against my window. the ceilin' fan that hung above me spun slowly and hypnotically as if blown by a wind that wasn't present. as i sat there in my chair, smokin' my cigar and watchin' that fan spin eternally, i grew hungry. thankfully i keep a small fruit bowl in the corner. gettin' up to go grab a bite, i picked a banana out of the bowl. it was a bright yellow, but you might not have known it from the monochromatic filter over the scene. as i began to unpeel it, a voice spoke from the back of my head sayin'...

...hold on...

...go ahead...

...what...

naturally confused, i spun around to see if someone had snuck in while my back was turned. but no, no one was there. however, the words continued to resound in my head. almost like they were callin' me to somethin'. i walked over to the window and took a look outside and the traffic lights at the intersection caught my eye. i looked at them, and looked back at the banana in my hand. that's when it hit me...

see, there was a post i've been lookin' for for ages. in fact, it was the post that inspired me to open my office up in the first place. it was a post comparin' the colors on bananas to the colors on traffic lights. back then, i couldn't find it. but now? i had the experience i needed. i decided to re-open this personal case of mine.

i tucked the banana into my coat and strolled through the rainy streets. i came across that hoppin' joint with jazz music always pourin' out the doors onto the street. the neon sign above the door read "The Search Bar." i headed inside, ready to do some business with my associate, but they were nowhere to be seen. they weren't sittin' at their normal booth. curious, i decided to ask the new robot bartender for help...

say, doll, you know where i can find the Boss?

[Oh! I do apologize. Don Google is upstairs in their office, but they are not seeing any visitors today.]

heh, well we'll see about that, won't we? say, what's your name?

[I am H.A.V.E.N. It stands for Hostess Attending to Virtual and Informational Needs. Essentially, my purpose is to keep track of Don Google's database so they do not have to. I also serve the drinks.]

Haven, huh? nice to meetcha, Haven. i gotta go see the Don though, whether they like it or not. i'll be seein' you later.

i tipped my hat to Haven and walked to the door leadin' to the stairwell. my mind lingered on the robotic hostess, wonderin' what an advanced artificial intelligence construct like her was doin' in this world that had it's basis in 1940's noir, but i wasn't gonna think about it too much. i headed up the stairs and into the Don's office. their goons whipped out their guns and almost took my head clean off, but the big fella themself stopped it.

the office was a far cry from the bustlin' night club on the first floor. where as the club had neon lights and kept things rather dark, probably for the best, the office was more well lit and elegant. it held a more warm atmosphere than the club, but somehow it was more oppressive in here. the walls appeared to be made of wood, bookshelves lined the walls, and a chandelier hung from the ceilin'. there was a carpet in the center of the room that had a kaleidoscope of colors rangin' from blue, red, yellow, and green. and directly across from the door was the desk. mahogany, it seemed, and real fancy too. a giant round window overlookin' the city streets was placed behind it with a large letter "G" formed in the window frames. the Don spun around in their large leather chair and puffed on their cigar.

"'Ey there, Miss Detective. What can I do ya for?"

i'm lookin' for a post involvin' bananas. specifically in relation to traffic lights. you got anythin' like that for me?"

i set the banana i had brought down on the desk and they chuckled at the sight.

"Yea, I think I got what your lookin' for."

with a wave of their hand, one of their goons fetched a file from off one of the shelves and brought it over to them. they thumbed it open with one hand, the other hand draggin' on the cigar. they slid it across the desk.

"This what your lookin' for?"

and there it was. the post that started it all. it had finally come full circle. i grabbed the file eagerly and began to leave the room, but the Don wasn't finished with me yet.

"'Ey, Miss Detective! Don't think I've forgotten about that little favor you owe me..."

i stopped dead in my tracks. preparin' myself for the worst, i stood there frozen. i couldn't even turn around to look at them. but shockingly, the conversation took a different turn.

"I'm not lookin' to cash that in just yet. Just be on the look out for a call, got it? I'm lookin' forward to our partnership."

i couldn't see them, but i knew their snide smile was bearing down on me at that moment. fear filling my body, i left the lion's den and went back to my humble office to file my prize away. as i did so, my stomach rumbled...

damn it. i left the banana with the Don...

