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animeismyhappyplace · 4 months

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My Deerest Darling

Synopsis: When Alastor's rut hits he needs someone he can truly trust to help him out, luckily for him Y/N just arrived at the Hazbin Hotel.

Set around episode 1 of Hazbin Hotel and may contain some spoilers for the series.

Word Count: 5K (5,045)

Trigger Warnings: 18+!!!

Platonic friends who share a close bond and care for each other, tiny pinch of angst at the start, possessive behavior, swearing, a deal is made, pet names (dear, darling), his demon form is here, marking and love bites, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, rough sex, porn with some plot, ambiguous ending I suppose 😜

Authors Note: I know that Alastor is AroAce canonically so I wanted to write this like he's in a stressful situation, one he can't really control, and chooses to experience it with a close friend.

I've never written an Ace character before so I hope I do him at least some justice ☺️.

I've taken the route, after a little bit of research, that over time he could form a sexual attraction if it was the right circumstances and he'd known the person for a very long time but it'd still be something that rarely happens.

Y/N walks down through the streets of Pentagram City frowning as she walks past more fires and explosions than she could count, she'd even had to side step past a bird looking sinner screaming about being doomed come the next Externation Day.

She was making her way to the Hazbin Hotel to see an old friend. She walks up the large wooden doors somewhat hesitant, it's been a long time since she last spoke to Alastor but more information was needed about Pride Ring's next steps given the recent news.

Giving herself a moment to calm the nerves drumming across her veins she takes a moment to smooth out her outfit and tuck any flyaway hairs back into place before giving the door a few sharp knocks.

She waits for a few moments with seemingly no activity inside the large hotel until she hears a gruff voice complain “... Why the fuck do I have to answer the door? Not enough that I'm already the fuckin' bartender…”

Her eyes widen as she instantly recognises the voice, almost laughing as a rather grumpy looking cat reluctantly answers the door “What the fuck do you wa...Y/N?”

Husk's wide yellow eyes stare at her his jaw basically hanging on the floor, the awkwardness of the situation making her rock on the balls of her feet nervously “Hey Husker, long time no see”

Y/N swallows the lump forming in her throat as she notices his body is still somewhat stiff “uhh didn't realise you were back in the Pride Ring”

The woman simply nods at his statement “came back when I heard the announcement ‘bout the angelic fuckers dropping on us faster than usual”

“Right…” he answers guardedly, his eyes looking her up and down, making her own drop to the concrete leading up to the hotel's entrance “is Alastor here?”

Husk clears his throat gesturing for her to come in while stepping aside, she gives him a tight lipped smile entering cautiously.

Her eyes flit around the room as she takes in her surroundings, her soft gaze settling on some portraits of Lucifer and his family. She gets so lost in thought she almost doesn't realise a certain demon is watching her with intrigue.

Static fills the air making her blood run cold as her eyes snap to the radio demon himself, Alastor.

“Well well well, you're certainly the last person I'd have expected to see here, my dear”

Nervously she wrings her hands together, unable to look at him as his red eyes bore into her face “can we talk?”

A wide smile spreads across Alastor's face as he stares at his old friend. His head tilts slightly as he looks her up and down with curiosity, his piercing red eyes glowing ominously as he nods.

"Why of course my dear~ come, let's find a quiet place to talk"

He turns his back on her as he gestures for her to follow him with a simple point of his long finger.

Y/N nods following silently, passing through a few vacant corridors before stopping at a room Alastor finally seems happy with.

He again gestures for her to walk in, letting her go first like the gentleman he is with a large smile on his face as he shuts the door behind them.

Turning to face her, he tilts his head expectantly waiting for her to speak but when nothing but silence fills the air he clears his throat "so to what do we owe this rare pleasure?"

A frown sets deep in across her forehead as she sighs "you needn't be so formal with me Alastor, we've known each other a long time..."

Rolling his eyes he clicks his tongue at her "yes, until you suddenly disappeared"

His eyes narrow as he spits out "how fun that was"

She visibly winches as his words cut at her heart, her head hanging in shame "I know... I'm sorry…”

Alastor's eyebrow raises as she explains herself. His eyes narrow slightly, a look of distrust glittering across his large orbs but it quickly fades as he watches her body language.

She's clearly uncomfortable at having to face him returning from an absence just as long as his own. He steps a bit closer to her, his movements are slow and deliberate as he meets her eyes curiosity getting the better of him.

"Hmm yes well I must ask..."

The corner of his mouth curls up into a predatory smile as his voice lowers with an air of menace in his words. "Where have you been hiding my dear?" He says in a low tone, hand grabbing at his mic.

She goes to speak but then notices his shadows beginning to move around the room, almost touching her legs as they surround her, raising her eyebrow at him she finally gives him the answer he's been looking for.

"Wrath, a friend of mine told me something very interesting. I'd be happy to tell you what they said, you know since we're so close" she smiles almost wickedly.

A hint of laughter escapes his lips at her words before he raises his eyebrows at her with genuine curiosity.

"Please do go on my dear~ don't leave me in such suspense" Alastor leans forwards resting on his mic.

A small chuckle leaves her lips at his rapid mood swing but she concedes nodding "while scavenging for weapons they found a body, a rather holy looking body wouldn't you say?"

She walks close to him, handing over a picture of a headless exterminator.

The Radio Demon stares down at the picture, his eyes widen as his smile broadens. His lips curl into a menacing grin as he slowly nods his head.

"Yes...I would indeed"

His eyes light up with interest as he raises his eyebrow, a curious glint sparkling in his cherry red eyes.

"Tell me my dear, how did the creature meet its gruesome end?”

A deep sigh of disappointment leaves her lips at his question, her arms folding in front of her stomach "ah that I don't know, my dear Alastor"

A wide smile stretches over her lips pulling tightly at her rosy cheeks "though I figure if anyone could find out what happened, it'd be you"

A small chuckle escapes his lips as he considers her words.

"Hmmm..."

He paces around the room, his long legs striding effortlessly with a soft hiss of static sounding with each step.

"Yes. That's quite possible indeed"

He walks over to her stopping just in front of her body and smiles, the glint in his eyes becoming more intense as his voice drops into a lower tone.

"I suppose could do a bit of investigating, for the right price of course~"

His long fingers curl over her hair patting gently as his hand settles on her head.

She turns her head to look up at him humming softly at his words "a deal? What'd you have in mind?"

A smug grin crosses his lips as he raises an eyebrow. In this moment, his presence is intense, his aura of power and danger surrounding her like a heavy blanket of shadows.

"Simple enough~"

He pauses before continuing in the same suave voice, his eyes narrowing as he leans down towards her face.

"I'll get all the information I can on the dead angel and you... will owe me one small favour to be cashed in any time of my choosing”

"Simple enough until I know what it is you want from me" a small pout settles across her lips as she thinks over his proposition and in the end she holds her hand out to him.

The aura in the room drastically changes. Green stitches appear along Alastor's mouth covering his sharp teeth, his eye colour changing to bright green, his pupils shifting to radio dials and his dark antlers growing in size curving around his head.

"Is it done?”

His demonic form disappears as quickly as it appeared. A chuckle escaped his lips as he reached out to gently stroke her hair humming almost softly.

"Good girl~ we have ourselves a deal"

His voice becomes more even as the quiet of the room returns.

"I don't suppose you could do me a favour? work your magic and convince that little princess you're helping to let me stay here?" she chuckles under her breath.

A sly grin spreads across the handsome demon's face as he chuckles softly. His eyes light up with mischief and he taps his mic as his voice softens.

"Why yes I believe I could. Come with me my dear and let's go see Charlie”

She smiles at the taller demon appreciatively as they begin walking to the door.

"Would it be strange for me to say I've missed you and your mysterious ways?" She asks with a small giggle falling from her lips.

A low chuckle escapes the demon as he teases her "how sentimental of you"

"Not at all my dear"

His eyes soften for a very brief moment and he's clearing his throat.

"Please. Follow me”

Charlie had accepted Y/N’s presence quicker than she'd expected but it worked in her favour so she hadn't questioned it much simply looking towards Alastor who shrugged his shoulders with his ever present smile spread across his face.

She worked hard to dodge Husk's probing questions during breakfast, anxiety rising until he'd finally dropped the subject after multiple prompts from Charlie and Vaggie.

Her worries now shifted to Alastor who'd been strangely quiet since they made their deal, his eyes darting around the room rapidly almost as if he was waiting for something.

She had decided to corner him in the afternoon after realising he'd spoken only twice so far all day, it was concerning to say the least.

She steadily ascends the winding stairs leading up to his radio tower, finding him hunched over the console, his back rising and falling rapidly as his breathing looked laboured.

“Alastor?” She asks with a soft tone.

As she speaks, his body jerks up with a sharp intake of breath. He straightens himself, and his breathing becomes more controlled as he turns to face her. Alastor's expression remains neutral but his eyes narrow as he stares at her.

"Yes my dear? What is it?"

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his long claws digging into his skin as he continued to stare at her, still not quite meeting her eyes.

She stares at him for a moment brows knitting together in a small frown as she watches beads of sweat trail down his cheeks from his forehead "just wanted to check on you, you've been awfully quiet today"

Questioning eyes wander down until they stop at his clenched fists "you seem out of sorts"

He looks down at his hands as his breathing becomes slightly more erratic. His body seems to tense up as he realises she's watching him intently.

"No no I'm fine, probably just... the time of year"

His eyes narrow in annoyance glancing over her shoulder towards the large red door.

She doesn't seem convinced as she slowly moves closer "you sure? Cause you really do seem-"

She teaches her hand out to touch his forehead wanting to check his temperature 'can demons even get sick?' she wonders as his body reacts quickly, reaching out to grab onto her arm stopping her as his hand tightens its grip.

His skin feels hot to the touch, almost burning her skin as he holds her hand firmly, gripping it so tightly it almost hurts.

His breathing grows sharper as his eyes bore into her own, his ears flattening against his head.

"S-sorry Alastor, too close?" She whispers as she tries to pull away, fearing she's made him uncomfortable.

The demon seems to snap back to reality, eyes wide and blinking rapidly before letting go of her hand looking at her with a slightly irritated expression.

He doesn't reply, just shakes his head, pushing past her to grab his mic before storming away back to the hotel.

Y/N stands in the silent radio tower frozen in pure confusion at his actions.

She looks down at her skin wondering if there'd be a burn mark left behind from his touch but of course there wasn't, shaking her head she sighs before leaving the tower herself.

✨ Later That Day ✨

The next time she sees Alastor his behaviour is even more strange. She had been having a few drinks at the bar with Husk and Angel Dust, telling the friendly spider demon all about her early days as a sinner and how she'd managed to slowly befriend the standoffish overlord.

Alastor had entered the large space calm as ever, his eyes finding the trio quickly, red eyes narrowing at Husk as he handed Y/N a new drink, his hand momentarily brushing against her fingers but it's enough.

A loud and low growl rumbles in Alastor's chest as he storms over to the group, startling Y/N so much she jumps dropping the glass.

His long slender fingers wrap around her wrist as he pulls her off the bar stool and into his chest, his left arm winding around her waist in an almost protective manner making her yelp as her face is thrust into his chest.

Red eyes narrow at the two men as his pupils transform into radio dials, large antlers growing as his chest shakes with anger “ĐØ₦'₮ ₮ØɄ₵Ⱨ ⱧɆⱤ” black shadowy tentacles shoot out and grab onto Husk's red bowtie pulling him into the edge of the bar as the radio demons smile widens in demonic glee.

Y/N's hands grip onto Alastor's shirt tugging harshly “Alastor! Alastor STOP” she shouts trying to push him backwards to get his attention.

His body stiffens as the shadows recede dropping Husk onto the floor, his pupils changing back to their regular shape as his gaze shifts down to her body still pressed tightly against his own.

A look of panic crosses the demon's face as he pushes Y/N away from his body. His eyebrows furrow for a moment before he's stalking out of the room, slamming the door as leaves. Y/N's breaths are shallow as her heart thunders in her chest.

“Uh what in the fuck was that?” Angel asks incredulously while helping Husk to his feet, his eyes flicking between her and his friend.

“I-I don't know… I've never…” her mind is racing as she tries to think back to their many years of friendship but she'd never seen him act that way before and it scared her.

Without realising her feet are moving to follow in his footsteps, she needs to find out what was going on.

She searches all around the hotel but doesn't find a single trace of her friend. Giving up and finally trudging back to her bedroom for a much needed rest, she kicks the door open, not even bothering to shut it before flopping face first onto her bed.

Her temples are pulsing wildly with pain at the headache she's given herself trying to figure out Alastor's strange actions, her fingers rub deep circles against her head making her groan until the sound of her door slamming shut makes her jump up so quickly she almost falls off her bed.

The door slams with a rather loud bang showing Alastor walking further into the room, a small smirk playing on his lips as he steps toward her.

"Đīđ Ī ꞩȼⱥɍē ɏꝋᵾ đēⱥɍ? You should really be more careful leaving your door open like that anyone could walk in"

His eyes darted over her body as sweat drops from his fringe to the floor, his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of red matching his hair.

"Alastor? What's going on? You're not acting like yourself" she shifts backwards on the bed until her back hits the headboard, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Alastor continues to walk towards her with an unsettling grin plastered across his face.

"Ah...You're quite right about that my dear, it's that time of the year for me unfortunately."

In a sudden move, he's leaning over her, placing a hand underneath her chin gripping it tightly.

He is so close to her now she can feel his warm breath on her cheeks.

"That time of year?" She asks confused, her eyes looking up to watch his facial expressions.

Alastor leans in closer resting his forehead against hers as their breathing synchronises.

"Mating season my dear, I'm in rut"

Shock paints across her face as she starts to stutter ‘rut? As in…’

"I-I thought you didn't usually like se-”

His voice is low, breathing laboured as his breath tickles her skin causing her cheeks to heat up at the close contact.

"you're right I don't usually enjoy... physical touch... but my instincts are becoming too difficult to control"

His body almost trembles as his claws grip her bed sheets "you're one of oldest and closest friends my dear if it's going to happen... I want it to be you"

She shakes her head slightly as he rests his nose against her own "don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or make you do something you'll regret"

"I'm slowly losing my mind here dear"

The demon pushes her back as his voice drops to a whisper.

"I've managed to resist as much as possible but it physically hurts"

He raises his hands slowly to brush her fringe away revealing her forehead as he almost nuzzles against the soft skin.

"please..." he pleads as his voice cracks.

Her eyebrows furrow unsure if this is something he actually wants.

"Only if you're sure Alastor, I don't want..." she whispers slowly, lifting her hand to push the soaked hair away from his eyes.

Alastor shakes his head, growing frustrated and desperate.

"I want this. I need this"

His voice trembles with desperation as his body shakes, the heat coming from his body almost burning her own as she attempts to soothe him.

"Be a doll darling and help me…”

"Okay" she whispers, hands trailing down his cheeks to rest on his jaw as she tugs his face down ever so slightly to brush her lips against his in a feather light kiss.

Alastor tries to hold back, tries to be gentle with her but he's feeling so needy his body has a mind of its own, his fingers grasping at her arms pulling her body close to his own

A whine leaves her lips as his body dwarfs her own, pushing her down onto her back. Her hair is splayed out over her pillows as his large body leans over her own.

His breath becomes ragged as his body reacts to their close proximity. His hips rock forward, the growing tent in his pants pressing against her body and causing her cheeks to flush brightly.

"You're body is so soft my dear"

His voice breaks as he trails kisses along her neck, his large sharp teeth nipping at her throat moving down to her collarbone.

Alastor can't help but groan as his heated body touches hers, need drumming through his veins as he rocks his hips into her body showing her how desperate he is for release.

His long fingers have her hands pinned down so he has full control.

His tongue slips out to softly lick the underside of her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin as he moves one hand to grip her own, his claws sinking into her flesh.

His mouth leaves her neck as he trails kisses along the side of her nose, neck and cheeks before finally settling back on her lips, his breathing growing heavy.

Once satisfied he pulls back, tearing off his red blazer jacket throwing it somewhere to the side before starting on his bow tie and shirt letting them land beside his jacket.

With his heated chest exposed Y/N uses the opportunity to let her fingers explore, they trail over his pecs to his sides before travelling upwards to his neck pulling his body back to her own.

Alastor lets out a low groan as his body reacts to her hands, his breath growing deeper as she moves her hands over his body.

His claws bite into the bed sheets causing small rivets to appear in the fabric.

"Dear" He mutters as his voice breaks

"I don't think I can resist much longer…”

Her slender fingers move quickly, lifting her shirt over her head and throwing it off to the side. Next she unclips her bra sighing in relief as cold air hits her nipples.

She gives Alastor a small smirk as she sees his eyes raking over her bare body.

Alastor's pupils contract as she removes her clothing, he takes in every inch of her exposed body as he watches her movements with an intense gaze.

His eyes trace her curves, looking her up and down with a look of approval before he opens his mouth to compliment her, his voice cracking.

"You've got to be one of the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen"

A low possessive growl leaves his throat as he uses his clawed fingers to shred her skirt, throwing the pieces on the floor.

"Mine”

She nods whimpering softly, trailing her hands down her body rubbing over her nipples then moving down to her panties.

She pulls them down and throws them off to the side, spreading her legs for Alastor to see how soaked she is, her small fingers rub small circles against her clit as Alastor's hungry eyes watch every moment.

A growl leaves his chest again as he watches her fingers move over herself spreading the wetness over her folds, his breathing rapidly increasing as she toys with herself.

"So adorable..."

His words leave his lips as low rumbles as he stares at her body, his jaw growing tighter and the muscles in his body tensing as he watches her with such a hungry look.

Alastor moves his hands to her thighs spreading them impossibly wide so he can slide between them and better watch her movements, tongue peaking out to lick over his lips.

Having Alastor's dark eyes watching her makes her heart thud rapidly in her chest, tilting her head back as she enters two fingers into her dripping pussy.

With her head tilted back Alastor can see every mark he's left across her neck making his hands clench down on her thighs possessively.

Alastor's eyes flicker between the marks he's left on her skin and her wet heat.

His fingers are digging into her thighs as he watches her with hunger, Alastor's breath catches in his throat as he watches her movements, his teeth gritting with each thrust of her fingers.

"Need a taste…”

Wrapping his fingers around her wrist he pulls removing her fingers from her body, groaning as he watches her slick dripping from her fingers.

He moves quickly, pulling her fingers forward and into his waiting mouth, his tongue lapping at the digits with a moan as he tastes her juices.

Alastor grunts in approval as his tongue laps at her fingers, his chest heaving as his body reacts to her taste.

"More..." he grumbles greedily before his teeth drag along the soft skin of her hand as his tongue continues to lick away at her juices.

His body is growing more desperate for release, his breath becoming more shaky.

Watching the demon almost devour her fingers sends fresh need throbbing through her body as she whines "need you Alastor"

His lips curl into a cruel smirk as he lets her hand drop to the bed.

"So eager~"

He grins leaning down over her body making sure his growing length is pressed against her bare body, his eyes growing hot as he meets her gaze.

"I'm going to make you scream darling"

His voice is heavy with desire as he starts to lean in for a kiss.

Y/N reciprocates his kiss greedily as her own need grows, her hands drop to his pants tugging them down along with his boxers, finally releasing his length as a long moan leaves his lips.

Her fingers wrap around his dick, moving her hand down his length feeling it throb in her hand.

The demon's eyes roll back in his head as he feels her warm hands wrap around his length, a groan rumbling deep in his throat. He arches his back into her touch, his hips bucking slightly as she begins to stroke him “don't be a tease now dear”

Alastor growls low in his throat, thrusting his hips forward as he feels the tight heat engulf him causing them both to moan loudly as he fills her to the brim.

His fingers curl around her legs wrapping them around his hips as he starts to thrust into her.

Y/N's eyes roll back as Alastor sets an almost bruising pace, her arms looping around his head to keep her steady.

Her breaths come out as little hiccups as Alastor's thrusts push her further up the bed.

The demon's thrusts grow harder and faster, his hips slamming against hers as he takes her with a feral growl. His monocle slips from his eye, clattering to the floor as he loses himself in the primal need to claim and breed.

His hands reach out to grip onto the bed, his claws sinking into the mattress as the pleasure overwhelms his body.

Sharp nails nip into the skin of Alastor's neck as he pounds into her, her head tipping back burying into the pillows as all thoughts fly out of her head.

"A-A... Al..." her soft moans are muffled as his head dips to press needy kisses to her lips.

His growl vibrates throughout his body as he feels her nails dig into his skin, her voice sending shivers down his spine.

He bites down on her lip, his tongue flicking over the wound, licking up the blood he's drawn as hunger claws at his chest.

Alastor's rough and fast pace starts to rock the bed against the wall, every thrust causing the bed to shake. Her moans and whines increase in volume.

His hips slam into hers over and over again, his cock buried deep inside her as he takes what he wants.

“Look at my good girl, taking me so well…”

With a feral growl, Alastor picks up the pace even more, his hips slamming into hers in a primal rhythm. His eyes wild with lust and possession as he takes her, his body trembling as he tries to control his demonic strength.

"QɄłɆ₮ ĐɆ₳Ɽ, your sweet sounds are for my ears Ø₦ⱠɎ”

Alastor's deer-like ears twitching madly as they react to each sound that leaves her throat.

Y/N's so lost in the pleasure the demon is giving her that she doesn't realise the long dark antlers that have started to sprout from his red locks.

Her eyes squeezed shut with her hand slapped over her mouth as she attempted to quieten down her noises.

Y/N's muffled whines pitch in volume as pleasure courses through her veins.

"A-Al... 'm c-close" she whimpers, pulling his body down to hers, pulling him so close his chest is slotted against her own.

Her fingers slip between their bodies to rub tight circles against her swollen clit, her walls clenching down on Alastor's cock as her thighs shake against his bucking hips.

Alastor feels the pleasure building within him, his body tensing as he reaches his climax. His eyes squeezed shut as he thrust harder into her one last time, his hot seed filling her up with each thrust.

Feeling Alastor come undone and throb against her walls sendings her over the edge, her body stiffening as she cums hard with Alastor's cock bullying her sweet spot.

Almost instinctively as he's climaxing Alastor buries his face in the crook of Y/N’s neck, licking a long stripe up the sweaty skin before his long sharp teeth sink into the soft supple skin. He keeps his teeth in place until she's finished cumming on his cock, finally pulling away he licks up the blood that slowly weeps out of the holes. He's smirking proudly while looking at the marks that are scattered across her upper body.

She's panting hard, her fingers trailing up to her neck to feel the marks Alastor has left behind as she's held close to Alastor's body, they stay slotted together until both of their breathing starts to settle down.

As their breathing slows, Alastor opens his eyes to look down at Y/N, a satisfied smirk on his face. He leans in to place a gentle kiss on her forehead before pulling out of her with a soft pop, flopping down on the bed beside her.

Y/N turns to lay on her side, head propped up on her hand as she watches his face.

"Feeling better?" she can't help but giggle as his head turns to look at her.

"Much," he replies with a chuckle, humming as he runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down. He glances back at her and smirks "for now”

He chuckles softly, enjoying her wide eyed reaction to his words. His long arms reach out cradling her to his body as he strokes her hair "come rest for now dear, you're going to need it”

She gulps as he smiles at her deviously.

Back in the main seating area of the lobby the group sat together looking thoroughly traumatised at hearing the pairs… activities.

Sir Pentious is covering the ears of his little egg boys, Angel has a knowing smirk on his face watching as Husk shakes his head muttering curses under his breath, Nifty thankfully is nowhere to be seen and Vaggie is holding Charlie close as Charlie's eyes are wide, her mouth dropped open in shock.

The room is eerily quiet, no one daring to break the uncomfortable silence until Charlie clears her throat “at least they're done now, right?…” She looks to Vaggie for moral support as Angel Dust bursts out laughing "who knew tall, dark and creepy could fuck" He's holding his stomach and shaking his head as he walks to the bar.

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8K notes · View notes

chaoticace2005 · 3 months

Text

Rules for the Hazbin Hotel, authored by Vaggie:

1. No drugs.

2. No fights.

3. No pranks.

4. No problematic language.

5. No murder (OR TERRITORIAL GENOCIDE WHAT THE FUCK ANGEL)

6. No smuggling in of drugs. Not by sticking them up your ass. Or by hiding them in a pizza box. Or by slingshotting them to the roof. Or getting someone else to. Not at all.

7. No sexual rendezvous with outsiders in the hotel. No SHOWING sexual rendezvous with strangers to people of the hotel either.

8. Make sure the pig/future pets stay in the patron’s room. (This includes eggs!!)

9. No singing Limit singing to once twice per day

10. Stop flirting with the bartender Angel

11. Don’t call Husk “Husker” unless he allows it.

12. No harassing the staff at all. This includes asking who tops.

13. Don’t suggest anything sexual/romantic to Alastor unless you want your head cut off.

14. NO CUTTING OFF PEOPLE’S HEADS

15. NO EATING PEOPLE

16. NO MAKING CHARLIE CRY.

17. Don’t ask me to put my spear “inside you” Angel, what the fuck?

18. Don’t turn the interior of the hotel into a swamp?! Keep it contained in your room if you must!

19. No stabbing staff or residents. No matter how much they look like bugs! (OR IF THEYRE NAME IS ANGEL)

20. Don’t try and stab bugs if they’re within 10 feet of another demon.

21. Don’t call anyone a “bitch” OR TALK ABOUT HOW MY NAME SOUNDS LIKE “VAGINA”

22. Limit Niffty’s access to sharp objects.

23. NO DEALS ALASTOR

24. No drinking. Limit drinking at bar.

25. No mentioning the Stock Market Crash of 1929. For everyone’s benefit.

26. Don’t blow a hole in the wall.

27. Try to keep roast battles OUTSIDE the hotel. (Or stop picking fights?? Please Alastor I swear to God…)

28. No spying on the hotel for outside sources or putting technology that can be used against us.

29. No evil laughing in the middle of the night, what the fuck Alastor?

30. No building weapons/war machines.

31. No eggs! (Fine the eggs can stay.)

32. Someone please keep an eye on Niffty. (And the eggs.)

33. Stop touching people ANGEL.

34. Don’t make other people storm off HUSK.

35. Respect boundaries.

36a. If Angel looks like he’s about to pass out/cry don’t comment. Let him do his thing.

36b. Don’t try to talk to Angel if he’s on the phone with Valentino. Honestly don’t even mention his phone calls with Valentino.

37. Please don’t call Lucifer “Daddy”

38. Don’t turn into a 20 foot tall demon-eating creature unless absolutely necessary.

39. Don’t cause angry loan sharks to show up at the front door.

40. NO EXPLOSIONS!

41. Rule #2, “No fights” can be broken if the person you’re fighting is Valentino. Or Adam.

42. Don’t lie to your girlfriend or hide the fact you were secretly an angel.

43. DONT TALK ABOUT PEOPLE’S TITS (or lack of)

44. KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING A BEDROOM ESPECIALLY IF SOMEONE’S HAVING MAKEUP SEX

45. Don’t give people makeovers while they’re sleeping, ANGEL!

46. Don’t pretend to eat someone’s pet, ALASTOR

47. Don’t die.

48. I never want to hear the words “cum-plete” again.

49. STOP HAVING FIGHTS ACROSS THE BUILDING LUCIFER AND ALASTOR!!

50. If Charlie is passed out on the couch LET HER SLEEP

51. No making bombs in the hotel Cherri!

52. Stop breaking rules and then saying it’s “FOR SIR PENTIOUS!”

53. Angel don’t try to shoot someone if they break spaghetti.

54. Don’t break spaghetti. Or “ruin” Italian food. Whatever the fuck that means. This apparently includes pineapple on pizza.

55. Don’t mention Valentino unless Angel brings him up first.

56. Don’t comment on Angel and Husk’s flirting.

57. Only call Angel “Anthony” if things are serious (or if you’re Husk)

58. Don’t use any of the nicknames Husk and Angel use for each other. This includes but is not limited to: “Whiskers”, “Legs”, “Kitty”, “Webs”, “Tony”, “Love”, and “Baby.”

59. It’s better not to question whatever facts Husk gives about his past.

60. Family dinners at 6 pm unless you can’t make it due to prior obligation. Game nights after on Sundays.

61. No hunting people for sport and NO KNIFE MONOPOLY.

62. Don’t attach knives to a roomba so you can have a “boyfriend” Niffty.

63. Keep Niffty away from Roombas.

64. Alastor, treat people with decency. Really, it’s not that hard.

65. No making giant ducks that breathe fire to chase people around the hotel just because they call you short.

66. Therapy. Everyone.

67. DONT HAVE SEX ON THE BAR WHAT THE FUCK GUYS?!

68. If Valentino enters the property you have permission to stab him.

69. “Hell is forever” is bullshit. You guys aren’t. You can do this.

#stupid hazbin hotel lists #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel memes #hazbin hotel vaggie #vaggie hazbin hotel #vaggie #angel dust hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #charlie hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #sir pentious #cherri bomb #niffty #hazbin hotel crack #chaggie #huskerdust #angelhusk

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ichimerapunk · 2 months

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What if Joker Tried to Pull a Jigsaw?

Another idea for a piece of a story that has been bouncing around my brain for a bit...

Just your average “Danny joins the Batfamily but none of them know about secret identities” fanfic except the reveal happens with a lot of angst and it’s all because of the Joker.

What if Joker decides he’s going to implode the whatever relationship Batman has with Bruce Wayne by forcing either one of the Bats to kill off one of the Wayne kids or a Wayne kid to kill a Bat? He constructs a Jigsaw-level contraption and manages to capture one or two of the Bats and Danny. (How did Joker manage to capture Danny? Lucked out in that he used electricity to knock him out?) (Maybe the Joker wanted to try to capture more of either group or capture some other Wayne other than Danny, but he’s having to go with what he could get?)

So, he sets his victims in a contraption with a gun barrel pressed against each of them and a timer set to go off if no one pulls the trigger. The rest of the Batfamily aren’t going to get there in time. There are more explosives underneath their seats set to go off if anyone escapes their chair before someone is shot, so Danny can’t just phase his away out or let the bullet phase through him harmlessly.

The trapped Bat(s) only have the capacity to shoot Danny while Danny could shoot either himself or a Bat (because the Joker knows a Bat would 100% take the self-sacrifice route, but assumed A Wayne wouldn’t [or some other contrivance]). After explaining the rules of the game, Joker runs off because he is expecting someone to die, and he knows how Batman gets when the Joker kills someone close to the man.) If there are two Bats, they could have a disagreement of who dies. Danny knows he can heal from a normally fatal gunshot wound even in human form (maybe because of past stuff with his parents or the GIW, maybe not). So much to the anguish of the Bat(s) present, he pulls the trigger.

Danny wakes up with many of the Bats anguishing over his apparent death. Seeing Danny come alive again would be a confusing emotional rollercoaster for the Bats. (For even more angst, maybe Danny is freaking out because he believes the Bats will hand him over to the GIW because they uphold the law, right?)

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc prompts #dp x dc writing prompt #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #dpxdc plot bunny #story prompt #danny phantom crossover

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bi-writes · 2 months

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the lamb experiment

a body is given. and it cannot be taken back.

pairing: ghost (+ tf141) x curvy!fem!reader word count: 6.3k summary: the 141 are not known for their pliancy. in an effort to take back control, they send a lamb to slaughter.

cw: (18+) mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!tf141, military criticism, unhealthy power dynamics, graphic descriptions of violence + gore + torture + murder, themes of dubcon (but reader is consenting), piv, cumplay, fear play, size kink, praise kink, curvy!reader with hair long enough to hold

You don't think you've ever been the object of anyone's affections, not really. Although you are blessed with many gifts, even physically, you do not see yourself that way when you look in the mirror. How you feel inside betrays you when you look in one, and instead of staring too long, you always turn away.

This time, you stare. Because her ass looks nice, and her skin looks soft, and her face isn't disagreeable.

This reflection almost terrifies you. In front of you lies a woman you do not know.

She looks good. Your clothes are a size too snug, and it squeezes all the parts of you that normally you attempt to hide. Your thighs, the cinch of your waist, every curve you cover up with your uniform normally is on display, and instead of your hair in a standard bun, it lays free. You are anything but the soldier you always see, and just when you think about running, there is a knock at the bathroom door.

You open it, straightening out your outfit, and you look down shyly when you see the face on the other side of the door.

"It's...a little tight," you say, tugging at the waistband of your pants, but the woman tuts, crossing her arms over her chest as she steps back to look you up and down.

"It's as it should be," she responds, very matter-of-fact. "Now follow me. Need to debrief before your flight."

Her name is Laswell. You have not been graced with any other name, and you suspect it is because she wants you to call her Laswell and nothing else. She is blunt and intelligent, and there is no room for anything but the truth with her. If you answer her with a lie, she waits until she hears what she knows is expected.

When you sit, she spreads a few files out in front of you. Four manila folders, three packed with documents and pictures, one with documents only. You reach for one, eyeing the labeled name.

MacTavish.

You open it, and you're overwhelmed with the information. You see a man with pretty blue eyes and a military history that would put your old squadron to shame. Flicking through the pages, there are numerous confirmed kills, no small list of disarmed explosives, reports written by others and himself that even at a quick glance exude something impressive, utmost intelligence and extensive knowledge. You take note of his unique hairstyle; shaved sides of his head and tuffs of dark waves that run down the middle. You acknowledge how much you like when it gets a little long, falling in curls over his forehead.

The next file is equally as large. You flip it over, and you tilt your head to the side when you see a picture of him. He isn't posing, but his stature is one of confidence, and he's gorgeous. A strong facial structure, dark eyes. He keeps his hair short, and his skin is dark, and as your eyes roam lower, you notice the strong muscles of his forearms as he grips a rifle. His skill sheet is no less impressive than his sergeant counterpart. He has been in so many dangerous situations, and he comes out with nothing but scratches; and he seems to be deadlier with nothing but his hands than any small firearm could be.

Kyle. It's fitting.

You look away from his pretty face to their commanding officer. There is a picture of him with the other two sergeants, and you notice how he stands taller than them, but just as broad, and you think military fatigues suit him well. He wears his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and you can see the expanse of his strong arms and his large hands, and you take note of his carefully sculpted beard and the hat he wears. When you flip through the history, you are overwhelmed with the amount of ops he carries under his belt. This man is a war machine. You suspect there is a number on his head somewhere, in some distant country, and it makes you shift in your seat when you realize this isn't someone easy to kill.

He does the killing. And that's all that matters to the Crown.

John. That is the one that has to matter most.

"He's the one who calls the shots." Laswell's voice cuts through your heavy thoughts. She takes the last folder and opens it for you, and immediately you notice the lack of photos here. "But this is the glue."

Ghost. That is the name that sits on the official documents, but there is a dirty sticky note pasted next to it with Laswell's chicken scratch.

Simon Riley.

"His name is redacted," she says simply. "And so is his face."

"He has no face?" You ask, and when you realize how you worded it, you think it a stupid sentence, but Laswell only stares.

"Not one that matters," she responds. You look back down at the documents. He is tall, and you observe that he's most skilled with a sniper rifle, although he doesn't lack confidence or efficacy in any other form of combat. Hand-to-hand, smaller firearms, rifles, he uses them all with a terrifying accuracy, and you pull the papers closer to you as you read more.

"The glue," you murmur, not quite understanding. "And what am I supposed to be?"

"The solvent. The hammer. Whatever the fuck I need you to be."