Post Case: Closed

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sanguineterrain · 11 months

Note

here’s a cowboy eddie thought inspired by listening to the dracula podcast. thinking about how eddie would totally say “that’s my brave girl”, about just about anything. learned a new skill? that’s my brave girl. did something you were nervous about? that’s my brave girl. had a whole nervous breakdown and are now all watery eyed in his lap? that’s my brave girl… he’d probably punctuate it with a kiss on the head, too.

anon ur brain is so big... full of incredible thoughts... luv it 🫶this one kinda got away from me lmao but i hope you like it anyway | fem!reader x cowboy!eddie, kind of suggestive at the end

****

"Missus, Missus!"

Henry skids to a stop in front of the bar, where you've been scrubbing at a sticky spot for the last five minutes.

You drop the rag into the bucket and wipe your forehead with the back of your hand.

"Ain't you s'posed to be in school, Henry Sherman?" you ask, hand on your hip.

"Aw, it's too hot for school, Missus," Henry whines. "'Sides, Mr. Porter gave me a dime to be the lookout for today. Guess who just rode in?"

"I dunno. Mr. Leland?"

Henry makes a face. "The postman? No, no. That ain't exciting. Guess again. You got one more guess."

You smile and lean against the bartop.

"Hmm... fastest gunslinger in the West?"

Henry nods eagerly. "Uh-huh! Mr. Hellfire's back!"

Your smile drops. "What? Henry, are you sure?"

Henry bounces on his toes. "Yes, ma'am! He just rode in ten minutes ago. Asked specifically for you. He's at the inn right now."

"Oh." You pat your skirt down like Mr. Hellfire's just walked in. "Uh, thank you, Henry. Here's a nickel."

You flip him a coin. Henry catches it happily.

"Alright! 'M gettin' a peppermint stick."

"Don't spoil your dinner," you say distractedly, sliding off your apron and walking around the counter to get your bag.

Henry hangs behind, drumming his fingers on the stool.

"Are you gonna marry Mr. Hellfire?"

You miss a step on your way out the door, catching yourself on the side of the building.

"What—why do you ask that, Henry?"

"'Cause you hang out with him a lot, even though people say he's bad."

"He ain't bad," you say softly. "People just talk too much."

"I know that," Henry says. "He brought me real cowboy boots for Christmas. Bad people don't give Christmas presents."

You chuckle and pat the top of Henry's head.

"No, most don't."

"He gives you lots of gifts too," Henry continues. "And Mr. Porter told me that men only give gifts to women they're gonna hitch their cart to."

You shake your head. "Henry, please don't repeat anything Mr. Porter says."

"Is it true?"

You roll your eyes. "I'm sure he thinks it's true."

"So you ain't gonna marry Mr. Hellfire? 'Cause I think it'd be real fine if you did. He's got a good horse and a big hat, and he's nice to me an' the other kids. And he brings us caramels!"

"Caramels? Don't buy peppermint sticks if he gave you caramels, Henry."

"I'm savin' those for later," he says, and you know he won't.

You go inside the inn. Eddie's hat is on the table next to him. His dark curls are pulled back into a ponytail. Sweat has gathered on his brow and in the dips of his collarbone. Your heart lurches. It's been a month since you'd seen him; you were starting to think Eddie would never come back.

Henry's sister, Sally, is sat at Eddie's feet, alongside a few other children. Eddie has his guitar out, quietly singing. You lean back on a table and listen to his crooning.

Henry eventually loses patience, though, and goes up to his sister hallway through the song.

"Sally, c'mon. Momma said we needa be home by supper."

Sally glances at her brother and pouts.

"He singin'," she says.

Eddie catches your gaze. You wave awkwardly. He beams and winks at you.

Lord, you're hungry for this man.

"I'll sing again tomorrow, Miss Sally," Eddie tells her sweetly, and drops a wrapped caramel into her tiny palm. "Any song you want. Alright?"

Sally seems to find this trade acceptable and holds Eddie's knee to stand. She walks to you and gives you a quick hug, then leaves with her brother.

"We wanna hear another song!" one boy shouts.

"Yeah, play it!"

Eddie looks at them, and you can tell his resolve will slip. Horses and kids, his only weaknesses.

"Y'know, last I checked, school isn't over," you say, brow raised. "Don't y'all have somewhere to be?"

They turn to you with wide eyes.

"Don't tell Teacher, please!"

You tilt your head at the door. "Then you'd all best get a move on, hm?"