The thing that breaks it apart. The thing that tears. The thing that makes them bleed.

And so you lie. It is what you do, what you are taught. Laswell is good at it, and you are a fish to water with it. You lie until it comes as easy as breathing, you learn to pretend until it is all you know, and when you create your second life, it is easy because it is the only one Laswell tells you to know.

You are a soldier, and you do as you're told. When your orders are to forget who you were and become something else, you do it, because that is how it works. And you know what you are in Laswell's eyes--you are a weapon, and you gave your body to the state, and she can do what she pleases with it.

And you know, really, what she expects you to do.

It isn't spoken of. She never says it out loud. But when you study the files she gives you, you notice there are more details that what is necessary. You learn more about them, in ways that feel intimate, that feel secret.

That John's favorite color is red. That MacTavish likes a traditional meal. That Kyle has a sweet tooth and likes jazz. That Ghost downs two fingers of Kentucky bourbon to unwind.

They are things to help make them agreeable, you think, but agreeable in what way is up to you.

But red looks good in lace. You've been told the stomach is the way to the heart. Chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac. And alcohol is the perfect enabler--and armed with this information, you will divide and conquer.

Break and tear apart. Separate. Sever the bond. That is your mission, that is what you've been told to do, and you will do it because that is what a good soldier does, and this is all you are.

Laswell's pet. Her pretty little soldier. The hammer to her nail, the bone for her dogs, the string that will mend the ones snapped by her own puppets.

She wants control, and she isn't stupid, and neither are you. When you look in the mirror again, you understand why she picked you. No matter how far her men stray, they cannot change what they are at their core.

Men.

And men are fickle.

You suspect, you hope, even these ones are. They are not gentle, and Laswell makes sure that you learn well why it is they need supervision. She shows you pictures, videos, eyewitness statements of their spiral into violence.

It's not that they weren't war criminals before, but they were her war criminals. Unsanctioned ops, sure, but they toed a line that was drawn for them. But then the red tape became too much, even if there wasn't very much of it for them.

They began to ignore orders. When they were told to stay put, a sergeant would slip off, and under the guise of protecting them, all four would end up in a firefight. And when this became a frequent excuse, they stopped coming up with them. They simply showed up in manila folders like the ones you held, enemy casualties sometimes in the hundreds, and they did not appear even when required.

Debriefing? Their connection was bad. A hearing in front of their superiors? They're on a mark, and they cannot move. And then it was just silence. The occasional response to real crisis, and then back underground, until all Laswell could get from them were limbs taken off the enemies they weren't allowed to kill just yet.

They knew how to disappear. They knew how to hide. They knew how to stay put, come back up overground, and then scurry back underneath where no one would find them.

But that wouldn't do. Not for the CIA, not for SAS, not for either of their governments who soon realized they had let loose a group of soldiers-turned-mercenaries who hold valuable secrets that could put their politicians at the forefront of Congressional hearings, NATO violations, and then in the right mess of breaking off relations with a numerous amount of countries they already held fragile relationships with.

The 141 is a liability. They need to be the ones pulling the reigns again, no matter the cost--and they tell Laswell to do it, and to spare no expense and to pull back the curtain on what she believes might be crossing even the lines she has drawn before, to go beyond it.

She draws this line around you. A circle, a fence, wrapping around you as she molds you into what she needs you to be. She is honest. Not always kind, but honest, and because she is, you want to succeed.

Finally, you can be of use. Finally, there is something that will give you purpose. Even if it hurts, even if it kills you, you want to give her what she needs, because it isn't fair.

You have already given them everything, and you have nothing to show for it. So you paint your face, and you zip up the tight pants, you lie and you learn and you listen, and when she tells you that they will not be gentle, all you reply is, "I won't be either."

Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.

You are wearing red when John sees you for the first time. It is in your hair, a bright red scarf that keeps it out of your face, and you know he looks right at you and not through you when your eyes meet.

When he eyes the open door of your room later that evening, you pretend not to notice his gaze when he drinks in the sight of you in red lingerie.

It is the first morning you are with them that Johnny wakes to the smell of something in the rec room. You stand there, at the stove, stirring a wooden spoon in a warm pot, and when he steps in, you turn to see him, and you smile. You exchange no words, but when you hold a tasting spoon out to him with a soft potato and a spoonful of wonderful broth, he can't help the way he closes his eyes. There's a beautiful woman cooking stovies in the rec room, and when he opens his eyes, you are looking right back at him.

And then it's the music that plays in the evening that catches Kyle's attention. They are trailing back to their rooms after drills, and he catches sight of you in your room, and he can hear Ella Fitzgerald, and when you look over your shoulder, he is there, and he doesn't shy away.

And then--fuck--it is so easy.

Wherever you go, they follow. Unconsciously, you suspect, but they do, and you live the lie, and it feels fucking euphoric. You know you've won when you run your knuckles down John's cheek for the first time, and he keens, nuzzling the side of his face into your hand and chasing after your touch.

They are animals. You watch them when you join them on ops, rifle in front of you as you follow them, and you keep a neutral face as you observe them wreak havoc. They kill and they maim, and they sleep like the dead at night, as if the heinous ways they kill do not bother them at all. John points, and Kyle pulls the trigger. John nods his head, and Johnny detonates, nothing but a dull reflection in those blue eyes. John clicks his teeth, and Ghost sweeps.

He sweeps, and he kills, and if it wasn't so fucking terrifying, you would have admired the way he did it. The elegance that he took on an entire room of moving targets, how he never let himself be pinned down in one spot. Whenever someone gets too close, he goes hand-to-hand, and it's fucking brutal the way he finishes them off. He keeps throwing knives in his boot, and they sink into eye sockets as if running through tender meat. He puts blades through their mouths and doesn't let them go until the light leaves their eyes.

You hate that it makes you warm. That there is something deep in your belly, that twists there, that tells you that you like it. When he turns around and meets your eyes, wringing the blade out of someone's neck and letting them drop on the floor at your feet, you don't flinch. You simply kick them to the side and step over them, and Ghost watches as you lick over your teeth as you pass by him.

Insatiable. Fucking hungry. He eyes the sway of your hips, and when he finds his next target, he uses his hands again just because he needs to feel flesh under his gloved hands, needs to tear it apart. And when he feels you watching him again, he grunts as he stands to his full height. He's a fucking bear, and you leave him with a hint of a smile before you turn the corner.

You are not sure if you are pretending that day.

They ravage, and then they go back to their beds, and they wash the blood from their clothes with ease--and the worst part of it all is that you do it, too. You come out of the same places that they do, and your face is splattered with their targets. Your jeans have flecks of brain matter, your hands are dirty with someone's singed flesh. When you finally stand in the light back at their base, all John does is sit you in front of the bathroom mirror and wipe at your face with a warm towel.

He tells you how good you've done. How special you are. How he has never seen a woman keep up with them so easily, fit into their pack like she was meant to be.

He says that you belong, but he doesn't say to who. You wonder, for a second, if he means that you belong to them all.

When you report back to Laswell, you tell her this. What you don't tell her is what you've had to do to gain this status. You don't tell her about the blood you spill. You don't tell her about the bodies you see or the men that lose their faces or how worked up the boys get after an op and how it takes them hours between your legs to lose the adrenaline.

You don't tell her this because this is for you. It's all for you.

They tell you things you aren't supposed to know. When you're in their beds, they talk, and you listen. Kyle tells you about the man they are keeping in the cellar. That he's been there for 29 days, and he hasn't said a word, but that Ghost will be next to speak to him, and he will talk then.

Kyle tells you that it is a mercy that Ghost hasn't visited him yet, but they are done playing nice. When he says this, you have the image of Ghost standing over a man who pulled a gun on you in your head, and you remember watching him with a sickening relief as he pressed his thumbs into the man's eye sockets and pushed they were nothing but squished matter. You squeeze your legs together; and this time, you don't feel bad about it.

Johnny begs for you, his bonnie lass, to keep close to him on the next op because you strayed too far today. He fucks you to make you say yes, his lips on your ear as he tells you to promise him that you'll do as he says, and that if you promise, he'll let you come. So you promise, and he fucks you boneless, and the next day, you are glued to his hip when you raid a foreign embassy for nothing but answers.

You know they know. They don't say it out loud, but you know that they all know where you go at night. One night, you are kneeling under John's desk, kissing the pearly tip of him before taking him down your throat for what feels like hours. The next, you are letting Kyle bend you over his desk, rattling it against the wall as he tells you how pretty you are. And in the morning, you are pressed against the shower wall, Johnny holding your wide hips in his hands as he fucks into you, begging you, bonnie, please--give it to me, tha's it, right there, ye can do it, good girl--

Good girl. That's what you are. You're a good girl, and you do as you're told. You smile, and you keen, and you give them big, soft eyes, and you let them have the illusion of control. Maybe they think they're pressuring you. Maybe they think they scare you. Maybe they think this is why you get on your knees for them or let them pool your pants at your ankles or allow them to have you whenever they want, but the reality is that you want it, and you need it, and this is working.

They don't even realize you've fucked them into submission because they're too busy showing off.

A domino effect. You expect them all to fall once you have the captain, but there is one chess piece that does not move willingly.

Ghost.

He is an unmovable object. He stands still and rigid, and he is a statue that refuses to be pushed or pulled in any direction but one he deems. Even in the middle of the nights, when you notice he is awake, he never joins you when you drink his favorite bourbon outside. He doesn't ask for a cigarette when you smoke one, even though you never actually take a puff of it. He passes by you, and he doesn't look at you, and you are invisible.

You want to be content with what you've accomplished, but it isn't enough.

This is the glue. He is the glue, and without him, everything falls apart, and you cannot fail. There isn't room for it. And maybe you feel bad for preying on the parts of Ghost that you think he prefers to keep hidden, but you need to catch him before he gets too far away.

A kitchen accident. A knife that plunges too deep, that draws blood and makes you cry. You are in the bathroom, tears coming down your face, blood in the sink, and your hands are shaking as you try and patch yourself up. You are loud enough to draw the attention of the lieutenant whose door is only just across the hall, and when he sees you there, he doesn't leave you.

One moment there is nothing, and the next, he is behind you, a pervasive warmth at your back, and you whimper when a gloved hand wraps around your injured hand. Wordlessly, he turns the faucet on, running your hand under the water, and you hiccup, looking away and breathing deeply.

He wraps your hand in his room. You sit on his bed, and he works to cover the wound, and you know he has done this before. Soothed another's tears, quieted soft cries, covered up cuts and bruises and things that will scar.

He kneels in front of you, and when he stands to his full height, you tip your head back to look up at him. You think you will meet a soft gaze, but he glares, and he seems angry. When you open your mouth to speak, he tsks, and your tip trembles as you close it.

"Y'can fool the others," he says lowly, finally. "But not me."

You frown, confused. When you sniffle, he snarls.

"I know why y'r here," he murmurs. "Isn't the first time Laswell has sent one of her little...toys."

You clench your jaw. For a moment, something envious rattles you. You aren't like anyone else. You are certain no one has accomplished what you have, that no one has gotten this close to rock the fucking boat or pet the beast. He doesn't get to demean the progress you've made like this, even if he's figured you out, because you aren't going anywhere.

Not until you get everything you need.

"Excuse me?"

"Y'r a spy. You're CIA's whore, and I don't like y'here, puttin' y'r bloody nose where it don't belong," he kneels, his voice low and gruff, and he reaches over and grips your chin hard. "Y'may have fooled them. In their fuckin' beds...in their heads--" He draws you closer, and you swallow. "But y'r not in mine."

You meet his eyes. They are dark, and they are meant to scare you, but the feeling that runs through you isn't one that terrifies you. He is a magnet--and you can feel the field of his presence, and it has you. This is supposed to be your show. They are men, and they are stupid, and you hate them, and Ghost should be eating out of the palm of your fucking manicured hand, but there he is, spitting against his mask, and it is you that aches to see what is underneath the cotton.

"So, little lamb..." Ghost rumbles, and it is with his entire chest that he speaks. "Wot is it you're here to do, eh?"

You shake your head, "N-Nothing. She...all she told me was that this was a joint operation...CIA and SAS--"

"Y'r on the piss, I know that," he hisses, clicking his teeth. "Joint operation," he laughs, but it is without humor. "Is that we're calling this now? Being barracks bunny for the 141?"

"Fuck you," you snap, shoving his hand off. "You're a fucking bastard, and if you think--"

"If I think wot, eh?" He stands, and you choke as he grips you by your throat, lifting you off of his bed and forcing you against the wall. You grip his wrist, but it is useless, because he's a brute, and you are nothing to him. He holds you there on your toes, and you grip him tighter, but he doesn't budge. Even digging your nails into him doesn't make him flinch. If anything, he seems amused. "Wot kind of trainin' she make y'do, eh? Did ya have to practice? Who'd y'shag to get y'r stripes?"

"Eat shit," you spit, and he snickers. There is fire in your eyes, venom on your tongue, you are a fighter, and when the world is so quiet, fighting feels good, and he knows this feeling well. He understands what it means to be nothing and then something, what it means to worthless and then useful in the eyes of government and government alone.

Because you are useful, but only to Laswell, and only as this, whatever this is. Whatever you are. Pet, prize, toy--it doesn't matter what the name is today, but it will stick tomorrow, and you wonder, sickeningly, if that is your destiny.

To be unknown. To be used. To be the property of what you do not know. To be given, to be taken, to not know and to be content with not knowing.

To accept it because it is still better than whatever you were before.

He sees this. He looks into your eyes, he breathes in, and he hums, and when his grip loosens just enough, you put your toes on the ground, and you lean in, and there you are.

One and the same. Bitten, chewed, spit out, two people who are products of their suffering and the culmination of their sheer fucking will to live, even if the living is miserable.

Maybe that is what it is. Maybe it's what's broken that will put you together. Ghost is the glue, you are the solvent, and you will make it so.

Because I can't fail, I can't do it, I won't go back, I can't go back--

"I'm here for me," you whisper. "I'm here for me, and no one else--" You gasp, and it isn't a lie, not really. You are here for you, this is for you, even if it is at the downfall of someone else. If you need to step on necks to get ahead, you will.

Ghost is the last piece. The last one you need to move. He is stuck, but now you know what it is you need to do, you know how to set the game into motion.

"Ghost," you breathe, and it's soft, it's quiet. You meet his eyes, and you lean close, and he feels your breath on the front of his mask. "It's not what you think."

"You're a lamb."

"I don't wanna be a lamb."

"It doesn't matter what y'want, y'are a lamb," he growls, and you whine, and he hums, and you can see the crinkle of his eyes, and you know he must be smiling. "Tha's wot y'are, and y'can't run away from tha'."

You blink, and he stares, and there is understanding. You are prey, and you belong, but you don't know where. But then you remember you are a soldier, and it isn't your job to know. Your job is to lie still and let them have you.

And to not tell my handler how much I like it.

"It's what they made me," you whisper, and when there are tears in the corner of your eyes, he is gentle. He smooths his hand down your throat, rubbing a thumb over your trembling lip, and you know that he understands you. "It's not what I wanted."

"It's never what we want," he murmurs. "Never."

You hold your breath when he cups your face with a big gloved hand. Dark eyes on soft ones, and you wonder what it would be like to have him. He doesn't keen the way John does, doesn't kneel the way Johnny kneels, doesn't follow and listen without objection the way that Kyle does. No, he's a brick wall, and you need to be what knocks him over. You need to shake the foundation, split it in two.

You need to sever the fucking bond and do your fucking job.

"So when can I have what I want?" You ask him softly. "When...when is it my turn?"

He tilts his head to the side, curious, and you slide your hands up his forearms, over the muscle of his biceps. He is everything you cannot have.

And he is everything that you suddenly realize you want.

Forbidden. Unrelenting. The oxygen to a raging fire. He isn't the glue, he's the catalyst to whatever the fuck you bring to the experiment, and even though you know this will be disaster, you want it. You want it so badly.

Destruction tastes so good. Control is victory. Sex is power, and you want him, you want this, you want him to have you, to own you, to make you see what he sees, because it will be familiar because you are the same.

"Y'r a soldier," he says lowly. "Not about what we want. 's about what they want."

"Fuck what they want," you groan, looking away, and then a few tears slip down your face. "Fuck what they do with us. If I die for them, they only tick some fucking statistic. It means nothing. So why can't I do what I want with the time I get before...before I'm just...before I'm nothing again?"

And there it is. The mirror you hold up. The common ground. The level playing field. The two paths that cross, this is it, I have it, I have it, I fucking have it, I have him, he's mine--

He kisses you. You don't get to see his face, but his lips are there, a precious amount of skin that you're blessed with seeing until your eyes are closing.

His bed is warm. He fills it well, the breadth of him almost too much for its size, but it doesn't matter because he fucks so well. He eats your cunt because he's hungry, your thighs on his shoulders shaking as he laps at your wet folds.

He does this different. John is soft and slow, Kyle takes his time, and Johnny is always eager and sloppy. But Ghost watches. He slides his tongue in soft motions, watching, and when your thighs twitch and shake, he does the motion again. He flattens his tongue and drags it, and when you whine and arch your back, he revels in the way you move. He drinks what you spill, he fucks you with his tongue, and this is different because this isn't just attraction.

There is something about him. Something underneath the layers he covers himself with, under the mask, something that you can see that others cannot even though he doesn't take those layers off.

You know this is true when he's inside of you. His mask hasn't come off, but his mouth is on your ear, and he groans, and he talks, and you feel like he spoils you this way. Ghost never talks. You wonder often if maybe he has a limited amount of words, and he never says more than he has to lest he runs out of them. His eyes speak, and it's more than enough, but now, he talks, and it is a gift, and now you know.

He cradles your head as he fucks you, and he kisses you until you can't breathe, and then when he talks, it takes everything in you not to beg for more.

"Such a nice cunt...'s so nice..."