They scramble for the door and you only feel a little guilty at the empty threat. But then Eddie stands, body long and lean, and you don't feel so bad.

"You run a tight ship, peach," he says, striding over to you.

He's always dressed in black. You've never seen him in any other color. If you'd been given any good sense, you might take that as a warning. Might heed the whispers that fly through town every time Eddie returns.

But you hadn't come into this world with any damn sense, and you don't intend to find any now.

"I've got to when Mr. Hellfire's in town," you say, leaning back on your hands. "You've made quite the reputation for yourself."

"Oh, I know," he purrs, leaning in close. "Brave girl, going toe-to-toe with the no-good devil that sweeps through."

Your heartbeat soars at Eddie's honeyed voice. He lightly presses his mouth to yours; barely a kiss. It leaves you breathless all the same.

"Ed—" you start, reaching for him.

Eddie takes your wrists in his hands, rubbing the insides with his thumbs, one leg between yours.

"Hm, baby? Whatcha need?"

"Want you to—"

He tilts his head. You anxiously look around, not wanting the innkeeper or anybody to catch you tangled up with the one person you definitely shouldn't be.

"Go on," Eddie says, breath tickling your neck. "My brave girl's gotta ask for what she wants."

"Want you to–to love on me."

"Ain't you sweet," he whispers, gently cupping the back of your neck. "Well, since my brave girl used her words so nice, of course I'll give her anything she wants."

#teeheehee :D he makes me all squishy #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #cowboy eddie munson #cowboy au #inbox #blurb

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next-autopsy · 5 months

Text

A/N: Well, hi there! Birdie is such a sneak in this chapter, cheeky thing! Hope y'all enjoy it!

Btw the ----- signifies a kind of time skip or scene change.

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: Not many just underaged drinking...

Tags: @malarkgirlypop, @panzershrike-pretz

Made of Glass

Chapter fourteen: Lipstick Stain

In theory; jumping out of a plane was simple.

In reality; the hardest thing Birdie had ever done.

Sure, they spent days training and practicing, but leaping from an elevated platform and hurling your body out of an actual plane were two very different things.

The first jump was daunting, no one knew what it would really be like, but once the initial stomach drop eased, Bernadette was hooked.

A rush of adrenaline hit her and bubbled into joy. The view from above was unlike anything she'd ever seen, and Birdie wished she could capture this moment somehow, remember it till her last days.

On the ground, the girl wrestled with her chute, rolling it up and packing it away before she could leave the area.

That afternoon as the sky tinted orange and pink, Bernadette witnessed a drumming out. She wasn’t aware of the existence of this event until she stood in line and watched it happen.

Any soldier who refused to jump was transferred out of the Airborne and could not qualify as a Paratrooper.

It broke something in Birdie to see the disheartened faces being marched through the crowd in disgrace. She didn’t want to participate but she didn’t have much of a choice as it was used as a scare tactic to ensure everyone completed their five jumps. If she could, Birdie would have left this disgusting manipulation act.

One face in particular stuck out to her: Barbara Donahue, the woman of Charlie company. She had slept in the cot next to Birdie since their first day in Toccoa and the thought that she wouldn’t be there that night ran shivers down her spine.

Her head was hung in shame, and it boiled Birdies blood. How was this helping anyone? This certainly didn’t boost morale or inspire confidence, why was this allowed to happen?

Bernadette completed the last four jumps alongside her Easy men with no hiccups over the course of two weeks and the night of the fifth and final jump, a celebration was being held for her company to applaud the gaining of their jump wings. It was official.

They were Paratroopers.

Birdie adorned her dress greens; the shirt, tie and jacket were identical to the men's uniform except for some additional tailoring around the waist. She was given brand new, shiny paratrooper boots, which she was now permitted to tuck her trousers into. The women were also given a below the knee pencil skirt option but Bernadette wanted to show off her hard earned boots, so she opted for her trousers.

The woman added a simple red lip to her look and with her meticulously curled hair in an up do style, she was ready to go.

--------------------------------------------

“1000, 2000, 3000, 4000, 5000, 6000, 7000, 8000, 9-” Their rhythmic chant was cut off and replaced by cheers as Bill slammed the empty glass down onto the table. His silver jump wings had been retrieved from the bottom of the drink he chugged, now held between his teeth. Guarnere grinned at his friends, picking the shiny pin out with his fingers before he bellowed, “Heigh-Ho, Silver!” The surrounding men burst into obnoxious roars; Bernadette laughed at the comradery.

Toye stood from the rambunctious collection of men to look in the direction of the bar, he needed at least one more drink to deal with this lot.

“You gettin' ‘nother drink?” Birdie wondered, watching him eye up the other side of the room where she knew the alcohol was coming from.

“Come on, Little Bird.” He rolled his eyes; he knew she had been trying to sneak in a drink all night, but to her chagrin, Lipton and Martin had forbidden her from underaged alcohol consumption. Joe walked with the girl until they reached the bar where he leaned against the wooden countertop and waited to be served. Birdie took a place next to him, brushing her hand down the front of her jacket to flatten any creases that may have formed on the way over.

“Corporal Toye,” a mimic of Sobel’s voice exclaimed, “There will be no leaning in my company.” George Luz, was behind the bar handing out full to the brim glasses to anyone who asked, had made his way over to the pair. Toye straighten up his posture and gave the shorter man a pointed look.

“Are those dusty jump wings?” Luz went on, causing Joe to look down at his newly gained pin. “How do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?” The Pennsylvanian man mock blew the imaginary dust off and shined up the metal on his chest. He’d had enough of the jokesters' chatter; he just wanted a cold drink in his hand and less noise from the man in front of him.

“Luz, just give me a drink.” He pulled George in, so their faces were mere inches away from one another. Birdie’s eyes flicked between the two and her mind wandered, they were awful close.... and then she spotted it. Luz’s vision flits to Toye’s lips for a mere second before finding his eyes again. Her smile dropped from her face, stunned at the small, almost undetectable movement from the barman. It happened so quickly she was sure Toye himself hadn’t noticed.

“Hell of an idea, Joe.” A smile broke out on George’s mouth spanning ear to ear, “There you go.” He had materialized a beer, seemingly from out of thin air and placed it on the counter separating the men. Retrieving his own half-drunk liquid, he toasted the Corporal before him.

“Three miles up, three miles down.”

A voice projected into the room, halting the events of the night and startling every occupant into an upright position, “Ten Hut.” Colonel Sink marched in, followed by two men. All three took a position at the front of the room and Sink began to speak.

“Well, at ease, Paratroopers.” He paused while the room relaxed, “Good evening, Easy company.”

“Evening, sir.” They called back, so loud Birdie almost flinched.

“Now, Parachute Infantry is a brand-new concept in American Military History. But by God, the 506th is gonna forge that brand new concept into victory.” Sink’s southern drawl carried on, awe inspiring the group of men and the single woman.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to know I'm dammed proud of each and every one of you.” Sink looked directly at Bernadette. He doesn't call her out by name but the twinkle in his eyes showed more than needed to be said. She found herself grinning at this comment and he nodded once to confirm she understood his meaning correctly.

“Now, you deserve this party.” Chuck handed him a tall glass filled with the pale-yellow liquid everyone was drinking.

“Thank you, Sergeant Grant.” He accepts the gesture as he prepares to toast.

“Sir.” Chuck acknowledges quietly, stepping back into line with his own drink in hand. Every man in the room picked up the nearest glass regardless of whether it was theirs or not to join in the toast. George tapped Birdie on the shoulder, she kept her body in Sink’s direction but turned her head to look at him and was greeted by a full untouched beer. He smiled at her and winked, she took the offered glass gratefully, giving him a wink back.

“So, I want you to have fun.... and remember our motto.... Currahee!” Colonel Sink bellows, raising his drink above his head.

“Currahee!” The entire room hollers back, followed by cheers and whistles. A few men began chugging whatever they had left so they could grab a new drink. Birdie took a few large mouthfuls, shifting her eyes around the room in case Carwood popped out of nowhere to scold her.

The night continued. The chatter flicked on like a light switch and drinks were being downed with ease.

Toye noticed Bernadette polishing off her unlawful beverage and smirked, she had only had it for thirty seconds and it had already vanished.

---------------------------------------

“Bernadette.”

“Carwood.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Uh....no?”

“Huh... So, this is not your bright red lipstick on the rim of this glass?” There was a long pause, Birdie shifted her focus from the glass to Lipton’s face. He was trying to look stern and disapproving but hidden behind his eyes was amusement. He couldn’t stay mad at the young woman, especially when she was celebrating a momentous accomplishment.