"Fuck--y'feel me, luv? Right there--" And he presses his palm down on your stomach, and you cry when he grabs your face and forces you to look at him, because he's cruel and he's mean, but his cock feels so good--

And you think it can't get better, and you think he can't go any deeper, and then your thighs are wrapped around his waist, and he's leaning over you, and you think you're forgetting your name.

You forget yourself. You forget the reason you're here. It's so hard to think when you're not yourself, when your mind is in the stars, when everything feels far away and so close all at the same time. There is a place for him inside of you now, and you know that even though he will ruin you, even though he already has, you will never be rid of him.

You've severed the bond. You've made your own.

When he kisses you again, and when he grinds his hips down so nice that your clit aches, you know suddenly what it feels like to have real control. The feeling that Laswell chases, the feeling she wants so fucking badly that she's made your body a weapon, your cunt a tool, your brain the hivemind that will make her every wish come true, you understand now.

You will make the sky blue, the birds sing, but you did not realize the power you held until you had Simon "Ghost" Riley buried so deep in you, that you aren't sure you're even really here anymore.

You gnaw on his arm, your tongue tracing the tattoos there. You taste sweat, and you swallow it, and you go numb thinking about having more of him inside of you. You want to bite and eat and take as much of him that he will let you--no.

You will bite and eat and take as much of him that you want, because he's yours, and you get whatever you want.

Your fingers grasp the cotton of his mask, and your grip is enough to pull his lips off of you, and when your eyes meet, the gaze is different. He's desperate. For once, there is something disorderly there, and he pants, and he wants something from you, and finally you have something to give him.

You fuck it out of him. You lay him on his back and let him look at you, and you fuck him because it feels good, because you want it, too, because it's all that matters. You cry into his mouth, sob, "please--! please, please, please--"

And he tugs on your hair in response, guiding your hips as he loses his composure, "'ve got you...y'r mine...'s olright, yeah--nggghhh, fuck, luv, th's it..."

You do want it. You do need it. You need them, but you want Ghost the most, because he is the piece that does not move. He is not willing to do anything except for the sake of his pack. Ghost is impenetrable, even your pretty cunt isn't enough to change his mind, but that isn't what this is.

This is mercy. Ghost, he is the product of all of his misery. You, you are the result of every man to ever betray you, the outcome of your unwavering desire for revenge. You are the same, somehow, and he knows this, and that is why can't help himself. That is why Ghost is underneath you, that is why he bares his mouth to you and lets you lick into it and allows you to taste the forbidden fruit.

Because he thinks you are him, and he thinks you think so, too, and all he's ever wanted in his life is just for someone to see him the way he saw himself.

When he comes, he paints your cunt and fills you, and you collapse, your body on fire as you come down from a high that takes your breath away. His big hands cradle you against his chest, and you don't move, too afraid to let go, and he kisses your face when you whimper. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and when he pulls out, you gather it up on your fingers and suck. He groans, and he kisses you, and then he sinks back to his knees because he doesn't hear the ringing in his ears when his mouth is on your pretty pussy.

You're just a lamb, it's all you are. Handpicked by Laswell to head into the lion's den, a scarred animal that has no one to protect her, straight to slaughter.

He knows what it feels like. He knows what it feels like to be used and forgotten, to have nowhere to go, to be backed into a corner with no way out, and he pities you.

Ghost pities you because there is nothing behind your eyes except fear. But it's a lie. You're so good at it now. It's a lie, and you tell it so well, and you're warm inside. Not from taking the last moving piece, but from the satisfaction of knowing you have done what others cannot. What others never could.

It's late when you finally settle beside him. He leaves you when you ask for something to eat. You watch him slip clothes on haphazardly and leave, the door swinging shut behind him as he shuffles to get what you need.

To provide. To protect. To shield. Ghost is good at those things, you knew he would be. A man does not nurse a brother back to health without it, does not protect his mother and defy his father without being good at being a dog.

He's a good guard dog. And when he goes, and the door is closed, you smile because the dog is mine, all fucking mine--

You reach for your phone, and you pull up the only contact in it. You type a simple message, and then you send it, and for good measure, you shut the device off, tossing it into the pile of your discarded clothes.

>> we have joy.

You are good at pretending. You can tell a lie without blinking. You have been taught to be this thing, and you do it well, because you are a soldier, and this is your mission, and you cannot fail, and you didn't fail.

When you see Laswell again, many weeks later, she is not surprised to see you covering up with long sleeves and keeping your hair down. One tug on the collar of your shirt, and she gets glimpses of the love bites that have marked bruises all across your skin. She lets you go, tells you to sit, and she smirks.

You smile back this time.

Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.

"Good girl," she takes out another manila folder, but it's different this time. When you open it, you have schedules of upcoming ops, intel the boys are working, evidence of their reckless abandonment of order in favor of the chaotic success of getting the job done. You have seen this first hand, you know what they do and how they do it. But now there is another factor, another subject, right in the middle of it all. It is you.

Laswell takes a seat, spreading out the papers, and you meet her eyes. This time it's different. This is the truth, and you want to feel bad for your betrayal, but you don't. The fact of the matter is that you and Laswell, together in this room, have more power at your feet than you know what to do with.

A lamb to slaughter, and yet you sleep with the wolves.

"Alright," she says. "Now let's get to fucking work."

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!simon #dark!soap

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grugruel · 2 months

Text

His Little Killer

Pairings: Cooper howard x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: in reluctant companionship with a ghoul, which turns out to be exactly as dreadful as you'd thought. You find yourself in a shoot-out where–post battle–one of your usual fights end way more pleasurable than usual.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: (violence, blood, death, in typical fallout manners), enemies to lovers, choking, pinv sex, rough sex, fingering, creampie, pet names (darlin', honey, killer, sweetheart), praise, a pinch of degradation.

AN: not yet proofread! Hope yall enjoy! (Yes, I'm unwell.'

Wood shattering, explosions booming–and charging footsteps heading straight for me. 'At my right!' I shout, gesturing in the direction of the steps. My voice barely registering above the racket of the fight.

Nonetheless, he heard me, I knew he did. Because bullets suddenly whizz past my makeshift cover in every direction except to my right.

The ammunition creating sick squelching noises as they collide with their targets, bloodsplatter spraying the walls a horrifying deep red. Meanwhile, in my corner. The heavy footsteps were left wide open to plough through the old wooden barrels I was hiding behind, 'Holy shii-' I squeak as im tackled to the floor with enough force to knock the breath out of my lungs. I try to cough, try to make my lungs open up as the man grabs hold of me. I hit my chest hard, desperately hoping it would do something–

He grabs my boots, pulling me toward him and finally- I get a breath of air. 'Stupid, fucking asshole.' I mutter through clenched teeth as I lunge and wrestle my attacker, our quarreling bodies kicking up a cloud of dust to swirl around us.

The man was big and foul-smelling, maybe it would've been better refered to as an it, considering the animalistic growls, snapping teeth, and fraying lips that bit and lunged at my face. He attempted to pin my arms to the ground while aiming its teeth at my jugular, but I was quicker. My knee smashing into his balls before he had a single thought of defending himself. He cried out in pain and I took my chance to roll him over, pinning him down with my weight instead, and I began throwing a wave of punches to his face, over and over again. 'I said MY right!' I shouted over my shoulder, weeks of fury and frustration bubbling up inside me as it fueled me into beating the ugly mut unrecognizable–when a second force slammed into my back, knocking me onto the ground once again. Another man, now climbing on top of me, his dirty fingers slithering around my throat and-

Another splatter, this time it's his blood–the second man's, and its sprayed all over me.

'Finally. . .' I exhale heavily, thudding back against the floor, splaying out with relief.

'Were really polishin' up on our teamwork.' A gruff voice announced, words coming out slow and steady with that self-satisfied tone which never failed to get on my nerves.

I heaved myself up on my forearms, angling my body so what remained of the man slumped off of me, and the source of the voice appeared like a specter from the dead man's shadow. 'You're a real pretty sight when ridin' a man like that.' He said, nodding to the guy with a bashed face.

I rolled my eyes, unbelievable. 'You mean while beating the shit out of him?' I ask, my voice pitching higher as I couldnt quite fathom the nerve of that man, despite forcing myself to get used to it over the past few weeks.

He hummed. 'Mhm, really got me goin' for a sec.'

My face scrunched up in disgust. 'Fucking cowboys.' I spat, renouncing the idea loudly. But, quietly, inside my mind, the thought had my core purring unwillingly.

'I shot right, just like you asked.' He shrugged, stalking closer, the drawl in his voice washing through the barren and now battered bar.

'The hell you did!' I hissed. He stopped at my feet, looming over me with his tall frame, frayed coat swaying around his chins, and that stupid cowboy hat covering half his face just like always. We'd been forced travelling companions for a while now, and I could say a lot of nasty things about him, but it was hard to deny- he was a real fucking apocalypse cowboy. Pretty cool if you cut his personality out of the picture.

'I said my right, what the fuck else do you think I ment with "my"?' I kick the lifeless body with my boot, emphasising my point.

'Well. . .' He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. '. . .my, right.' He smirked.

I shook my head, shooting him daggers. 'Not even you are moronic enough to get that wrong, ghoul.'

'Well, you're right.' He admitted, shocking me for a second. But then, the problem I've always had with him, inescapable and always the same–he never shut his damn mouth when he ought to–and continued, 'You need to work om your phrasin', honey.'

I shut my eyes, screwing them together so tight I began wishing I could disintegrate from annoyance and seep through the cracks between the weathered floorboards like a corn of sand. But no, I was stuck with him, and had to lay there listening to his idiocy. 'How–?' I sighed a heavy, exasperated sigh. '–is it possible for a man to be so full of himself, yet- never talk about himself?'

'Tricks of the trade, sweetheart.' He winked, clicking his tongue while those forsaken eyes roamed my body like a predator sizing up it's prey, and extended a hand toward me as if it were no big deal.

Exhausted as I was, accepting his help seemed sorely tempting to my tired body. After a moments hesitation, I decided–once, wouldn't harm my morals. So, I grabbed his hand with reluctance and let him pull me to my feet. 'I could've died, I hope you realise.'

'Yes. . . But you didn't.' His lips pulling into a grin. 'I wouldn't let that happen'.'

'You're a real bastard, y'know that?' the words left my lips with an unintentional drawl, damn that man.

The ghoul cocked an inexistent eyebrow. 'If I didnt know any better, I'd say im rubbin' of on you, honey.'

Another scoff from me. 'The only thing you're rubbing–is me the wrong way.' I spat, this time making a point of speaking as plainly as possible.

His eyes lit up suspiciously, filling with mischief as his widening smile creased them. 'Well, tell me how you like it then and I'll do it the right way.' He smirked, his voice gravely as it scraped along my spine with a shiver. He always did this, He'd call me nicknames, flirt with me. All cause he knew I hated it. But now he's just bordering on harassment. It did however, not, stop the heat from rising to my cheeks, or for a blush to seep through my skin. He'd staggered me, I truly didn't know how to react. What happened next was purely instinctively driven–

The palm of my hand made contact with his cheek, a crisp slap sounding out through the room. I even confused myself for a moment, almost as I was the one who'd been hit. But I would've been furious, how he reacted, well. . .

'There you are. . .' He purred, his tone lethal. '. . .my little killer.' A grin spreading across his face as he took a step closer.

He was pure poison, somehow both hot and cold as he ran through my veins. 'I ain't yours.' He wss the only person- ghoul, who could get on every nerve I possessed, lighting it ablaze with frustration.

'No. . .? You ain't?' He chuckled, 'You're sure startin' to sound like it, sweetheart. I see the way you look at me, the way you blush when I call you pretty little names.' He nodded toward my eyes, his hat tipping with the movement as he took another step, gaining on the precious distance between us. I feared he was right, too, my cheeks burned in a way I'd never noticed before. Had I always reacted like this? Before I knew it–I'd flung my palm for his face a once again-

Only this time, he caught my wrist. 'Tsk tsk tsk, you can do better than that, killer.' He let go off me, forcefully shoving my arm back to my side with a scoff.

But now, I'm the one stepping closer, pushing him away by the chest simultaneously. 'I hate you.' I spit, taking another step and push again, but this time he doesn't budge, and I was left standing mere inches away from him, my hands pressed firmly against his chest as my own heaved with frustrated breaths, strands of hair hanging over my face from the ordeal.

'Good. . .' He whispered, brushing wild strands of hair from my face. '. . .Now, show me how much you hate me.'

I could've slapped him again, pushed him again, done anything else than what I actually did. But my body acted on instinct, again-

I crashed into him, my hands grabbing his face as our lips met in a battle for control. He released a breathy moan, his trigger ready hands finding my waist impossibly quick to pull me flush against him, our bodies clashing together in a thud. He hummed. 'That's right, killer. Show me.' He whispered in the air-swallowing gasps between our kisses.

I put pressure behind my hands, walking him backward while my fingers found the buttons of his vest. Undoing them along with the shirt, then slid his coat and vest down his shoulders in one go, right before his back collided with the bar top. My hands found themselves making their beneath his shirt, feeling the dents of his scarred chest as I sucked his lip between my teeth, and bit down. A sharp hiss escaped him, quickly being replaced by a wide grin. 'Naughty girl.' He breathed.

Smiling, I pushed myself off of him. 'You bring it out of me.' I panted, pulling my shirt over my head and unhooking my bra, letting it fall to the floor.

He leaned back against the bar, bracing himself on his elbows as his eyes roamed over my bare chest and flushed face. 'Those are the prettiest fuckin' tit's I've ever seen. . .' He spoke in a low voice, too filled with lust to allow him anything else. 'Now, would you mind.' His hand gestured below my waist, his index finger sliding through the air as he traced the buttons of my pants from a distance.

And an idea struck me, suddenly feeling like I wanted to indulge myself in a little torture. Turning around, I did as he told me and began unbuttoning them, slowly. Terribly, terribly slowly. Sliding them over my hips and down my thighs, bucking my knees and bending over slightly as I pulled my panties down along with them. Just as I stepped out if them and looked over my shoulder to give him a coy little look, perhaps revel in the feeling of his pained expression–I was in for a surprise.

Turning my head over my shoulder, I came fave to face with him, but he wasn't just standing there- no. He collided with my back, his arms already wrapped around ny front to catch me. His shirt bow nowhere to be seen. 'Enough.' He growled, one strong arm wrapping around my breasts as the other wrapped around my waist. He raised me off the floor, held tightly against his chest. I squeeked, giggling as I pulled my legs up. Completley overcome with the anticipation of what was about to befall me–then I all of a sudden found myself pushed over the bar top, chest against the smooth luke warm surface. The quality off it telling me it hadn't been bought when fitted into this weathered building.

Then, the clanging of metal, leather groaning, friction, and his belt hit the floor. Gruff hands ran over the swell of my ass and down the arch of my back, taking his time to feel all of me. 'Been thinkin' 'bout this, how you'd feel falling apart beneath me, on top of me–' he leaned over me, hand wrapping around my neck as he pulled me flush against him only to whisper in my ear. '–around me. . .' He breathed, dragging the words out. '. . . All wet 'n messy with my cum fillin' you up.'

A moan left my lips. 'Show me.' Was all I could get out, a silent pleading to make all those thoughts a reality–and so he did.

Before I knew it, a hand had disappeared to line himself up with my entrance, pushing inside me without as much as a warning.

'Fuck!' I cried out, my voice breaking as my breath left me. It felt never ending, he was huge. But oh, he felt so good.

He groaned, finally stopping as he'd sunken all the way into my core. 'So wet for me already.' His hand slid over my back and shoulder, molding itself to my throat as the other grabbed my hip. Already flush with my back, he inclined his head, leaving trail of kisses along my spine and neck.

'Fuck me, please Coop-' it was the first time I'd called him by his name, and I realised it the second it left my lips.

His lips curled against my skin, a smile-

He thrusted into me, again and again. My back arching into an angled I had no idea it was capable of, helping him hit my core at every rut of his hips–not that he needed it. The 200+ years of experience really showed, and they were definitely felt.

The bar was dead silent, no noise except for our joint breaths of pleasure and the sound of slapping skin. It was lewd and brutal, and It made me absolutely delerious. His low, pained grunting in my ear did nothing to ease the matter. He'd created an aching so strong within me I wasn't sure It'd ever be able to be tamed.

'Harder, harder, please.' I stuttered, the words barely coming out between my heavy pants. Fuck, he made me feral. Without even trying, that's just what he was capable of. It annoyed me, he managed to annoy me while fucking me senseless. Oh, how I wish I could hate him, but there was no going back now.

Coop left little love bites all along my shoulder, and up the side of my throat, nipping and kissing in equal meassure as his breathing warmed my skin deliciously. Doing it all with such precision I couldnt understand, his thrust were rocking my emtire body, his chest rubbing againdt my back, yet he could be so delicate. I side ive never seen before. 'Little killer ain't so tough no more, is she?' He whispered, placing a kiss behind my ear before biting the lobe, tugging in it gently.

'. . . Mmh- 'm not, I'm not.' I got out. I was whatever he said I was while he delivered this type of pleasure on a silver platter. I didn't care, my morals had been thrown out the window the second his lips touched mine.

'Well, look at that. Admittin' defeat already?' I could feel his stupid grin again, his pace slowing- still ruthless, but it did enough for that feeling of building pressure to wain inside me.

I shook my head, shutting my eyes hard as I tried to focus on his member moving inside me, desperate not to lose that red string that'd lead me to climax.

'Words, sweetheart. Use em'. .'

'Dont fucking care.' I cried. 'J- just- Fuck. Me. Harder.' I ground out, my teeth clenching real hard from a mix of desperation and frustration for the pressure to start rebuilding.