“You know, I think I saw Randleman with this exact shade.” Her comment pulled a hearty chuckle from the Sergeant and he shook his head playfully. He’d let her get away with this for tonight, besides, it was only one drink.

-------------------------------------

It wasn’t just one drink.

Bernadette sneakily took sips from Toye and Guarnere’s glasses when they weren’t looking, making sure to wipe away any lipstick transfer left over. She used her puppy dog eyes to beg George for another beverage and he caved immediately, handing her a heavy pour of whiskey. Towards the end of the night, she found an unattended bottle of liquor that had asked her to adopt it. How could she refuse?

It was some sort of sherry... or maybe port? Honestly, Birdie didn’t really care. She drunk it without question unaware someone was watching her.

Donald Malarkey had seen every sip of alcohol the southern girl had stolen. He didn’t mind the nineteen-year-old drinking and probably would’ve helped sneak her things if she’d asked him, but he noticed she was starting to sway and figured someone should cut her off before she makes a fool of herself or gets in trouble. He made his way through the crowd and stopped by her side, smiling at the brunette.

“Don!” Birdie beamed at him; many would think she was just being friendly, but he knew she was at the very least tipsy and realistically a bit drunk.

“Hey, Birdie. You enjoying the party?”

“Sure am!” Her already jolly voice went up in pitch till it was almost considered a squeak.

“Think it’s time to head to bed?” Malarkey suggested, hoping the inebriated woman would just agree with him and walk out quietly.

“Five more minutes?” She pouted; her bottom lip pushed out and curled downward, like a child being told no. Don had to hold back his laughter.

“Okay, come find me when you’re ready to go, I'll walk you back.” He offered the woman, she shook her head in reply and slurred some words together,

“Nah, it’s okay, Mal. I’ll get Lip to walk me.”

“Promise?” He was unsure if he should leave her, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and trust she would find the Sergeant before she was ready to leave the function.

“Promise.” And with that, the redhead left, returning to Muck and Penkala who had pulled out cards. Don made a mental note to keep an eye on the girl subtly for the rest of the night.

Not five minutes later and she was gone. He had played one round and when he looked back to the spot he’d left her in; she’d vanished. The man panicked and scanned the room, but Bernadette was definitely gone.

“Ah shit.” He muttered to himself.

“What?” Penkala questioned, noticing his friend's cagey behaviour and his constant turning as he examined the room's occupants.

“Birdie’s gone. She said she’d get Lipton to walk her.”

“Well, I can’t see him anywhere, so... maybe she did?” Penk suggested, trying to help his upset friend feel better. Donald now searched for the Sergeant and when he couldn’t find him either, he reasoned that Bernadette had most likely gone to him for an escort to her barracks. He prayed that’s what happened and would ask one of the two for details the next day. He also decided he’d tell the lady off for worrying him and make her promise to come say goodbye to him at every event they attended, weather she was drunk or not.

A/N: Aw Don is such a sweetie! There will be two secondary ships in the background of this fic, guess who?? I hope the chapter title mislead you hahaha

Till next time x

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter fifteen

#band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #band of brothers fanfic #fem oc #oc #next autopsy #made of glass #made of glass chapter fourteen #joe toye #bill guarnere #george luz #chuck grant #carwood lipton #donald malarkey #alex penkala

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chatterbox-73 · 2 months

Text

.Sugar Daddy.

Older.

Kenny Ackerman x Reader

This story is a smut story, I’ll more characters x reader one shots in the future and if you want to see a character please let me know.

You must be 18 years or older to read this...

🔞⚠️NO MINORS ALLOWED⚠️🔞

Summary/inspiration/prompt: you didn’t know you needed someone older until you got him.