'That'll do.' He groaned, squeezing my throat. All the while his other hand slid down to my cunt, starting condensed circling around my clit. And just like that, he'd made me into a whimpering mess for him to steady, falling apart beneath him just like he'd thought. Then he simply took up right where he left off, without missing a beat he thrusted so ferociously I was sure I'd be bruising on every single part of my body from the vibrations that rumbled through my muscles alone.

The darkness of my lips were specking with white, a wall of pressure building brick by brick in my abdomen. 'Close, so fucking close.' I whimpered.

'Good- Good job sweetheart. Doin' so good for me.' He burried his face in my hair, nuzzling his nose into its scent, inhaling it as he too approached climax. And there it was, that sudden softness. It was almost unsteadying my senses more than his touch, more than his thrusts, but only almost. 'You sound so sweet for me, honey. Let me hear ya'. . .' He moaned, exhaling warmth against the nape of my neck.

I obliged, of course I did. 'Feels so good, Coop- so close. . .' I panted, tears burning my eyes as they began rolling down my cheeks.

He slid his hand upward, keeping it between me jaw and throat, still choking me as he angled my face over my shoulder, enabling him to kiss me properly. And I've never been more thankful because I was about to cry myself dry as the wall broke. Pleasure flooding through my body in tidal waves, my knees bucking beneath me. 'Good girl.' He praised, voice muffled against my lips. Fingers stopping to instead cup my aching cunt. 'My good fuckin' girl, my little killer.' He moaned softly, my lips vibrating from the roughness in his voice as he caught me, delivering a final few ruts of his hips before he too came. Doing just as he promised, filling me up with his cum.

He loosed his grip around my throat and slit, letting me depend on the counter for support while he held me. 'Still hate me?'

'Yes.' I didn't, but it'd be a long time before I admitted that to him.

'Good.' And then there was silence, our lungs catching up with our breaths. 'Still wanna see those pretty hips ride me.' He murmured as he hugged me from behind, his hand sliding lower, pinching my hipbone.

'Ow! Asshole.' I yelped, and he kissed my shoulder to make up for it. But the thought was alluring nonetheless. I wriggled in his embrace, looking around at the destruction we'd caused, at the- dead bodies. And a pang of guilt hit me. 'Fine, but not here.' I agreed, actually wanting nothing more than to get out of there and sit in his lap, maybe ride his thighs too.

We redress, and share a kiss before leaving. 'Can't wait to taste that cunt of yours, killer.' He murmured suddenly. Leaving me staggered once again.

Ugh, I'm done for.

#fallout #fallout smut #cooper howard #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x female reader #cooper howard fanfic #the ghoul #the ghoul smut #fallout imagine #fallout fanfic #fallout x reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul imagine

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youryanderedaddy · 4 months

Text

Yandere! Crazy ex boyfriend

tw: female reader, non - con, heavy degradation, slut-shaming, abuse/violence, mockery of depression, suicidal ideation, obsessive behavior, death threats, dark

It's 2 a.m. and you can't sleep - you keep turning and burying your head into the soft, warm pillow, but something is off. The moon is too bright, coming in from the gap between your heavy curtains. The crickets outside are too loud, playing around and singing the same old melody over and over again. The static silence of the old radio tucked under the drawers is too repetitive, too predictable. All in all, you can feel it in your bones; something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

You hear the steps next. That sinister laughter - getting louder and louder, someone screaming at the top of their lungs, the echo flooding through the thin walls of your small shared flat. Someone's fist is gripping the lock with uneccessary cruelty as if trying to knock it out of the handle. The key falls down in one sharp motion, and your heart stops completely once the door opens with a squeaky, familiar bang - it still makes you jump even after all those months.

"Aww, baby!" The man exclaims, leaning against the door. You're not sure if you are hallucinating due to the countless hours of lost sleep, or there is actually smoke coming out of his old black trenchcoat. You're not even sure if he's trully here, or if this is yet another nightmare. "You didn't bother with locks this time!" He continues, smiling with childlike glee - but you know him too well. He's never peaceful. He's never cheerful. Any indication of happiness the monster exhibits is meant to confuse and trick his prey, and you're not falling for his tricks again. You already got burnt one too many times.

"Does that mean you missed me?" He tilts his head, almost pouting at you. He's all disheveled - a total wreck. The curly, unruly hair you once loved to caress and play with now just seems shaggy and unkept, sticking out like an explosion. His eyes are dark, well, darker, bloodshot, barely recognizable from the warm pots of honey that used to make you melt against him. He's lost weight, yet weirdly enough seems to have gained some muscle. You can't help, but think that it simply looks weird, unnatural even. Adam, the one you remember, was never strong - he was never threatening, never even raised his voice at you. But that was years ago in the sweet, distant dreams of the past, and that boy had died the moment you two moved in together. That's when your hell trully began.

"Were you trying to give me easy access, baby? Hm?" He smirks, interrupting your stream of consciousness. If you were unsure of his physicallity, of his existence, it's bright clear now - because you can never mistake that taunting, humiliating curve to his voice, the one he only uses when he's mad. Really, really mad. "Knew I would be back?"

You take a deep breath, slowly nodding along - maybe if you play nice, he'd just go away. Maybe this time you won't end up in cuts and bruises, all memories, good or bad, completely wiped off your drugged out hazy brain.

"Of course you did." Your ex boyfriend humms in satisfaction, taking a single step towards you - and it makes you tremble all over, no matter how much you wish you could remain calm and collected at the face of Death himself. "Because I told you so, no?" He clenches his teeth, raising his head so his eyes would meet yours. You feel like a deer caught before a trigger guard with an unstable trigger, one second away from being shot in the heart. "I told you-" He steps closer. "That I'll be back-" Another step. "Didn't I, princess?"

You nod again, unable to produce a sound. You almost wish he brought his gun so this little torture session would end quicker. Almost.

"Aww, look at you trying so hard to please me. It's adorable, baby." The man coos, his knee sliding across the edge of your bed. Fear takes a hold of your lungs, squeezing them in until you feel like you're seeing stars - and then Adam climbs on top of you. It all happens so quickly - one moment he's far away, and then he's towering over you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweaty neck, baby hairs sticking out with shivers. You can't shake the terrifying, unescapable feeling that you've been here before. That you somehow always end up underneath him, begging for your life - for mercy he won't ever grant you.

"I wonder where all that enthusiasm was when you decided to run on me." The white part of his eyes suddenly illuminates, brows raised together - he looks deranged. "Huh?" He looks at you, expecting an answer, yet you can't think of one. Your brain is turning to mush, consumed by raw panic - but why does it matter? Whatever you say he'll find a way to use against you. "Answer me, you fucking bitch!" He hisses, voice dropping to a diabolical whisper as his fist snaps around your throat like a metal collar. This seems to break off your stupor, and you open your mouth, ready to yell at whoever is still awake.

"Don't you dare fucking scream, cunt." Adam grips your jaw with one hand, crushing your cheeks into each other. "If I hear a single word come out of that filthy little mouth of yours, I am going to slit your fucking throat." His lips twist in a big sadistic grin you would have wanted to punch had you had the strength to move your arm around. Instead you whimper, defeated. Even after everything, your stupid self preservation instinct won't let you die - so it sacrifices the only thing you have left, your dignity. "And then in the morning your little friends will find you drowning in your own blood." He lowers his face, cold dead lips tracing the rough lines of your collarbone.

"A pretty picture for sure." He bites his lower lip, imagining it for just a second. "Bu-ut I know that even a depressed, suicidal little attention whore like you wouldn't want her friends to be sad." The man adds teasingly, and you can feel the bile back up into your stomach, burning and acidic. You may actually throw up all over him if you're not careful. And then he'd kill you for sure. "I mean, you seem to care for these pesky bugs oh-so much. It'd be a pity to force them to clean up your remains-"

"N-no, that's not true. I don't care about them, I only care about you!" You lie through your teeth, hot, salty tears pricking your eyes as you deny the love you have for the only people who care about you - the ones who basically saved you from a life of abuse and suffering. But apparently nothing good lasts, not when it comes to you. "Adam, I only love y-"

He backhands you - the slap echoes through the roof. Ouch.

"Don't say-" Your ex boyfriend grunts, roughly shoving you down. You take a shallow breath, letting the sting settle in. It's going to leave a red ugly handprint all over your cheek - and yet you stupidly thought your little confession was going to make him happy. Your anchors, the straws that used to buy you time, howerer rare and far in between, are all gone now. You used them up. You've run out of time, out of trick, out of will to keep fighting.

But you know he'll never make good on his threats. He'd never actually kill you - he doesn't love you enough to rid you of this miserable obsession that ties you together. And yet you tremble every time you feel the graze of his knife against your skin - you cower whenever he raises his hand. And you break down when he holds you close, hoping, praying that this time his embrace would prove just suffocating enough for you to stop breathing all together. It never does.

"Don't say you love me. You don't love me." Adam hisses in your ear, venom dripping off each word. "And I don't even care if you love me." He turns you around, pushing your face into your pillow - muffling your cries into weak, hiccuping sobs. "You're nothing." He swallows, averting his gaze to your lower body - yanking your shorts down with little concern as to whether they'd rip or not. "You amount to nothing, you're lower than dirt. You're just a fucked up little bitch." The man keeps mouthing off, and you can't decide what hurts more - his nails digging into your hips, or the razor sharp insults. " I never want you to forget that you deserve everything I give you."

You cry out as his massive length enters you with absolutely no preparation. It hurts - you're dry and it chaffs against your walls with nothing to make it slide freely, bruising your cervix. Your muscles are trying to push the foregin object out, but it keeps pushing in and out of you in forceful uniform thrusts. Between the waves of sharp and stinging-hot pain you manage to form a coherent thought - and you're surprised. Surprised that the man is even able to stay hard when all he feels right now is anger. Not love or affection, not even lust. Just anger. Surprised your body is still going even after your mind has given up. Surprised that, even despite all your protests and agony, you are growing used to this.

"I gave you everything." Adam start off again, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Everything - but you're too much of a selfish whore to see." He pulls your hair back so you'd face him from beneath - then he slaps you with all force. "I want to mess up that pretty little face of yours." His hand connects to your cheek once again. You know you'll wake up all puffy and blue tomorrow morning - if you even wake up. "I want you so goddamn ugly no one wants you anymore." He pulls you in by your shirt, smashing his lips against yours with a brutal force - as if he's trying to become one with you, and break your face at the same time. "I want you so ruined-" He kisses you again, teeth running into teeth - yet he's the one to bite you first. "And lonely that you have no one else to turn to."

"I want you broken." He pulls away just to stare into your empty eyes, voice now back to a whisper. "As broken as me."

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere smut

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bonchobrick · 1 year

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So I’ve seen some posts going around about a ‘Bruce adopts Danny and everyone thinks they’ll finally have a normal family member—Danny is very not normal’ and here’s my late night take on it.

Danny batfam au where they batfam tries really hard to keep their vigilante ass-kicking nightlife a secret from danny because he is ‘the only normal one in the family’ this becomes a problem however when danny gets kidnapped.

——-

The batfam all work together in a deeply serious family meeting to save their boy. After hours of combining their brains together they come up with a plan that will effectively save danny from joker, kick joker’s ass, and also make them look really cool while doing it.

So they bust in that warehouse, guns blazing, explosions fading in the background, a gust of dramatic dust covers the air

Batman steps infront of the rest of the team and demands to the blurry figure somewhere in the distance, “Where is Danny!”

The dust clears–they expect bad guys pointing weapons meancingly at them, they expect a cackle of a wicked clown amused at whatever plot he had planned coming to life, they expected a terrified boy perhaps tied somewhere likely siting in a chair that joker could present to the bats as a way of taunting them.

The dust settles–they observed their surroundings looking around and realize that, there are few new facts to be added into this ‘defeat the villain, get the bro, happy ending equation’

There is decidedly no weapons being pointed at them: In fact, all of the henchmen are already knocked out and tied up.

There is decidedly no evil laughs being echoed their way: In fact, the only noise that isnt coming from them is a light scritch scratch of a pencil

And there is decidedly no terrified little boy, there is a Danny however and he seems to be doing alright–actually scratch that.

Danny is doing wonders for the situation he’s in right now: In fact–

–Danny is sitting criss cross applesauce on-top a knocked out tied up Joker doing his algebra homework

The small blue eyed boy looks up at Batman's voice and visibly brightens, “Oh hey guys, I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Jason says with the utmost of comprehension, “...what.”

“So hi, I’m kinda new to gotham so sorry about beating these guys up, I think they’re villains? I dunno, anyways if you could take care of these guys while I call an uber home that’d be great.”

Danny sends them a blinding smile which would've been adorable if there weren’t a massive pile of bodies he were casually walking away from.

As Danny nears the exit he looks over his shoulder to the baffled group of vigilantes and blinks

“Oh yeah one last thing,” Danny rubs the back of his neck nervously, “Could you guys not tell the Waynes about this.”

Damian speaks up for the rest of his frozen family, albeit hesitantly, “I do think they have already been alerted of your kidnapping.”

“Oh no that's fine.” Danny starts nervously, “It's more about me being the… fighter… in this situation. I was just adopted by them and they seem really nice, I don’t want to scare them away being all grrrr im a scary monster boy and i love to hurt people argh.”

“I don’t think they’d think you're a monster.” Tim adds quietly

“Eh, tell that to my birth parents–they went psycho on me. Like evil scientist psycho, it was not as awesome as the movies make it sound, having scientists for parents.” Danny says bittersweet as he admits with a shrug

There is a moment of silence as the batfamily reevaluate the adoption file that states Danny’s family before they passed were very good people–albeit a bit excentric.

Dick blurts out, “Where did you learn to fight?”

Danny sends him an anxious chuckle, “I actually started when I was fourteen–my town always ran into some trouble so I had to step up. It’s part of the reason I moved here actually. I really don’t want anything to do with that hero vigilante life anymore…” The boy puts his hands together in a pleading motion, “So please don’t tell The Waynes!”

Bewildered at the situation as a whole they nod in a daze

The boys eyes widen at their easy agreement and he grins, “Thank you so so much! I’ve got to go now, it’s way past my curfew. but you’ll probably see me again next time I get kidnapped–I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you guys with my family bye!”

And just like that Danny slips off into the night leaving behind a family who were so sure they finally found a normal addition to their pack.

Jason sighs looking forlornly at the spot Danny had previously been standing, “You could just never pick the just semi-mentally healthy normal kids could you?”

Bruce groans pinching his the bridge of his nose

#dc x dp #dp x dc #fanfiction #danny phantom #batfam #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #maybes a fic #this was fun to write so probs part 2 later #Batfam: hello normal son #Danny with practicing the knot he learned in home ed on 37 criminals: hey guys #batfam: fuck #danny is a little shit #it’s up to your interpretation whether or not he’s genuinely clueless about the Waynes being the Bats #or if he’s fucking with them #ohkay going to sleep bye bye #mwah #also we do not see the bad grammar haha gn #veerliwrites

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messylustt · 1 year

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౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 4.8k words

fic masterlist previous part pt four next part

violence + mentions of blood and injuries (this is quite visual ha); angry + kinda ‘blood lust’ miguel; someone gets electrocuted, reader kinda does (small amount—I’ll be honest I don’t know how getting electrocuted exactly works, so for the purpose of the story ignore if the way it happens isn’t realistic, thank you!) — when you’re left alone in the tech room, many spiders out on missions, something unexpected happens. when miguel finds out his face falls and his claws twitch in anger. after the incident, you find miguel walking down the hall, calling to him he asks you questions, and you offer your help with something.

It was silent. For what felt like too long. Besides the tap of your fingers on the keyboard—which had begun to slow.

Usually you’d hear distant conversations or the sound of web shooting, but instead only silence greeted you. Unease began to make your body turn, your chair spinning with you.

You weren’t sure if you were just being paranoid. You were alone in the office. Which wasn’t anything strange, but it meant that your growing paranoia festered a little stronger.

You edged closer to the door, finally hearing what sounds to be rumbling. Low and too vague for you to decipher. Your hand reaches out to the door handle, but just as your fingers brush the smooth metal, you’re forced back.

Your body flies, coming to a bruising hit on your hip, making you hiss in pain. But you’re quick to get up, rushing to a clear wall, and away from the explosion. You breathe heavy as you slump against it, your ears slightly ringing, while your gaze stays blurry against the random scraps of metal and dust.

You look to the communal intercom, quickly rushing towards it. Someone or something that isn’t supposed to be here is. You have to warn the spider-people who are out on missions.

But where are the others?

Just as you reach the com, the sound of quick scuffling boots can be heard to your left. You snatch up the intercom, slipping under your desk, tucking your feet into the dark just as multiple pairs of unwelcome boots come into view.

Your shrink further into yourself. You couldn’t speak in warning to the spider variants or these guys would hear you. Your eyes narrow on the bottom of their legs. All black, but so far appearing humanised rather then some large monster. An anomaly?—you think to yourself—multiple?

You clutch the intercom mic tighter, your finger grazing the on button. And that’s when they begin to speak.

“Get the tech.” A gruff voice says. “Now! We can’t waste our time!”

You can hear more scuffling of boots as the sound of unplugging, or more so ripping follows.

“Boss, they’ll be back.” One of them said. You try to get a good look at them, but your movements will cause too much attention, so you grind your teeth and listen harder.

“If you pick up that damn monitor we might have a chance to get out quick enough.” What you assume to be the gruff voice of ‘boss’ says.

“Who even made you in charge?” One grumbles out.

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Not all of them, though.” One adds. You try again to peak out. You manage to scale the bodies of three, all in black, with…masks. Damn it. They looked worn out—handmade.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.” Boss agitatedly says.

And as if luck is still on your back-burner, your foot slips, only a fraction, but enough to knock a piece of stray metal across the floor.

“What was that?” One of the masked men asks.

The silence now following sounds threatening. You place your hand over your mouth, to quieten your breathing, as the scuffs of boots draws closer.