Word count: 2.9k

CW: NSFW and adult content, fingering, oral (m&f!receiving), unprotected s*x, filming, drinking, smoking, dirty talk, name calling/degradation,

You sat in the booth with the hair stylist next to you, “I’m telling you, today’s shoot was really good” slurred the director, as he placed a hand on yours while he leaned over the table, “if you and Kenny had just a little bit more chemistry, we’d all be rolling in money” he hiccuped and looked to Kenny and the older man just puffed on his cigarette, “come on, you enjoyed yourself… you can’t deny that” the director continued on as if he was trying to set you and Kenny up on a date, “director Vanché, I think it’s time we finished, the actors are probably tired and you promised to show me your new kitten” smiled the producers, you looked to the young man and offered him a smile as to say ‘thank you’. The two man left and you sighed in relief, the hair stylist next to you giggled and you looked at her, “what?” You asked with a raised brow and she shook her head, “I don’t think you’re gonna like it, but he’s right… if the both of you had a little more of a spark, you’d be very popular… and not just for our company” she raised her drink to her lips and took a sip of her beer, giving everything a minute before continuing on, “it’d be very big paycheque for both of you… and honestly I think you’d both think it’s more then worthwhile, at least considering how much you’d both enjoy yourself” she chuckled along with the other two stylists sitting at the table, while you could only blush.

Of course you enjoyed it, Kenny has a perfect cock and he knows how to use it perfectly, he’s had many years to become an expert at sex and he’s been with more women then you could ever imagine, while you have really only ever relayed on your looks and body, which is exactly why you got into porn because you didn’t need to be good at pleasing others you just needed to look good while taking it.

You just couldn’t possibly imagine Kenny wanting to be with you outside of work, because why would he waste his time on a little girl who is as useless in bed as a bag of cold sand. You looked down at your drink, before quickly drinking down all of it in one go, your face beginning to instantly heat up as the alcohol began to effect you, “wow… that was quick, what ya so desperate to get drunk for?” Asked the man that had been silently sitting and puffing on his cigarette this entire time, you looked up at him, “can you believe this bullshit? They want us to fuck again… haha! Yeah right, like you’d want to do that” you laugh and throw your head back against the back of the chair, you heard chairs shuffling and moving, when you looked up again you noticed everyone but Kenny had left, “and what if I do, then what? Ya gonna deny me? Not let me have ya?” He asked as he put out his cigarette and stood, “or will ya only open those sweet legs, if yer gettin’ paid? Cause I can arrange that” he chuckled and leaned back in his chair, you stiffen for a moment, “you want to again?” You looked off to the side and he laughed sitting back in the chair before crossing one leg over the other, Kenny eyed you down and waited for more from you, however you just stayed silent and watched one of the wall intensely. “Alright come on… get up, we’re leavin’” he hummed and stood before leaning over the table and grabbing your arm pulling out of the booth with him.

You stayed silent as Kenny led you to some very flashy and modern looking love hotel, you stood on the other side of the lobby watching as Kenny chatted away with the receptionist who happened to be a very beautiful woman who was probably in her mid forties, she hand him the key and a paper bag before looking to you and giving you a wink, you smiled shyly and she chuckled, Kenny ushered for you to follow him down the dimly lit hallway, before you both reached a door with the number 850.

You sat on the bed only in your underwear, Kenny had discarded your clothing somewhere in the room, the man stood before you as he removed his shirt, he grabbed your face as he unbuckled his belt, “ya look so pretty, uh bet people love havin’ such a cute girl under ‘em” he chuckled and tucked some hair behind your ear, however you only blushed and looked away, “no no… don’t look away… look at me… focus on me… only me, doll” Kenny leant down to you and once getting your attention he stood again before opening his pants and pulling out his member.

You watched intensely as Kenny pumped his semi, you noticed he dropped his member and looked at you expectingly, “yer ain’t gettin’ fucked, if ya ain’t workin’ for it, sweetie” he smirked and you looked down at his still slightly soft member.

You move forward on your hands and knees, moving a hand up Kenny’s leg before gripping his shaft, you pumped him slowly as you looked up at him, Kenny chuckled at your doe eyed expression and gently rested a rough hand on your cheek, “suck me, doll” he spoke in a rasped whisper, you felt your cunt clench before you giggled, you bit your lip and shook your head. Kenny gave you a raised eyebrow however before the man could speak, you leaned in and began kissing over his hips, at first you gave his hip soft feather like kisses that made goosebumps form on Kenny’s arms and legs, before you moved onto more sloppy kisses and licking over his hips and lower abdomen, this caused Kenny to pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pull your head back and up towards him. The man leant down getting right in your face, “start fuckin’ suckin’ bitch” he grunted out before yanking you back down to his member, Kenny straightened up and looked down his nose at you, you pressed a soft peck to his tip before slowly sliding him into your mouth.