;;

“Ben!” Exclaimed Miguel, just as static breaks through his ear. He hisses, not expecting it, as he holds the earpiece, brows furrowed. Then the static grows clearer.

“Get the tech. Now! We can’t waste our time!”

“Boss, they’ll be back.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as he listens, confused at first. When he looks to the other spider-people they’re are all holding their own earpieces, trying to comprehend what they’re listening to.

“Who even made you in charge?”

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Lyla, what is this?” Miguel asks. She appears by him, tapping away at screens.

“It appears to be coming from a communal intercom.” She says.

“At HQ?” He asks, already flexing his claws. “Which one.”

“I’m just finding out. The connection is muffled.” More tapping.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.”

The voices still infiltrate Miguel’s ear. “Lyla.” He sounds impatient. “Which one?”

Then she stops tapping. “Y/n y/l/n’s.”

Miguel freezes, looking at Lyla as if she would be one to crack a joke. Then he hears the knock of something metal through his ear piece, followed by a ‘“What was that?”’. He can now hear your heavy breathes, slightly muffled, as heavy boots hit the floor.

Then all sound is gone.

He doesn’t wait for anyone, pressing his wristband to open the portal to HQ. But Jess stops him. “Miguel, think about this. What if it’s them?”

Miguel glances at her, shrugging her grip off his arm, as he taps at his wristband again, the portal opening up. His expression is downcast, one could easily say terrifying.

“Miguel! You have to think this through.” Jess persists. “We have spider-men and woman back at HQ—”

“Who are clearly too distracted to do anything.” Miguel grunts out, webbing towards the portal. But Ben intercepts this time.

“She’s right, Miguel. Don’t worry about the tech, we can get it back, or even get new ones—“

“The tech?” Miguel actually sounds in disbelief. “You think I’m fucking worried about the tech?!” His red eyes gleam, and Ben gulps.

“Then what are you worried about, Miguel?” Jess asks, exasperated. “Because I don’t see anything else that needs urgent attention. The tech is the main—“

“¿Tú no? The tech is the last of my worries, Jess.” Miguel interrupts. But this time he isn’t yelling. This time it’s toned down, and somehow that makes him appear much, much scarier.

“Miguel.” Jess tries to calm him down, not understanding what he could find more worrying. Data had been saved on that tech, important data. She places one hand on his wrist, but he immediately shrugs her off, glaring.

“Get out of my way.” He snarls. She doesn’t move, crossing her arms. “The reason why you aren’t hurt against that wall is because you earned my respect. That’s slipping, Jess.”

“Miguel you’re frantic.” She says.

“Call it what you want. I’m getting to HQ.” He webs past her, and Jess finally has the mind to let him go. Though she still stands there worried, and confused about what could have made Miguel so urgent to get to the scene.

;;

You tighten your hold on the intercom, now switching to use it as a possible weapon, as the boots near. You prepare yourself by silent deep breaths and a focused gaze.

The boots stop in front of you, pausing for only a moment. Then the desk is being flung to the side. You choke a gasp, managing to slam the intercom down into the guys shin, the harsh metal side bruising and buckling his leg.

He exclaims in pain as you scramble to your feet. You can finally see the detail on the three mens’ outfits. A dark green weaved into the fabric. Then you see the claws for hands, and all three of their masks turned to you. Shit.

“Who are you guys?” You manage to get out, as you reach behind you for a keyboard.

One looks at the other before looking back at you. “Were you here the whole time?”

You say nothing, edging closer to the exit. It’s silent from them for a moment then “…kill her.” The gruff voice of ‘boss’ says. And they’re quick.

You try to rush away but one yanks you back by your hair. You angrily swing around and knock the metal keyboard across one of their heads. Some of the pieces shatter against his mask.

But then one is grabbing your neck, pushing you against the wall. “Sorry—boss says no tattle tales.” The guy tightens his hold, and your hands scramble against his in an effort to intake air.

There’s a moment where your vision blurs. But there’s also a moment where his knee shifts letting your leg harshly kick out. You’re glad to find him humanised in his pants as he doubles over.

You rush away from the wall, heaving. One of the masked men is already trying to grab you and as his clawed hand wraps around your arm, he’s pulled back, a shining orange web yanking him straight into a monitor, his head smashing against glass.

The speed makes his claws cut across your flesh but your adrenaline is far too prominent for you to care. You notice the other guy stalking towards you, making you swiftly gaze around at your environment, Weapon. Weapon. Weapon. You stop on a machine, wires poking out, sparking with electricity. Holding a certain point you pull two out, ripping the electric wires, before stabbing them into his stomach, the electric current making his body shake and twitch.

You soon have to let go as they grow unbearably hot, leaving scolding burns on your fingertips and palms. That’s when you notice the owner of the orange web. Miguel has ruined the guy he originally threw into a monitor, his body now a bloody pulp.

You have to quickly look away to the second guy who had obviously gotten up from your kick and landed straight into Miguel’s palm. Miguel is retracting his claws from the masked man’s body, blood tainting the tips of his fingers, as he breaths harshly but somehow still controlled.

Miguel looks to the guy knocked out in front of you, still occasionally twitching from the strong current of electricity. You feel light headed, placing your hands on your knees as you try to slow your breathing.

But then you feel a hand. And not a friendly one as the masked man passes on some of the electricity moving through his body into your thigh. You scream, the half electrocuted guy—his hair frizzed and slightly cinched—stumbling to a stance, just as you fall to the floor.

Then you hear a crash and a curdling scream—not from you.

Miguel inserts his claws into the guys neck, practically ripping his throat out, as the guy chokes on his own blood. The blood sprays across Miguel’s face, leaving slight speckles as he rips the rest of the man with his teeth, letting him drop to the floor.

It was animalistic in way, as his tongue licked his fangs, his breathing now harsher—angrier.

But then he sees you drifting from consciousness on the floor.

Miguel doesn’t know what breathing is, or the meaning of the word slow, as he reaches your side in a millisecond, his hand coming to grab your face between his fingers—maybe a little harshly but his entire being was still on overdrive.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks as he slightly shakes your head. “Y/l/n.” He hisses. “Wake up.“

He’s gentle now, realising that you’re a human and not some villain he needs to hurt, as he checks your pulse not wanting his claws to cut you. “Y/n!” He finally exclaims, as you get roused awake.

Your leg feels painfully numb, as your eyes flutter open. A thin layer of tears is making your eyes sparkle as you finally meet Miguel’s gaze. You try to slow your breathing, shutting your eyes to reassess.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks. “No, no. Open them.”

You do, though they stay hooded. “I’m just…tired. No need to sound so harsh—shit.” The lasting electricity still spasms up your leg, as the hold of Miguel’s hand makes the tears fall.

You begin to shake your head, partially trying to get out of his hold. “Stop.” You say.

“Stop what?” Miguel instantly replies, his gaze shooting to your thigh.

“Just—“ you breathe. Then Miguel finds the deep scratch mark on your arm, his hand grabbing it as his eyes dart. “It’s fine. Just a cut.”

“Y/n, you just got attacked. You’re a weak human, don’t try to sound so tough.”

“You’re not helping.” You hiss, tilting your head back as you try to keep the tears in, not wanting them to fall. “And that was kind of mean.” You mutter the last part just for the sake of it. Using your pain induced state as an excuse to blurt out your annoyed feelings with Miguel.

Miguel grabs your chin, trying to pull your gaze back to his, but you resist, keeping it tilted away. “Stop.” You say again.

“No.” He answers, successfully pulling your chin back, and holding it there. “Why aren’t you looking me?”

Your eyes are darting around, before you choose to close them. “Y/n.” Miguel is stern, but underlying that he sounds almost desperate—almost.

You can feel him move closer to you and you place your hand out to stop him, your palm ending up against his chest. “Can you not—“

“What—not help you?” He asks harshly.

“Can you look away.” You say, finally opening your eyes. “Please.”

“Why?” Miguel isn’t budging, staying close to you. He’s already dialled in medical on his wristwatch.

“Jeezus Christ, Miguel! I don’t like fucking crying in front of people. It’s a weird thing I can’t get rid of. I hate it. It makes me feel embarrassed—“

“Embarrassed?” Miguel interrupts.

“Yes. Embarrassed.” You hiss harshly. You couldn’t find your filter, your tone far more aggressive then usual with the throbbing pain in your arm and the spasm of your thigh.

“Well, that stupid.” He says.

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not going away. So if you could just look away and let me…I dunno…recompose myself.”

“Recompose yourself?”

“Yes! Stop repeating what I’m saying!” You exclaim, only to follow with a groan of pain as you try to sit up.

Miguel knows your mind is frazzled and your body is reactive. He pushes you back down, grabbing your cheeks again.

“You got partially electrocuted and cut—deep, I’d think you’re a psychopath If you didn’t cry.” Miguel says, his volume dropped to one almost soothing—almost.

“Doesn’t make me hate it any less.” You mutter.

“Wow…I’ve never seen you this annoyed before.”

You narrow your eyes on him. His hand that was gingerly inspecting your thigh had slipped over your waist, partially caging you in.

You try again to sit up. But Miguel yet again, keeps you pressed to the floor. “O’hara.”

He leans closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “Stop moving.”

“I’m fine.”

“No your not.” He easily answers, which earns him a half hearted scoff. “You know I think I prefer you trying to suck up instead.”

You meet his gaze glaring. “I have not been sucking up, I just like—“

“This job. Yeah I’ve heard you.” He interrupts.

He can hear commotion behind him, but the voices of rushing spider-people makes his shoulders relax. The medical have arrived, and as you notice the new people you quickly wipe your cheeks, brushing against Miguel’s hand, as you get up.

Miguel finally let’s you, by slipping his arm around the back of your waist. You try to swat it away—any physical touch usually induces the waterworks you desperately wanted to keep at bay—but he tightens his hold, resulting in your side being flush against him.

The medical spiders inspect your bruised body. “It’s her thigh and upper arm…” Miguel begins telling the spiders. Then he grabs your hands holding your palms out. “And hands.” The burnt marks look raw, and you hiss as Miguel had to slightly stretch the skin to show.

He immediately lets go upon hearing the sound of pain. “Thanks Miguel, we’ll take it from here.” A medical spider says, already at your side checking your cut.

Miguel narrows his eyes on the spider variant, watching as you bite your lip as they inspect your wound. He sighs, finally getting up and letting your waist go. At the sudden shift your hand flies out to his leg, or more specifically his thigh.

Your quick, tight grip has Miguel stopping. You change your position, not having realised how much you were using Miguel as physical support, before you’re quickly taking your hand away and coughing.

You give him a brief nod. “Thanks for the help.”

Miguel scoffs. “Help? I did a bit more than help.”

You’re praying to get some anaesthetic soon so that your pain won’t make you loose your job. You press your lips together harshly. “Of course. You did spectacular.” You say.

The sarcasm isn’t lost on him. He eyes you once more before he’s walking out the exit.

You sat there, finally taking a proper breath. You don’t know why you were holding it for so long. …maybe you did have a clue. The image of Miguel ripping the guys neck out, blood staining his face is still fresh in your mind.

You’ll be honest, it scared you. He kind of scared you. But not in way you’d think he’d hurt you, just one that made him seem unpredictable. I mean what happened just then, with his touching and softer tone was something completely unforeseen.

If someone told you he would be do that today you’d actually laugh. Miguel was unpredictable and intimidating in general, sure, but what seemed to scare you more was the way he looked when his eyes shone with blood lust. His eye colour seemed fitting now.

You also happened to be scared of the way the sight made you feel. Something that settled far too low in your stomach.

;;

Miguel went straight to the lobby where a spider variant he kept high up in the ranks resided. “You. Get up. Now.”

The spider variant immediately stood, as he nervously followed Miguel to his office. The orange tech screens were the main thing lighting the place.

And as Spider-Man took a breath he lost it as soon as Miguel slowly turned to him. Blood still stained his skin and claws and suit, and the spider-man felt the urge to run.

“Where were you today?” Miguel asked, leaning back against a table and crossing his arms almost too casually.

“I was…here, Miguel.” He said steeling his spine. He knew where this was going.

“Were you?” Miguel asked, his eyes trained on the spider.

Spider man gulped. “I’m really sorry, Miguel. I didn’t hear any sort of explosion. I didn’t get any awareness. Which…shouldn’t happen.”

“You know what ‘shouldn’t happen’?” Miguel asks, now twirling an empty glass on the table. “Spider men and woman shouldn’t only rely on that “tingle thing”.”

The spider hangs his head lower in apology. “Someone could have died today.” Miguel continued. “And you would have what—been too busy playing poker?”

The spider variant winces at his words. Miguel knew of his addiction, always using his free time to gamble.

“Do you get that?” Miguel asks.

“I do. I’m sorry.”

“Sadly that’s not gonna cut it.” Miguel says, making spider man look up. “I left you in charge while I was gone. You failed miserably.”

“Miguel. I didn’t mean to only rely on my usual awareness, it’s a force of habit. That’s never happened before. I can always sense when danger is close.”

“But you didn’t.” Miguel says. “There’s someone in medical right now who got injured—badly. And she was all alone.” Miguel has stood up, stalking towards him.

“Now for personal reasons I may find her annoying.” He quickly mutters out. “But that certainly doesn’t mean you can let her die. Do you hear me?”

Spider man quickly nods. “Of course. This’ll never happen again.”

“No it won’t.” Miguel turns away, and the finality in his voice makes spider man’s eyes widen.

“Miguel—“

“Go home.” Miguel cuts in, stepping up to his screens. Anger still seeped from every pore.

;;

You woke up, feeling a dull ache in your body, but for the most part you felt alright. Better, a lot better. You swing your feet off the medical bed, realising that the lights were out.

Your feet hit the cold floor, before you quietly step towards the exit door.

Making it out to the hallway you were grateful you were already on the high level, no need for a long travel up the stairs.

You needed to rest. Alone. Not surrounded my medical items. You slowly headed to your room, but stop upon seeing a familiar body walking away.

“O’hara.” You say, making the figure freeze.

You quicken your steps, reaching him. He turns and you have to stop the intake of breathe at the reminded visual of the now dried blood.

“You didn’t want a shower?” You joked, forcing a chuckle.

Miguel just scans your body, narrowing his eyes, his expression is it’s typical, solemn and moody. “You should get back to bed.”

“I was actually heading to my room. But I just wanted to…thank you.” You say, finally making Miguel meet your gaze.

“You really did help me back there.” You spare him a small smile and a nod. Then your gaze gets caught back up in the blood stains, as you gulp.

“You saw, didn’t you?” Miguel suddenly asks.

You look up. “Mm?”

“The reason I’m covered in blood.”

“Oh.” You say. “It was…quite impressive.”

“No it wasn’t.” Miguel says making your brows furrow. He steps a fraction closer. “You didn’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

Another step. “You thought I looked animalistic. Scary.”

You dart your gaze down to his slowly moving feet before quickly looking back up. You shake your head. And in return Miguel nods.

“You think I’m scary.” Everything he’s saying is statements. He knows, but you keep shaking your head.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie.” He says, much, much closer now. “You’re terrible at it.”

You stop the shake of your head, blinking a few times. “O’hara—“

“Just be honest.”

“I am.” You say, straightening your spine. And as your eyes dart you notice a deep cut running across his thigh. The dried blood, his.

You step closer. “Why didn’t you get that checked out?”

He glances down at his wound. “It’s fine.”

“Oh come on, don’t do that. Don’t act like your above it all, including pain, and infection.” Your blatancy makes Miguel raise a brow.

You pause for a moment, mulling over potential decisions in your head. Then before it could get later and before you could back down you speak. “Follow me. Let me help.”

Miguel stares at you. “It’s fine—“ he goes to monotonously repeat.

You just grab his wrist, pulling him towards your room. Miguel grabs your wrist in turn, preparing to pull your hand off.

“Hey. You made me go to your room, now I’m just returning the favour.” You say.

Miguel stares at you, scoffing. You let go of his wrist, knowing you don’t have the strength to pull him. “If you’re scared I don’t know what I’m doing, then know that I studied to be a nurse before I found out about…all this.”

“Why?” Miguel asks. “Why help?” He elaborates.

“I just told you.” You say, beginning to head to your room. “I feel weird if I’ve seen your room when you haven’t yet seen mine.”

“That’s not a good reason at all.”

“But your walking my way aren’t you?”

Miguel hadn’t realised that he’d moved to your door without the permission of his mind. He curses under his breath as your scent floods his senses, your room making it ten times worse. This is the last thing he needed.

But you’re already shutting the door and ushering him further in. “You can um…” you look around. “You can just sit on the bed.”

No—Miguel thought. God, no. But you were already getting out an older looking kit from under textbooks—your stuff having been brought to you from your universe.

He slowly sits, trying not to get one bit comfortable. You reach his side placing the kit on the bed, as you drop to your knees.

Miguel’s breathing stops at the visual. You’re directly by his thigh…kneeling. No, no.

Miguel clicks his jaw, looking away. He looks back down, to see your hand is midway from touching his cut thigh. “Why are you doing this?” He can’t fathom why you would actually want to help him.

You sigh. “I just feel kinda bad.”

“Bad?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“For any particular reason?” Miguel pushes.

“No.” You sarcastically scoff. “You’re just generally a person everyone feels bad for.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as you chuckle. He shifts on your bed. “Stop doing that.”

Your hand stops by his cut, thinking it’s the touching of his wound, when in actual fact it was the way your ‘chuckle’ had sent a strange vibration through him to somewhere he desperately didn’t want you to notice. He was right. This was a terrible idea.

Then you’re touching him. Delicate and gentle, as you pull away his ripped suit. You begin to dab what looks to be an alcohol cloth onto his wound, and in response Miguel snarls, his grip tightening around your sheets.

“Sorry.” You mutter.

“Dios.” He mutters, closing his eyes a moment. “Stop being nice.”