Kenny’s pre-cum tasted funny, it was salty and bitter but it somehow made your cunt tingle and your mouth water, suckled on his tip, licking over his slit and wrapping your tongue around him with shallow bobs of your head, honestly you were more then ready to shove the man onto the bed before climbing him and going to town on his one-eye monster, however he told you to suck him, so that’s exactly what you were going to do.

Kenny groaned and brushed his fingers through your hair, you moaned and took him deeper, gagging and choking in the process, “woah woah, darlin’ yer tryin’ to kill yerself?” He questioned with a grin, looking up at the man had your cunt quivering, you ignore all your throats protecting and took him as deep as he’d allow, until nothing was left, your lips met the scruffy bush of pubs as your nails dug into his thighs, Kenny’s lips were turned up into a smirk and his eyes were narrowed while he watched you, the man took a sharp breath in and let out a hiss before pulling you off him, “that’s enough, yer pretty good at that” he chuckled before grabbing your hips and forcing your hip to the edge on the bed before placing a pillow under them, Kenny grabbed under your knees and forced your thighs apart and then pushed your knees right up to your chest, you groaned at the strain on your hips, however Kenny only chuckled and rubbed his thick tip between your quivering folds, “oh fuck… Kenny please!” You whined as the underside of his shaft rubbed over your clit, however the man only smirked and pulled back.

Whining and complaining you reached a hand down and began rubbing yourself before slipping a finger in, you moaned and moved the finger quickly in a desperate attempt to get off, “ya know, I’m likin’ the look of this… keep playin with that pussy baby girl” the man watched your finger disappear deeper and deeper inside you, though no matter how much you push and press you weren’t able to put enough pressure on your g-spot, “I- I can’t… not enough” you cried and felt Kenny release one of your leg.

Without warning the man push two of his fingers into you, not giving you a chance to pull out your own finger before his hand cupping yours, you gasped loudly at the fullness before the man began to move yours and his fingers in and out guiding them into your spot, you moaned and grabbed his wrist. “I can’t… it’s- it’s too much… dear god!” You cried out and involuntarily rocked your hips into his slow motion of both your fingers, “too much?” Kenny questioned with a chuckle before he leant down and wrapped his lips around you clit, the man switched between suckling and blowing raspberries on your sensitive bud, you cried and moaned grabbing his head pulling him impossibly close to you while your free leg squeezed around his shoulder, you pushed yourself into him as you quickly reached your high, you felt your cunt squeeze tightly around both yours and Kenny’s fingers.

Kenny felt his member throb and pre-cum leak from him, he was certain that if everything kept up like this he’d cum, he honestly began to feel like a young teenager again, desperate and unable to control himself, he felt eager and ready for you, your moans and pleas only encouraging him, Kenny pulled back while keeping his tongue on you, he laid his hot muscle flat on your clit, slowly beginning to massage it while watching you intensely as your body quivered and your face contorted, you fell over the edge as you watched him watching you, “oh dear god…! Fuck me kenny! Please Kenny… please” you cried loudly moaned between every word only getting louder the longer Kenny continued to lick you cunt, even after removing his and your fingers from you, his tongue continued to work you to a other orgasm, pulling away and grabbing your leg that was resting on his shoulder before moving it up to press it against your chest, after a few more slow licks over your cunt Kenny leaned up and quickly slipped his member into you.

It was silent as his hips slowly moved back and forth as his lips captured yours, you moaned and whined against his lips but the sound was just swallowed up, you wondered for moments if this was what your coworkers meant by good chemistry but that thought was quickly forgotten when Kenny pressed into your spot.

You completely lost yourself, your eyes watered and lips quivered as your toes curled and back arced, you moaned nonsense as the man’s hips pressed into yours, it was a stark contrast to your interaction earlier in the day.

Kenny was being sweet, slow and oh so gentle, it felt like heaven, it was so out of the ordinary, you had been railed plenty of times, almost with every partner you’ve had, however this was different in so many ways, “yer so warm baby” Kenny moaned as he pulled back and looked down at where your hips meant, “yer swallowin me up” the man groaned and let go of your legs, moving his hands to your waist holding you tightly in place, he took a deep breath in and closed his eyes, tilting his head back and contacting all his muscles.

Kenny’s muscles on arms and legs flexed and his chest expanded with his deep breathes, while his stomach tightened making his abdomen tensed up and his waist appeared smaller. The man looked like heaven itself, like a Greek statue, you could feel the throbbing of his cock and could tell why the man was calming himself down.