You look up at him. “I have to say, I’ve never heard someone say that. Usually it’s ‘stop being mean’.”

His face is tight as you continue to clean his cut. “Someone said that to you?”

You pause. “No actually. But I just mean in general. And I’m not being ‘nice’ to you. I’m returning a favour.”

“Ah.” He hums, before all his muscles tense. “Can you hurry up.”

“You’ve never let anyone touch you up before, have you?” Catching onto the fact that he’s clearly cleaned his past wounds himself.

Miguel glares at you. “So, you can stop.” He reaches to take the cloth from you, but you lean away resting your hand on his knee for support.

“You can just sit on the bed.” Miguel grits out. He couldn’t watch you being on your knees for him any longer. Not unless he’d do something he’d end up regretting.

“That’s okay, it’s an easier angle here.”

God. You had to stop. ‘Easier angel’? Yeah, Miguel definitely wasn’t thinking about you cleaning his cut. He runs his hand through his hair.

You quickly reach out grabbing his wrist. He looks at you, expectantly. “You have uh…blood on your fingertips…claws.”

Miguel darts his gaze across your face. “And you’re worried about it getting my…hair dirty?”

You shrug. “Well, now you’re making me sound stupid.”

“I don’t need to do that.” He quips, and you shoot him a glare. “But um…” he drifts off, as you look up at him, now waiting expectantly.

“Did you find me…scary, or whatever?” He asks, and surprisingly there’s a hint of…vulnerability hidden in his tone? No—you think to yourself—that can’t be right. “Before. With the anomalies.”

You dab a fraction harder, making Miguel hiss a groan. You ignore the way it vibrates through your body. You shake your head.

“Why do you keep lying?” He asks.

You sigh. “I just—“

“Just?” Miguel seemed to really want to get an answer out of you. He shifts closer. And when you don’t answer, continuing to focus on his wound, he grabs your jaw, pulling you up to meet his gaze. You gulp, his large hand nearly reaching to wrap around your neck.

“Do I scare you?”

Your chest picks up a quicker beat. He leans closer, pulling you towards him, your chest hitting his leg. “Do I—“

“Yes. Alright.” You quickly say. “A little bit…yes.”

His grip tightens around your chin a fraction. “Because of what you saw?”

“And the way you talk to people.” You mutter out. Why were saying this? This isn’t something you say to your boss.

You hadn’t noticed at first but one of his claws had begun to brush back and forth against the skin of your jaw, his eyes not leaving yours. You were utterly frozen. And there’s a moment that you just catch where his gaze darts down to your lips, his breath feeling extremely close.

But then he’s leaning away, his jaw clenching as he looks to the door. “Are you done?”

You quickly look down to his cut, rushing to get out a bandage. “Uh, almost.” Your entire body was buzzing.

While you stayed focused on finishing him up, Miguel’s gaze went back to staring at you. He almost gave in—almost. He wouldn’t, though.

You were scared of him. He knew you were somewhat so, but now hearing you say it confirmed that you’d never see him how he had gradually started seeing you. He had to stop. Now, before he dove in far too deep.

He couldn’t let himself go any deeper. Because at this rate he’d certainly drown, and if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be from some silly little crush.

okay, I’m sorry, I lied. there is nothing sexual in here. but I didn’t think adding anything like that yet would work. since a lot of you guys asked for a slow burn

again, I hope this is up to a good standard for you guys to continue reading. I wanted to add something a little different then the usual Spanish lesson then Miguel’s end of the deal. I needed some action of some sort.

and ofc, part five will come soon x love you all MWAH

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbbo @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright

taglist #2 taglist #3

#the miguel effect #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara one shot #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman atsv #atsv #across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spider man #spider-man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #marvel

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halfmoth-halfman · 2 years

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little treasures, life's pleasures

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Now that Soap knows when to pay attention, he realizes you and Ghost aren't as subtle as you think you are. Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, swearing Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part three. part four.

You don’t use your married name, Soap discovers.

Honestly, he gets it; Simon Riley is allegedly dead to the world with a seemingly endless list of enemies who’d love to get their hands on anything they could use to bring down The Ghost and, based on what Soap saw in your file, you’ve acquired quite the list of enemies yourself. If he were in either of your shoes, Soap would probably do the same.

He stands to the side, leaning with his back to the wall as Price talks about…something? Soap knows he should be paying attention- he had fully intended to, he swears- but then you and Ghost showed up, sitting down right next to each other. There’s an appropriate amount of distance between your chairs, but at the top of the meeting, Ghost folds his arms and leans back, long legs spread just wide enough for his knee to lightly tap against yours, and Soap immediately loses all interest in everything else.

He keeps his eyes on Price, giving the illusion that he’s listening, but angles his head just enough to see you and Ghost through his peripherals. You’re both staring straight ahead, fully focused on whatever Price is talking about, but every so often Ghost shifts just so and nudges his knee against yours. It’s a subtle movement, not something you’d notice if you weren’t looking for it, and happens once every fifteen minutes or so.

Around the forty-five-minute mark, Price asks you a question and you lean forward, answering to the best of your knowledge. Ghost shifts, sitting up a little straighter, watching as you and Price go back and forth. When you’ve finished talking, and Price is satisfied with your answers, you lean back in your chair and Soap sees Ghost's knee nudge against yours once more. He catches your quick glance over to Ghost, though he’s back to paying attention to Price, and the way you try to hide your smile by pretending to scratch the tip of your nose.

The next time Ghost shifts, you meet him in the middle and set your knee against his, staying that way for the remainder of the meeting.

If Soap thought Ghost's hovering was bad when you were recovering from your leg injury after Las Almas, he doesn’t want to know what Ghost will be like after this.

He’ll probably move his bed into the infirmary, Soap laughs to himself as he wraps bandages around your poorly patched head. The ambush had taken the team by surprise, with a private quickly ushering you away for safety. Unfortunately, “safety” turned out to be in the direct line of an oncoming grenade and the ensuing explosion knocked you head-first into a nearby humvee.

You don’t remember much after that. At some point after the fight, you're picked up, then placed in the passenger seat of the humvee. Someone orders you to talk Soap through bandaging the bleeding slice on the side of your head before Soap appears holding a roll of gauze and a canteen of water.

(Soap assumes it’s to give you something to concentrate on so you don’t fall asleep and worsen your concussion, but you know it’s so Ghost can find the private in charge of your safety and give him the dressing down of a lifetime.)

“You’re wrapping my eye, Soap,” you groan, leaning slightly away from him. He curses under his breath, unraveling the last loop of bandages.

“Sorry, Doc. Not as good at this as you,” Soap jokes.

“You were doing fine until you tried to turn me into a pirate.” Soap scoffs in mock offense and playfully nudges your shoulder. He readjusts the bandage near your left ear, moving it up just slightly when he sees the thin black lines peeking out from the bottom. Curiosity overtakes him, as he “adjusts” your bandages again, lifting the bottom to reveal a simple outline of a skull he knows all too well tattooed in black ink just behind your ear.

“How’re we doing?”

Soap slides the bandage back down at the sudden sound of Ghost’s voice as the Lieutenant approaches the humvee.

“All good to go,” Soap says, clapping his hands and stepping back. You feel around the bandages, humming in satisfaction.

“Not bad, Soap,” you smile at him, “keep practicing and you might put me out of a job.” You give him a wink before pushing forward to stand on your feet. You stumble only a little, using the humvee door for balance and Soap doesn’t miss the slight way Ghost’s hands flinch to help you before you right yourself.

“Five minutes and I’ll be ready to move,” you nod to Ghost.

“I’ll hold you to that.” There’s a brief moment, where Ghost’s intense gaze focuses directly on you, eyes moving back and forth between your head wound and your face. His shoulders tense, hands flexing into fists before he looks towards Soap and the moment’s gone.

“Let’s go, Sergeant,” Ghost calls, walking past Soap towards the other vehicles. Soap follows, turning back just once to see the private who had been with you approach you sheepishly, eyes cast down at the ground. You set a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, saying something Soap’s too far away to hear, and turn to lead him back to your vehicle.

It isn’t his intention to end up in the infirmary first thing in the morning, but Soap’s day seems to be off to a particularly shitty start as he wakes up with the mother of all migraines. He’s tempted to power through it, but as soon as he sits up the world spins, and feels so nauseous he considers it a miracle he didn’t immediately puke right there.

It takes him a while to make his way to the infirmary, but he gets there without incident. One hand rubbing his temple, Soap leans forward to push the infirmary door open. It swings open before he can reach the crash bar and he nearly falls forward, almost colliding into Ghost.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap curses, stepping back to allow Ghost out of the infirmary.

“You alright, Johnny?”

“‘m fine, Lt,” Soap sighs, giving Ghost a half-smile and lazy thumbs-up. Ghost doesn’t seem to believe him, but then again, Ghost’s face is just like that so Soap’s not sure if his excuse works. “Just wanted to say mornin’ to the Doc.”

“Right…” Ghost’s eyes travel over Soap, narrowing slightly as he looks back up at Soap’s face. His eyes seem darker, Soap thinks, and when he looks closer he notices the crease of fresh paint on Ghost’s eyelids. They stand for a moment, silently scrutinizing each other before Soap breaks the tension.

“You been up a while?” Soap asks even though he knows the answer. It’s not uncommon in their line of work to have uneven sleep patterns, but Ghost has one of the most fucked up sleeping schedules Soap has ever seen; Soap isn’t sure he’s ever actually seen Ghost sleep for more than a thirty-minute power nap.

“For a few hours. The Doc needed my help with something,” Ghost shrugs, “heading down to the practice range now, if you care to join?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Ghost nods, starting down the hallway, “Take your time,” he calls back towards Soap, “no sense in rushing. We both know I'm the better shot anyways.”

Cheeky fucker.

Soap rolls his eyes, pushing the infirmary door open and stepping inside. He finds you at your desk in the back, sorting through reports, and sipping from a small mug filled with steaming tea.

“Mornin’, Doc.” You look up in surprise, smiling as Soap pulls up a chair on the other side of your desk.

“Good morning! Something I can help you with?”

“Got anything for a migraine?”

“Ouch,” you grimace at him, “lemme see what I got for you.” You down the rest of your tea, setting the mug back on your desk as you begin rifling through the drawers. Soap exhales in relief, scrubbing a hand down his face and pressing into his closed eyes to try and distract from the pain. He opens one eye as you hum, but you’re still looking through your desk, picking through pill bottles.

Soap takes the time to look over your desk; you have a system of organized chaos composed of stacks of folders, sticky notes, two mugs, an impressive collection of colorful paperclips, a pile of labeled pens, and-

-Wait.

He looks back, checking to make sure he isn’t seeing things, and, yes, two empty mugs are sitting atop your desk. He knows which one is yours- it’s the same one you always use- the adorably round one painted to look like a sheet ghost (a joke Soap is just now getting), but the solid black one next to yours is unfamiliar.

“Aha!” You find the bottle you’re looking for and hold it out to Soap. “Take two of these, and grab some food. It should kick in in about thirty minutes to an hour.” Soap reaches to grab the pill bottle, but his attention is pulled towards your hand that appears to be smeared with a black…something? He takes the bottle and examines the faint black fingerprints staining the orange plastic.

“What happened?” he asks, nodding toward your hands.

“Oh!” You examine your hands, rubbing some of the excess stuff off. “One of my pens broke and the ink got everywhere. I thought I got all of it, sorry-” Soap shrugs noncommittally, “-guess we’re both having one of those mornings, huh? Here, let me get you some water to take those with.” You stand, grab both mugs, and disappear to the other side of the infirmary. Soap pops the pill bottle open, eyes roaming over your desk as he fishes out two of the chalky blue pills.

With the mugs gone, he has a better view of the right side of your desk and, more importantly, what had been sitting behind them: an opened and well-used circular tin of standard-issue black camouflage face paint. He doesn’t know how he didn’t put two-and-two together as soon as he saw your hands, but he’ll blame the migraine in this case.

The Doc asked me to help with something, my arse.

It’s one of the hottest days on record so, of course, it only stands that today would be the day for the A/C to go out.

You’ve had more people coming in and out of your infirmary in the last six hours than you’ve had in the past six months. Handing out ice packs like candy on Halloween and treating multiple cases of almost-heat stroke, you’ve been nothing short of slammed since you walked into the infirmary this morning. Like everyone else, you’re miserable in the sweltering heat, your jacket hanging wide open and sleeves rolled up above your elbows. It does little to help.

“Got a delivery for you, Doc,” Soap calls out, waltzing into the infirmary during the first lull you’ve had since morning. He holds out a tall thermos, shaking it so you can hear something sloshing inside. He’s abandoned his ACU jacket, standing there in a black cotton beater, smiling widely, but you can see the beads of sweat rolling down his face and collecting on his collarbone. “Ice water, fresh from the mess.”

“John MacTavish, you are my hero.” You snatch the thermos from his hands, gulping down the chilling water and letting out an obscene groan.

“Well, it’s nice to finally be appreciated,” Soap winks. You hum, flopping down into an empty chair and leaning back to take another swig from the thermos.

“Any word on the A/C?” you ask between frantic sips. Once you’ve had your fill, you hold the thermos loosely in your hand as you lean back in your chair.

“Nothing yet. Price said…” Soap trails off as you grab the collar of your own beater and pull at it in a poor attempt to fan yourself. It’s not so much the action that catches his attention, but the small metal chain around your neck with two solid black rings hanging from it. Soap’s never been married before, but he knows a wedding ring when he sees one. Though the fact you’re wearing both rings only leads to more questions. He supposes Ghost has never seemed the type to wear jewelry. Then again, Ghost never seemed the type for marriage, either.

“Price said…?”

“Huh?” Soap snaps his eyes back up to your face, praying that you hadn’t just caught him staring near your chest, but you have your head leaned back with your eyes shut tight and the frigid metal of the thermos pressed against your forehead.

“You said, Price said…and then stopped?”

“Right! Right, yeah, he said it should be fixed by this evening.” You groan in disgust and sluggishly sit up in your chair. You move the thermos from your forehead to your neck, sighing as the chilled metal meets your overheated skin, but all Soap can focus on is the necklace that now hangs outside of your shirt. The rings clink together softly as you move, setting the thermos down and wiping the sweat from your brow.

“I-”

Soap turns as the doors swing open and another medic rushes in. “Incoming, Doc: two more passed out on the practice range!”

Soap turns back to you and finds the necklace tucked back into your shirt as you chug the last of your water. You toss him the empty thermos with a thankful smile.

“No rest for the wicked, eh Soap?”

Missions don’t often go wrong for the 141, but it does happen on occasion. However, they’ve never had a mission end with this many injured before.

You already dismissed Price, his injuries treated with strict orders for three days of bed rest, at least. Gaz had been a bit more extensive and, while you were tempted to keep him overnight, he assured you he was fine enough to sleep in his own cot. You let him go but stressed that if he felt off in any sort of way, to hightail it back to the infirmary.

Which left Ghost and Soap. Between the two of them, it took you and two other medics a full thirty-six hours to finally get them stable and it was another full day before either of them woke up. You let them rest, waiting until they’ve gotten enough strength to be relatively back to normal before you tell the other medics you’ll take over and they can worry about other patients.

You wait until the three of you are alone to lay into them, a week’s worth of built-up frustration, stress, and worry spilling out of you.

“Why is it always you two? I swear, every heli Price gets in is shot down and crashes in some fiery explosion, and still, you two manage to outdo any injury he’s ever gotten!”

Soap, at least, has the sense to look ashamed as you pace around the room, airing every grievance you can think of. Ghost’s eyes follow your every step, but he says nothing, taking every insult you throw. Your rant lasts for nearly an hour before you collapse into a chair and cover your face with your hands, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyelids. They can hear you taking deep breaths, counting backward from ten under your breath.

“Sorry for worryin’ ya, Doc,” Soap speaks softly. You sigh, dropping your hands to your lap.

“S’alright, I just…want you to be more careful.” You don’t look at either of them as you sit up, one hand coming up to massage your neck. Guilt crawls up his spine as Soap takes in the deep bags under your eyes and the weighted hunch of your shoulders. “Try and get some rest, both of you. We’ll see how you’re feeling in the morning.” With that, you head back to your desk, busying yourself with catching up on reports.

He isn’t sure what wakes him, but when Soap opens his eyes, it’s nearly pitch black with the clock reading 3:11 a.m. in bright red. He shifts, trying not to tear his stitches as he gets more comfortable, and turns to his right to check on Ghost. He finds the curtain between their beds drawn just enough so that he can barely see Ghost’s head from where he’s laying and a soft light from one of the bedside lamps glowing behind it.

“Two’s the perfect number, in my opinion.” That’s your voice, murmuring softly from the other side of the curtain. Quietly, and carefully, Soap pushes himself up further in his bed, sitting up so he can angle his head to see around the curtain. When he does, he immediately sinks his teeth into his cheek to keep from making noise.

Ghost is sitting up, propped up by an army of pillows and you’re sitting on a low stool on the right side of his bed with your back to him so you can stretch back and lay your head in his lap. His right hand is draped over you, lightly running his fingers over the set of rings on your necklace as you talk.

“I think three would be too many, plus then we’d have to deal with the whole middle child syndrome thing.”

…what are you talking about?

“Two’s it for you, huh?” Ghost asks, the tiredness evident in his already gruff voice.

“Yeah-” you turn your head and smile up at him, “-a boy and a girl. Not sure about names, though. For a girl, I was originally thinking Kate, after Laswell, but the more I think about it, the less sure I am about it. Then I was thinking we could name her after one of the guys, but the only one whose name would even work would be Kyle’s; we could turn that into Kylie. What do you think?” There’s a long silence as Ghost stares down at the rings sitting against your chest. It lasts so long, Soap starts to think Ghost has fallen asleep when the man suddenly gathers the rings in his hand, staring down at the black metal in his palm.