Kenny wasn’t ready to cum, but you sure as hell was ready for him, regaining all your senses you squeeze around him, trying to encourage him to continue, however this caused the man to slowly begin to pull out, in your desperation you wrapped your legs tightly around his hips, while also leaning up and grabbing roughly at his waist, your nails dug and stretched at his skin causing him to hisses sharply and glare down his nose at you. “Kenny… please… back in…” you moaned your legs tightening more and your fingers finally getting a good grip on him, as you push him back into you and locking him in place with your legs, “back in… nice and deep” you moaned as one of your hands move up Kenny’s arm while the other rest on the mattress before helping you raise up from the bed. You wrap your arms around Kenny neck and you lick his earlobe “Kenny… you have to fuck me… you have to fill me” you whisper dirtily and play with the hair on the back of Kenny’s neck, the man raised a leg on to the bed and began to slowly bounce you on his member.

Your hands grip onto his shoulders tightly as he moved his body to sit back on the bed, “yer being real confident baby…” he chuckled breathlessly while he laid flat on his back, he then guided your hips into as soft rock, “ya better get workin for this cum” he looked down at you swallowing him up, you moaned beginning to grind and roll your hips, Kenny’s eyes moved up your body, he seemed to be mesmerised by the way it moved, “ya got some nice tits on ya” he groaned as he moved his hand up your waist and to your chest squeezing and massaging the flesh.

You were certain you’d cum soon, despite your best efforts Kenny still looked calm, relaxed and nowhere near ready to cum, though the occasional twitch or throb made you second guess that, you mustered all the courage you had, “raise those knees for me, would ya?…” You slightly mimic Kenny’s accent still unsure, he look up for your breasts and gave a crooked smile, “now why’d I do that?” He grunted eyes shifting back down to your cunt before quickly back up to your face, “how else ya gonna see my pussy swallow up yer cum” you fully committed to the accent and moved yourself into a squatting position.

With a laugh Kenny lifted his knees and you leaned back resting your hands on them, you opened your legs and began grinding up and down on his cock, giving him a full view of everything. Kenny reach down the side on the bed and grab his phone, resting his other hand behind his head he tapped away on his phone before hitting record, “let’s show the boss how well we’re gettin along” he chuckled looking at you through the phone, you moaned surprisingly enjoying being recorded despite it normally feeling like work, you whined as you quickened your pace, “fuck Kenny… I’m gonna cum” you throw your head back and whined, reaching a hand down you began to fondle Kenny’s sack determined to get him to cum, the man hissed reaching up and grabbing one of your breasts, before giving it a good slap keeping the camera focused on you, “fuckin slut!” He grunted and grabbed you breast, squeezing it roughly this time, “dirty cum hungry slut!” His accent coming through heavier as his words slurred together. Kenny let out a loud groan then a harsh grunt before rutting his hips up, this caused you to lose your balance and almost fall forward, but it hardly mattered as you felt it, Kenny had finally given in, it was hot and felt amazing, you were certain you could get used to this feelings.

You quickly pulled Kenny out of you and turned over, you felt Kenny grab your ass, massaging the flesh before spreading your lips, getting a good view of your abused hole, you then decide to push and force a large amount of Kenny’s cum out of you, the man groaned and your felt his fingers start playing with your folds smearing his cum all over your cunt and then fingering it back in you, “baby, ya think we’re gettin along well enough for ‘em” he asked and you moaned as he scissored his fingers in and out of you, before pulling them out completely and showing the camera just how dirty they were.

“Ya sure…? Uh don’t have to send it, just keep it between us sweetie” Kenny rested a hand on your stomach while the other tap away on his phone, “well does it look good? I only want to send it if it looks good” you moved your foot up and out of the bath water, playing with the tap as it dipped water, Kenny laughed and moved his hand up your body to your throat tilting your head back against his shoulder, “yer fuckin kiddin me, right?!” He laughed more before kissing your cheek and leaning into your ear, “ya looked fuckin perfect” he whispered and moved your phone into your view, before hitting play on the video.

Hours later you sat in your living room watching all the replies to the video, Kenny had opted to sending the video file to the work group chat under the name ‘team building exercise’, and the replies have been coming in ever since, it was safe to say your boss was pleased with the outcome and had already begun planning the next few projects.