“Spent a lot of time thinking about this, have you?” he asks. When you don’t answer, he calls your name, quiet but firm, and you sigh.

“It’s just a fantasy,” you whisper, ”like how people talk about what they’ll do when they win the lottery.”

“So, you don’t want-”

“With you, of course, I do.” One of your hands slides gently up his torso, stopping at the extensive bandages wrapped around his chest, while the other absently fiddles with the hair on the left side of your head, skirting over the scar left by the humvee. “But do you honestly think we’ll live long enough for it to happen?”

The room lapses into silence, the only sound a soft echo of the ticking clock beside Soap’s bed. I shouldn’t be listening to this, Soap thinks to himself. He carefully maneuvers himself back down the bed, going even further to lay facing away from the curtain, and you, and Ghost, and any talks of children and impossible futures. He squeezes his eyes shut in a futile attempt at sleep, but his mind is going a million miles a minute and Soap knows he won’t be sleeping for the rest of the night.

Several long minutes pass by in the quiet dark, before Ghost speaks again, “What would you name him?”

“Hm?”

“The boy, what would you name him?”

Your answer is instant.

“Thomas.”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth writes #private

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obsessivevoidkitten · 6 months

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Heroes To Villains

DILF Yandere Superheroes x Gender Neutral Superhero Reader CW: Noncon, imprisonment, minor violence, gratuitous amount of firearms, super powers, super soldiers, spitroasting, general yandere behavior, bratty reader Word Count: 3.8k (I am sorry this took a bit for me to get to, only took a few hours to write though. I hope you guys love it. Feel free to tip if you do~)

The city you were stationed in was under attack by some fairly destructive super villains. They were either traitors born of the same government program that had produced you and the other super soldiers you worked with or they were sent by another country to attack the retired super agents of your country. Though it was also possible they were a rogue foreigner with a vendetta. All the people making up your squad had been in the military and had made significant enemies.

Their goals did not really matter so much at the moment. It was more important that they were defeated before they caused any casualties.

There were two of them. One of them with an ability to lash out with streams of fire and smoke and another that could jump up really fast and high before slamming down and causing a large explosion on impact.

They were no match for you and your comrades. Red and Ace had handled much worse threats than these two with ease. Ace had been a top pilot before undergoing medical experimentation that left him with angel-like wings and the ability to shoot energy blasts from his hands. The man was like a living B-52. And Red was basically a human tank. Very little could so much as scratch his skin and he had tremendous physical strength.

Both of them had soared through the ranks and had distinguished themselves as competent generals in the last great war. Now they were retired and used their abilities as super soldiers to become heroes and protect the capital from the strange threats that had been unleashed during war time. Mostly the occasional villain. Sometimes a mutant animal.

You had just been a simple medic. Nothing too fancy, but you had hesitantly taken the opportunity to go through experiments that would allow you to heal others much more effectively and without the need for invasive surgery. Most of the super soldiers gained a unique ability and also became more resilient to damage and agile.

And you had gotten those perks too, but not to the degree as everyone else. Though you had gotten an extra ability that most people lacked. Hyper accurate aim with long distance weapons. But you also suffered a drawback when compared to your peers. You got exhausted easily, having very little stamina.

Who could forget the time you had saved the city by firing the railroad gun at the giant robot that used mutated biological components in its construction? Firing a 19,000 pound shell and obliterating an entire giant robot with one perfectly executed shot had been amazing.

You longed for that kind of usefulness again. But currently you were a bit bored, as a long range support unit you frequently hung back a bit. Red and Ace normally cleared everything up themselves without having need of your abilities.

Ace had plucked the hopper from the sky and injected him with a serum that would knock him out cold until he could be taken into custody where his abilities would be removed completely, if they could be. Red had similarly taken out the fire user who had discovered that his searing flames did little more than make Red sweat a bit.

They regrouped together before they started walking back to you, each carrying the limp weight of an unconscious enemy on their shoulders. It would be a few minutes before they got to the rendezvous.

You heard the gruff voice of Red on your comm line.

“We got em’ On our way back now.”

“Affirma-”

You were cut off by a sudden shift underground followed by a woman jumping up from the earth below you and punching you hard enough to launch you several feet.

There had been a third and they had split up to take you on individually.

As you fell through the air you took out your side arm and fired every round in rapid succession. Each one aimed for her heart. Each one hit their mark. But when you hit the ground you had smacked your head pretty hard and the world faded to black.

You woke up in a medical bed in the basement of your headquarters. You were quite dizzy and you felt like you were certainly going to vomit.

You held your hands to your head and your palms flashed.

Much better. If you hadn’t been knocked out you would have simply been able to heal whatever injuries you had sustained in a flash. Oh well you were better now.

Ace walked in to check on you right as you had been getting up. He burst into a smile at seeing you awake. His blue eyes full of joy.

“Hey runt! Glad to see that you’re getting up and about!”

“Who’s a runt!?”

He flexed his biceps to drive the point in.

“Red, get in here, The runt is up!”

You heard his loud steps reverberate upstairs as he bounded towards the basement door and came rushing down.

“It’s been five days, we were beginning to really worry about you, squirt.”

He was smiling but you could tell his red eyes held a lot of concern in them. It seemed like there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how.

“Well, no need to worry. I am not as fragile as a regular person. And I am fully healed now.”

“Yeah… but you weren’t hit by a normal person. And you aren’t as durable as most of us…”

That was Ace.

“Yeah, yeah, I will be more careful, okay? I know my limits. I don’t need a lecture. I took the enemy down and I am okay now so we don’t need to linger on it.”

Ace put his hand to his face and his wings quivered in annoyance as they often do when he tries to lecture you and you just won’t have it.

You rolled your eyes and finally Red spoke up.

“This isn’t the first time you have gotten hurt on the field. Even with precautions like staying back you still end up injured!”

“What’s your point? It's a battle, injuries happen. At least I can heal.”

Ugh, an Ace lecture you were used to. You didn’t need both of them nagging at you.

You rolled your eyes as Red continued.

“Have you ever considered… going into another career? You volunteer at the hospital… maybe you could do that full time?”

That did it.

“Excuse me? I wasn’t in any command position, but I was a trained soldier all the same! I think I can handle myself!”

You stormed away from them and went up the stairs, slamming the door behind you. Assholes. Who were they to tell you what you should consider doing? It was your life and if you wanted to use it fighting genetically enhanced monsters and super-criminals then that was your right to do so.

It would become evident in the future that this incident was where everything started to go wrong. Going forward in battle they always had at least one of them at your side whenever it was physically possible for them to do so.

When you were eventually still injured even with that precaution, even though it was minor, they pressured you again to quit being a hero. They thought maybe you just were too attached to them to leave so they even suggested that you could still be their medic but you would stay on at the base. You could even still operate the railroad rifle that could fire shells from miles away whenever a large foe approached the city.

But you wouldn’t have it. Fuck them. You told them that if you had to form a new squad in a new city then you would do so.

They frantically apologized immediately so they let it go.

It was unfathomable that they would ever allow you to do such a thing. Go off where they couldn’t protect you even a little? Where some inexperienced whelp of a leader would surely get you killed? Not a chance!

But neither could they allow you to remain a front line combatant. Not after the injuries and not with how easily you became fatigued when exerting yourself.

The solution was ugly, but it was what it was. You left them no other option for your own safety.

Though it would make them criminals themselves they had to do it for your own good. They had to keep you here with them where you would be safe and secure. They could turn the base’s AI defenses to keep you here and make sure that you were safe. They could also have it alert them through their comms if you there was any trouble while they were on a mission.

You were laying on your bed with your hands behind your head. You stared at your ceiling and contemplated all that you had been through. The war, seeing comrades on the battlefield ripped apart with no way to save them as they bled out in agony. You had to protect people from that in every way that you could, and if you did die on the battlefield then that was fine by you.

The intrusion of Red and Ace barging into your room out of nowhere pulled you from your thoughts and you regarded them both with a scowl.

“What NOW!? Can’t you guys at least knock? I mean seriousl-”

Ace cut you off with a hand gesture for silence before Red spoke up.

“Listen squirt… we decided something. We can’t allow you to join us on the field anymore…”

“Didn’t you just apologize for saying that after I threatened to leave? Whatever, I am out of here!”

You hopped up to gather your belongings and set out at once, the mere sight of the two heroes making you want to go on a rampage, but Red pushed you back onto the bed, then Ace picked up where Red had left off.

“Well that’s not all, runt. We also decided… you can’t leave here either…”

You started laughing. It had to be some kind of joke. But the tension that filled the room told you otherwise. You looked from Red to Ace and the empty expression from Ace and the guilty one from Red told you that they were deadly serious.

You grabbed your sidearm and launched yourself at Ace, you weaved past Red and twirled yo get behind Ace and held your arm around his neck with your gun aimed at his head. You didn’t speak a word, your intention clear.

There was no way you would be kept here.

You couldn’t go for Red as small arms fire would bounce off of him, but at point blank range Ace was toast. You backed out of the room, pulling Ace along with you. He cooperated fully. Even a pair of overprotective psychos didn’t want their brains blown out.

Out of nowhere a robotic arm emerged from one of the sockets in the walls. It seized your gun and then Ace flipped your positions with him behind you.

They had reprogrammed the defenses of the base to not allow you to have a weapon. These two were not former generals for nothing. They knew how their adversary, you, would react.

You slammed your foot down on Ace’s and smacked your head behind him to hit his nose. Such weak attacks did nothing to dislodge you from his ironclad grasp.

“Stop this childish behavior and just accept things. This is for your own good. If anything this little outburst has proven that you need to be protected because you certainly cannot control your emotions!”

Red was in front of you, still looking at you with that guilty expression.

“I’ll go get your weapons from your room.”

Ace and you watched in the doorway as Red got a sack and rummaged through every single inch of your private space to look for what was now contraband.

“Come on! If you are going to keep me here at least don’t go invading my privacy like this!”

Much to your embarrassment you actually cried a bit as the large man went through all your things.

He started by removing your pistols from your weapon’s display case. Your Beretta M9, your SIG Sauer P320, you… dear god no… not your baby, not your Magnum Research BFR!

You thrashed more as you saw him take that one.

Then he moved on to your bookshelf. He took out your religious text from the shelf.

“Hey, keep your grubby mitts off of that! It’s sacred!”

“Yeah, Red, don’t you think you should focus o-”

He opened it revealing that it had been cut out and housed one of your many sidearms.

“Of course,” Ace said flatly.

When Red finished with all your pistols he moved on to the ones mounted on your wall. Your Mauser M 98, your Browning BLR, and your little Marlin 70PSS.

The rest of the search was much the same. All but one had been found. Red had to get a second bag for them all. The ones in your desk, under your bed, and the one in your mattress.

Well at least they hadn’t found your most precious gun-child…

“Okay I think I got them all. Nowhere else to search. Be truthful, did I miss any?”

You wiped the tears out of your eyes and lied convincingly. You tried to look as defeated as you could.

“No”

Ace moved the two of you out of the way so Red could take your weaponry to the armory. As he started to leave the room he noticed his footsteps sounded odd in one place.

He pressed his large foot down in the spot a few times, narrowing his eyes.

Fuck.

He bent down and realized he could remove the floor board under the rug in that spot.

He found it, the bag unzipped and your M1 Garand joined the rest of your firearms.

“NOOOO!!! That one is my favorite! It PINGS when you use it!”

Now you were truly defeated, they had gotten every single one of them…

“Holy fuck, how many did you need??”

Ace joined in.

“Yeah that’s all a bit… much…”

“If your only offensive power came from guns then you would make sure to have one near you at all times in case of infiltration or emergencies…”

Ace sighed and let you return to your bed in peace. Or what peace could be had in your glorified prison.

Later in the evening they knocked on your door.

“Hey, we made your favorite food for dinner! And made your favorite dessert too…”

That was Red, you could hear the nervousness in his voice. He knew you would hate him now. You ignored them.

“Come on, don't be like this, you have to eat!”

And that was Ace, insisting that not complying with his psychopathic behavior was childish.

You opened the door and took the food tray. Both of them smiled.

“There, see? We can all still get along. We worked very hard on that meal for you!”

You were sure that they had, they were both skilled cooks. You stared at them expressionless and slammed the tray into their faces before slamming the door.

Ace looked furious but Red held him back.

“Come on Ace… they just need to adjust…”

But you refused to adjust. You ate only when they were out of the house. As the days went by you didn’t speak a single solitary word to either of them, you may as well have been a ghost.

Well… it would have been. Had you not been doing your best to make them the two most miserable men on the planet. You destroyed all the toilet paper, clogging every toilet in the base with it, you destroyed the fridge twice, you broke the TV, tore the couch, the robotic arms stopped you, of course, but you could manage to do a bit of damage each time before it stopped you.

Even Red was getting annoyed with your behavior.

They had both tried everything to get you to behave. Punishments ranging from not eating anything but flavorless oatmeal for days to being forced to sleep in a bed with one of them so they could make sure you didn’t cause any destruction while they slept.

Finally they had had enough, things could not continue on like this and it seemed like you may never open your eyes and see that they were just trying to keep you safe. Without them you’d have ran right into the jaws of danger.

They discussed it among themselves and had one more idea. You needed to feel loved in every possible way. They loved you so much after all, that’s what all this had been about, to protect you because they cared for you. But clearly they needed to step things up a notch or ten.

When they came home that day they barged into your room and grabbed you, taking you kicking and screaming into one of the many spare rooms the base had.

They had outfitted it with a huge bed, the walls painted your favorite color, fresh roses filled a heart shaped vase on the nightstand.

“Let go of me! What did you drag me here just to give me a newer bigger room? A prison is still a prison…”

“It’s going to be…” Red started.

“Our love… nest…” Ace finished, blush evident on his face.

“No thanks. Fucking weirdos.”

“Come on, sex is known to alleviate one’s mood!”

“Yeah, just give it a chance”

Ace smashed his lips into yours and kissed you deeply, you looked at him stunned.

They were serious… You wanted to wretch… Fervently you struggled, trying to get out of Red’s grip but he handed you off to Ace who wrapped his wing around you and led you to the bed.

They took your clothing off before moving on to your own. All of you had scars due to combat and training, and you had seen them nude in the showers before, but this was different. For the first time you felt vulnerable and scared under their combined gaze.

You covered your genitals but they each removed and held one arm so they could appreciate the view. “Come on, don’t be like that. Nothing we haven’t seen before,” Ace whispered as he spread your legs apart.

“Red, did you bring the lube?”

“Yeah, right here.”

Red opened a bottle and lathered both of their growing cocks so that they were drenched with the stuff and then pressed some to your hole and massaged it in. They had no intention of letting this be a painful experience for you. They wanted to show how much they cared about you.

You tried to clench. To close yourself off from them. But the probing fingers would not be denied. You squirmed uncomfortably at the sensation of cold lube being worked into you.

“Try to relax, it will be much better if you embrace us.”

“FUCK YO-”

Red cut you off with a kiss. You tried to bite his tongue but his tongue was no more vulnerable than the rest of his body.

Two sets of hand roamed and pet, and groped your body. Gently caressing you as Red made out with you. When they felt as if they had explored every part of your body they flipped you on to your belly, with Red on his knees in front of you. His crotch level with your face.

Ace was behind you on his knees between your legs, holding them still as he wedged himself closer to your entrance, until the tip of his cock was kissing it.

You couldn’t kick because he had control of your legs. You couldn’t punch because Red had your arms pinned. Now they just had to plug your bratty mouth and you wouldn’t have any means of protest. Verbal or otherwise.

They knew you’d try to bite so Red took your mouth, claiming it with his cock. You tried to move and turn away but once Ace sank his cock into your sensitive depths you gasped in surprise so Red took the chance to put his cock in your soft mouth. He did not go in balls deep, neither of them had yet. They wanted you to enjoy it. To relax. Not worry about being hurt or gagged.

Red humped into your mouth carefully and slowly while Ace did the same behind you.

“Damn, for someone so opposed to it you fit me so well.”

Then Ace added, “Your mouth feels amazing babe. He used his thumb to draw lazy circles into your arms where he held them down. He sighed in pleasure when he felt the pleasured moans Ace was coaxing out of you. Much to your dismay.

But you couldn’t deny that it felt nice. Your body relaxed, just a bit, as the men slowly bred a bit of the stress you had been under out of it.

Now that it seemed that you were enjoying yourself, even though reluctantly, Ace decided he could speed up just a bit, rolling his hips as his cock dug further into you.

Red was going a bit faster too now that you had acclimated and stopped trying to resist so hard. He let your arms go, sure that you had finally realized how silly fighting was. The large man stroked your cheek as he continued thrusting into those sweet lips.

Ace was the first to cum, his wings outstretching fully and deep voice gasping as his large nuts filled you with wave after wave of his seed. His large cock twitched inside of you, pushing you over the edge and into your own orgasm.

Feeling all your muffled cries of pleasure right in his prick caused Red to start cumming. He pulled out, not wanting to choke you on his copious amount of semen that he knew all super soldiers produced in spades, instead cumming all over your face.

Ace pulled out of you and was the first to speak.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You didn’t respond, you were still panting from the workout you had just received. You didn’t protest when Ace pulled you into his lap and held you with your head nestled into his chest. Your head laying right on his hawk tattoo. You didn’t protest when red scooted beside him and kissed you tenderly on the forehead. You even let them clean you up and feed you your favorite meal that they diligently cooked for you while you waited politely on the couch. They figured your resistance to them before was just because you had needs that weren’t getting met.

And from that day forward they knew that anytime you got too snarky or rebellious all they had to do was make time to fuck the brattiness out of you.

#yandere x reader #yandere boyfriends #male yanderes x reader #yandere men #yandere #yandere superheroes #gender neutral reader #male yanderes x gender neutral reader #My OCs #My OC Red #My OC Ace #Military Yandere

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